Going to school after the EBP insertion and calibration.

This post discusses a hidden aspect of the EBP. It was used to teach and / train me (aside from it’s other purposes).

Once I had the EBP installed, and my genetic makeup modified, I underwent a long period of time being trained. This was during the time that I described in my post; lost as an autonomous vagabond. This period in my life was absolutely confusing. As I lived on the outskirts of society, living hand-to-mouth at a below-poverty level. While all the time, my consciousness was partitioned and participating within a training regimen.

Here we will discuss what it was like for me during my training and the kind of things that I was taught. It’s way, way, WAY “out there” and rather incredulous. But this is my record, and this is my autobiography. Read it or not. Believe it or not. I don’t fucking care. It’s your life.

Sponsors

I was trained by our extraterrestrial benefactors. MAJestic had nothing to do with the training. It was all associated with the EBP.

MAJestic

MAJestic controlled the ELF probes only.

They were used to monitor what was going on between the benefactors and my mind. I do believe that it must have been rather boring to the operators, as it relied on the optical sensors and the auditory sensors of my brain. While just about all the activity took place with consciousness with operates outside of the brain.

There was activity that took place between the ELF and the benefactors in regards to mission parameters at Oxia Palus. But this began AFTER this period of training.

MAJestic knew about the EBP. They knew that it was installed, and that I had a role that involved our benefactors. They also knew that they had to be “hands off” in regards to this role.

They did not know the scope of what the EBP entailed, or what my actual role with the benefactors would be.

Technology

Our benefactors consider the physical world to be a small part of the totality of reality. They operate within the non-physical world, and what we see in the physical is but a small part of their operations.

Thus it makes complete sense that I would be trained in using their technology, and their systems within their environment. And ya!, it’s really, really different than anything we (as humans) know.

The Mantids are a multi-dimensional species, and the EBP interfaced with that species using their technologies and their sciences.

Sequence of events.

This is the sequence of events…

  • Enter MAJestic.
  • ELF probes installed.
  • EBP installed and genetically re-engineered.
  • Left on my own as a vagabond.
  • Training via the EBP while a vagabond. – You are HERE.
  • Recovery by MAJestic at China Lake Naval Weapons Center.
  • Calibration of the ELF probes at China Lake.
  • Operations with the ELF probes via Oxia Palus.
  • Mission operations…

The Schools

To understand what is going on, you need to recognize that over a period of at least three years I “attended” schooling. It occurred in my mind via my consciousness. My brain observed two things happening all at once.

  • I lived a normal physical life, and my consciousness participated in that life.
  • My brain also observed that my consciousness attended school in the non-physical realms. This occurred simultaneously with my normal day to day life.

This education took place with my partitioned consciousness and our benefactors. There was zero participation with MAJestic. To an outside observer, there was zero physical evidence that anything was going on. There was nothing that would tell an outside observer what I was going through or enduring.

I went through “training” of a unknown nature at facilities and training centers.

While there were occasional “schools” that I attended that lasted for under a day. Most attendance was sequential at various “facilities” or “places”.

Appearance

While my consciousness migrated in the non-physical worlds, it would attend schools. These schools in all instances resembled human structures with campuses, buildings, vegetation, parks, quads, and entities. Most of the entities were human people, for the most part, but not always.

The appearance of the structures varied from a simple outdoor amphitheater to huge buildings of amazing construction and complexity.

I would attend classes with other students. Some of the classes had a few as three students while other classes had perhaps thirty. Most of the classes were of small size. Only a a few very rare occasions did I participate in larger classes.

There would be a teacher / instructor.

Often, that instructor would take a special notice of me and devote the class to my particular studies while the rest of the class watched on. I have no idea why this was the case.

Class length and duration

This education at different facilities had a degree of uniformity to it. I would attend “training” at one place for a period of time, and then attend another school or a different period of time. After that, another school, and then again, yet another school.

Duration was typically three days per school. This would occur during my waking life, as well as intrude into my dreams. I was 24-7 “on” in regards to this.

The longest time that I spent at any school was (perhaps) around two and a half weeks. The shortest time was just a few hours. I estimate that I attended perhaps 300 to 350 different “schools”.

That is quite a lot, in case you aren’t paying attention.

Breaks / vacations

There were breaks between sessions. I do not know why the breaks occurred or what was behind the breaks. Breaks typically lasted between four to six days. Then the education procedure would continue. I would typically have a break every three or four months or so.

When I was on a break, I would have a more or less “normal” life. No strange thoughts, experiences, dreams or feelings.

Subjects

The subjects were beyond the conception of anything that I can explain. Sorry.

If we used a scale to compare educational complexity, we might be able to compare difficulty and advancement levels. So here’s my attempt.

  • Toddler learning how to walk – 1
  • Kindergarten – 4
  • Elementary School – 12
  • High school – 22
  • College – 38
  • Post-graduate studies – 45

Using that as a scale, I would say that the content, the subjects, the content and the degree of saturation and density of the information portrayed as…

  • EBP 3 year training – 3450

Graduation(s)

I attended numerous “programs” that consisted of “blocks” of education and specific “classes”.

After a certain period of time had elapsed I would then attend another school.

Infrequently, and for reasons I do not understand, I would attend a sort of “graduation ceremony”. This procedure would acknowledge that I had obtained the necessary education, skills and abilities that I was supposed to learn.

I perhaps graduated, maybe, five separate times, plus my “final” graduation ceremony. Thus, I can only assume that I attended approximately six Major “educational programs” (and at least 12 minor programs) from which I obtained some type of ‘certificate”.

Ability

So, the question is what abilities do I now have?

I think that most of the training was associated with the world-line switching and slides that I experienced once I completed my training at China Lake NWC. I also believe that most of the training was elementary (from our benefactors point of view) as it taught me how to use their systems and understand their technologies.

After all, if you are going to teach a dog to drive a car, you would need to show him how to get into the car, where to sit, and other basics that we humans take for granted…

…and not to sniff and pee on the tire.

Important points

All this took pace before the ELF probes were calibrated at China Lake NWC.

Which means that the EBP and the genetic changes were such that they were able to partition my consciousness into a secondary “container”.

Imagine this much the same way that we partition a hard drive into different “drives”.

If you install a 500 MB hard-drive into a computer, it is preset as drive C:. Thus it would appear in your Windows Explorer as “Drive C:”.

Partitioning a hard drive into separate drives.
Partitioning a hard drive into separate drives.

You can use partitioning software to break that drive down into other drives. Such as Drive D:, Drive E: and Drive F:.

In a way, and this is very simplistic, I believe that this is what occurred with my consciousness.

Partitioning and education

Most of what I was taught had zero utility in my physical life.

Therefore, it wasn’t even transmitted to my physical brain in in any kind of meaningful way. I just cannot vocalize my teachings, or be able to explain them to anyone within this world-line.

The consciousness partitioning was absolute and what could be utilized by my physical body was conveyed by the shared consciousness. What could not be, was not transmitted. and this leads to some interesting conclusions…

  • There is a segmentation and stratification of understanding, experience and knowledge between the physical and non-physical worlds.
  • A given world-line within the physical world might have information restricted or access denied to the consciousness that is within that reality.
  • The idea that the physical reality is all that there is, is laughingly pathetic. It is but a very tiny part of a much larger, much more expansive non-physical reality.
  • To obtain my role in the physical reality, and acquire my experiences for the non-physical reality, certain non-physical universe training was necessary. What it is, and how to communicate it to the reader trapped within this physical reality is impossible.

Conclusion

My role in MAJestic required me to perform tasks for our benefactors.

I had two set of physical modifications. They were a set of ELF probes that were MAJestic implanted, and operated. And a EBP that was installed with other substantial genetic modifications and training by our benefactors.

The training of the EBP is what this post covers.

The EBP modified my physical body and created multiple consciousnesses. Both consciousnesses can communicate back and forth between each other. The two consciousnesses have different roles and different functions, and much of what the EBP educated me with was involved in the newly segmented consciousness. Not with my original consciousness.

And finally…

  • MAJestic traded myself to our benefactors for technology.
  • They used me as a kind of “ambassador”.
  • This role was monitored by MAJestic via the ELF technology.

This ambassador role was unlike anything that we can conceive of.

  • I was altered and changed.
  • Not only physically, but spiritually as well.
  • I had my consciousness segmented.

As such, I was able to utilize advanced non-physical technologies provided by our benefactors.

  • This training enabled me to conduct world-line travel with a great degree of facility over and above what most humans are capable of.
  • It enabled me to anchor world-lines.
  • It enabled me to be the “representative” of humans to “adjust” our world-line trends towards a preferred sentience.

Are you confused?

You should be. Our world, our universe, and our lives are not like anything that we have been taught or understand. It is different, really, really different on so many, many levels.

If you want to kick the computer screen and yell, go ahead. Then go read about the “enlightened ones”, the (shape changing) “reptilians”, chrononauts, the “Zeta’s” that are going to take over America, Eh? It’s your reality. Read about the “coming age of enlightenment” and other fictions.

This is my history. Not a relatable fiction that makes you feel good about yourself.

Like I said before. The “real world” doesn’t resemble anything that you think it does.

Do you want more?

I have more posts along these lines in my MAJestic Index, here…

MAJestic

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The Geography of Heaven; Journey of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton (part 1c) with world-line (MWI) annotations.

Multiple Part Post

This post is a multiple part post. I have labeled them…

Comment c1
This post continues our study of the Journey of Souls. This is part 1c.

Case 16

Dr. N: Once you leave the staging area and have arrived in the spiritual space where you belong, what do you do then?

S: I go to school with my friends.

Dr. N: You mean you are in some kind of spiritual classroom?

S: Yes, where we study.

Dr. N: I want you to take me through this school from the time of your arrival so I can appreciate what is happening to you. Start by telling me what you see from the outside.

S: (with no hesitation) I see a perfectly square Greek temple with large sculptured columns-very beautiful. I recognize it because this is where I return after each cycle (life).

Cut-away drawing of a Greek temple showing the interior.
Cut-away drawing of a Greek temple showing the interior.

Dr. N: What is a classical Greek temple doing in the spirit world?

S: (shrugs) I don’t know why it appears to me that way, except it seems natural … since my lives in Greece.

Dr. N: All right, let’s continue. Does anyone come to meet you?

S: (subject smiles broadly) My teacher Karla.

Dr. N: And how does she appear to you?

S: (confidently) I see her coming out of the entrance of the temple towards me… as a goddess … tall … wearing long flowing robes … one shoulder is bare … her hair is piled up and fastened with a gold clasp … she reaches out to me.

Dr. N: Look down at yourself. Are you dressed in the same garments?

S: We… all seem to be dressed the same … we shimmer with light… and we can change … Karla knows I like the way she looks.

Dr. N: Where are the others?

S: Karla has taken me inside my temple school. I see a large library. Small gatherings of people are speaking in quiet tones… at tables. It is … sedate … warm … a secure feeling which is so familiar to me.

Dr. N: Do all these people appear as adult men and women?

S: Yes, but there are more women in my group.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Because that’s the valence they are most comfortable with right now.

Note: The word valence used by this subject to indicate gender preference is an odd choice, yet it does fit. Valences in chemistry are positive or negative properties which, when combined with other elements, give proportion. Souls in groups may be inclined toward male and female personages or mixed.

Dr. N: Okay, what do you do next?

S: Karla leads me to the nearest table and my friends immediately greet me. Oh, it’s so good to be back.

Dr. N: Why are these particular people here with you in this temple?

S: Because we are all in the same study group. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be with them once more. (subject becomes distracted with this scene and it takes me a minute to get her started again)

Dr. N: Tell me how many people are in this library with you?

S: (pauses while mentally counting) About twenty.

Dr. N: Are all twenty very close friends of yours?

S: We are all close-I’ve known them for ages. But five are my dearest friends.

Dr. N: Are every one of the twenty people at about the same level of learning?

S: Uh… almost. Some are a little further along than the rest.

Dr. N: Where would you place yourself in the group as far as knowledge?

S: Around the middle.

Dr. N: As to learning lessons, where are you in relation to your five closest friends?

S: Oh, we are about the same-we work together a lot.

Dr. N: What do you call them?

S: (chuckles) We have pet names for each other.

Dr. N: Why do you have nicknames?

S: Hmm … to define our essence. We see each other as representing earth things.

Dr. N: What is your pet name?

S: Thistle.

Dr. N: And this represents some personal attribute?

S:(pause)I… am known for sharp … reactions to new situations in my rotations (life cycles).

Dr. N: What is the entity you feel closest to called, and why?

S: (soft laughter) Spray. He goes flat out in his rotations … dispensing his energy so rapidly it splashes in all directions, just like the water he loves so much on Earth.

Dr. N: Your family group sounds very distinctive. Now would you explain to me what you and your friends actually do in this library setting?

S: I go to my table and we all look at the books.

Dr. N: Books? What sort of books?

S: The life books.

Dr. N: Describe them as best you can for me.

S: They are picture books-thick white edges-two or three inches thick-quite large …

The life book appears something like this.
The life book appears something like this.

Dr. N: Open one of the life books for me and explain what you and your friends at the table see.

S: (pause, while the subject’s hands come together and move apart as though she were opening a book) There is no writing. Everything we see is in live pictures.

Dr. N: Action pictures-different than photographs?

S: Yes, they are multi-dimensional. They move… shift… from a center of … crystal … which changes with reflected light.

Dr. N: So, the pictures are not flat, the moving light waves have depth?

S: That’s right, they are alive.

Dr. N: Tell me how you and your friends use the books?

S: Well, at first it’s always out of focus when the book is opened. Then we think of what we want, the crystal turns from dark to light and … gets into alignment. Then we can see … in miniature… our past lives and the alternatives.

Dr. N: How is time treated in these books?

S: By frames … pages … time is condensed by the life books.

Dr. N: I don’t want to dwell on your past right now, but take a look at the book and just tell me the first thing you see.

S: A lack of self-discipline in my last life because this is what is on my mind. I see myself dying young, in a lover’s quarrel-my ending was useless.

Dr. N: Do you see future lives in the life book?

S: We can look at future possibilities … in small bites only … in the form of lessons … mostly these options come later with the help of others. These books are intended to emphasize our past acts.

Comment c2
There is no time, but rather something else going on. The “book” accesses the world-line path that the consciousness has taken and completed. It can also access the world-line path probability that the consciousness can take. Rather than think in terms of past and future, the reader should consider this “book” to be a archival map.

Dr. N: Would you give me your impression of the intent behind this library atmosphere with your cluster group?

S: Oh, we all help one another go over our mistakes during this cycle. Our teacher is in and out and so we do a lot of studying together and discuss the value of our choices.

Dr. N: Are there other rooms where people study in this building?

S: No, this is for our group. There are different buildings where various groups study near us.

Note: The reader may refer to Figure 1 (page 89), circle B, as an example of what is meant here. In the graph, clusters 3-7 represent infrequent group interaction, although they are in close proximity to each other in the spirit world.

Comment c3
Buildings are used to segregate groups.

Dr. N: Are the groups of people who study in these buildings more or less advanced than those in your group?

S: Both.

Dr. N: Are you allowed to visit these other buildings where souls study?

S: (long pause) There is one which we go to regularly.

Dr. N: Which one?

S: A place for the newer ones. We help them when their teacher is gone. It’s nice to be needed.

Dr. N: Help them how?

S: (laughs) With their homework.

Dr. N: But don’t the teacher-guides have that responsibility?

S: Well, you see the teachers are … so much further along (in development) … this group appreciates our assistance because we can relate to them easily.

Dr. N: Ah, so you do a little student teaching with this group?

S: Yes, but we don’t do it anywhere else.

Dr. N: Why not? Why couldn’t more advanced groups come to your library to assist you once in a while?

S: They don’t because we are further along than the newer ones. And, we don’t infringe on them either. If I want to connect with someone, I do it outside the study center.

Dr. N: Can you wander about anywhere as long as you don’t bother other souls in their study areas?

S: (responds with some evasiveness) I like to stay around the vicinity of my temple, but I can reach out to anyone.

Dr. N: I get the impression that your soul energy is restricted to this spiritual space even though you can mentally reach out further.

S: I don’t feel restricted … we have plenty of room to go about … but I’m not attracted to everyone.

The statement  about non-restriction, cited by Case 16, seems contrary to those boundaries of spiritual space seen by the last case. When I initially bring subjects into the spirit world, their visions are spontaneous, particularly as to spiritual order and their place in a community of soul life. While the average subject may talk about having private spaces, as far as living and working, none sees the spirit world as confining. Once their superconscious recall gets rolling, most people are able to tell me about having freedom of movement and going to open spaces where souls of many learning levels gather in a recreational atmosphere.

In these communal areas, floating souls socially engage in many activities.

Some are quite playful, as when I hear of older souls “teasing” the younger ones about what lies ahead for them. One subject put it this way, “We play tricks on each other like a bunch of kids. During hide-and-seek, some of the younger ones get lost and then we help them find themselves.” I am also told “guests” can appear in soul groups at times to entertain and tell stories, similar to the troubadours of the Middle Ages. Another subject mentioned that her group loved to see an odd-looking character known as “Humor” show up and make them all laugh with his antics.

Frequently, people in hypnosis find it hard to clearly explain the strange meanings behind their intermingling as souls.

One diversion I hear rather often is of souls forming a circle to more fully unify and project their thought energy. Always, a connection with a higher power is reported here.

Some people have told me, “Thought rhythms are so harmonized they bring forth a form of singing.” Gracefully subtle dancing can also take place when souls whirl around each other in a mixture of energy, blending and separating in exotic patterns of light and color.

Physical things such as shrines, boats,  animals,  trees, or ocean beaches can be conjured up at the center of these dances as well.

These images have special meaning to soul groups as planetary symbols which reinforce positive memories from former lives together. This sort of material replication apparently does not resent sadness by spirits who long to be in a physical state again, but are a joyful communion with historical events that helped shape their individual identities.

For me, these mythic expressions by souls are ceremonial in nature and yet they go far beyond basic ritual.

Although  certain  places  in  the  spirit  world  are  described  as  having  the  same function by subjects in superconscious, their images in each of these regions can vary.

Thus, a study area described as a Greek temple in this case is represented as a modern school building by another person.

Comment c4
Descriptions of what you see in the non-physical reality / universe is not fixed. It is subject to the impressions of the individual. What appears as a Greek temple to one, might resemble a government building to another.

As an example, to a football player a long hard rain would be a terrible thing because they couldn’t play a game. But to a farmer, a long hard rain would be a welcome event that would make his crops grow lush and tall. It’s all perception.

Other statements may seem more contradictory.

For instance, many subjects mentally traveling from one location to another in the spirit world will tell me the space around them is like a sphere, as we saw in the last chapter, but then they will add that the spirit world is not enclosed because it is “limitless.”

I think what we have to keep in mind is that people tend to structure their frame of reference during a trance state with what their conscious mind sees and has experienced on Earth.

Quite a few people who come out of trance tell me there is so much about the spirit world they were unable to describe in earthly terms.

Comment c5
This is very true, which is why I am so very hesitant to describe my training with the EBP prior to the ELF calibration at China Lake NWC.

Each person translates abstract spiritual conditions of their experience into symbols of interpretation which make sense to them.

Sometimes a subject will even express disbelief at their own visions when I first take them into a spiritual place. This is because the critical area of their conscious mind has not stopped dropping message units. People in trance soon adapt to what their unconscious mind is recording.

When I began to gather information about souls in groups, I based my assessments of where  these  souls belonged on the  level of their knowledge.  

  • Very young
  • Youthful
  • Middle range
  • Experienced
  • Old
  • Ancient

Using only this criterion of identification, it was difficult for me to swiftly place a client.

Case 16 came to me early in my studies of life in the spirit world. It was a significant one, because during the session I was to learn about the recognition of souls by color.

Before this case, I listened to my subjects describing the colors they were seeing in the spirit world without appreciating the importance of this information in relation to souls themselves. My clients reported about shades of soul energy mass, but I didn’t piece these observations together.

I was not asking the right questions.

I was familiar with Kirlian photography and the studies in parapsychology at U.C.L.A., where research has indicated each living person projects their own colored aura.

Kirlian photography of a finger tip. This technique permits the optical visualization of emulations from a body in color. There are those that believe that you can tell the health and spiritual status of a person through the study of this type of photography.
Kirlian photography of a finger tip. This technique permits the optical visualization of emulations from a body in color. There are those that believe that you can tell the health and spiritual status of a person through the study of this type of photography.

In human form, apparently we have an ionized energy field flowing out and around our physical bodies connected by a network of vital power points called chakras.

Chakras are the energy centers that are a part of a human energy shell or body (also known as the human aura). They are responsible for absorbing vital energy-informational particles of different spectrum from the surrounding environment and for releasing energy-informational particles from a human body. Chakras are like energy-informational routers that receive and transmit energy as well as information which makes it possible for us to interact with the surrounding environment (energy-informational field) and people.
Chakras are the energy centers that are a part of a human energy shell or body (also known as the human aura). They are responsible for absorbing vital energy-informational particles of different spectrum from the surrounding environment and for releasing energy-informational particles from a human body. Chakras are like energy-informational routers that receive and transmit energy as well as information which makes it possible for us to interact with the surrounding environment (energy-informational field) and people.

Since spiritual energy has been described to me as a moving, living force, the amount of electromagnetic energy required to hold a soul on our physical plane could be another factor in producing different earthly colors.

It has also been said that a human aura reflects thoughts and emotions combined with the physical health of an individual. I wondered if these personal meridians projected by humans had a direct connection to what I was being told about the light emitted by souls in the spirit world.

With Case 16, I realized that radiated soul light visualized by spirits is not all white.

In the minds of my subjects, every soul generates a specific color aura. I credit this case with helping me decipher the meaning of these manifestations of energy.

Dr. N: All right, let’s float outside your temple of study. What do you see around you, or off in the distance?

S: People-large gatherings of people.

Dr. N: How many would you say?

S: Hmm…. in the distance … I can’t count… hundreds and hundreds … there are so many.

Dr. N: And do you identify with all these souls-are you associated with them?

S: Not really-I can’t even see all of them-it’s sort of… fuzzy out there … but my gang is near me.

Dr. N: If I could call your gang of about twenty souls your primary cluster group, are you associated with the larger secondary body of souls around you now?

S: We … are all … associated-but not directly. I don’t know those others …

Dr. N: Do you see the physical features of all these other souls in the same way as you did your own group in the temple?

S: No, that isn’t necessary. It is more … natural out here in the open. I see them all as spirits.

Dr. N: Look out in the distance from where you are now. How do you see all these spirits? What are they like?

S: Different lights-buzzing around as fireflies.

Dr. N: Can you tell if the souls who work with each other, such as teachers and students, stick together all the time?

S: People in my gang do, but the teachers kind of stick to themselves when they are not assisting in our lessons.

Dr. N: Do you see any teacher-guides from where we are now?

S: (pause) Some … yes … there are much fewer of them than us, of course. I can see Karla with two of her friends.

Dr. N: And you know they are guides, even without seeing any physical features? You can look out there at all the bright white lights and just mentally tell they are guides?

S: Sure, we can do that. But they are not all white.

Dr. N: You mean souls are not all absolutely white?

S: That’s partially true-the intensity aspect of our energy can make us less brilliant.

Dr. N: So Karla and her two friends display different shades of white?

S: No, they aren’t white at all.

Dr. N: I don’t follow you.

S: She and her two friends are teachers.

Dr. N: What is the difference? Are you saying these guides radiate energy which is not white?

S: That’s right.

Dr. N: Well, what color are they?

S: Yellow, of course.

Dr. N: Oh … so all guides radiate yellow energy?

S: No, they don’t.

Dr. N: What?

S: Karla’s teacher is Valairs.

He is blue. We see him sometimes here. Nice guy. Very smart.

Dr. N: Blue? How did we get to blue?

S: Valairs shows a light blue.

Dr. N: I’m confused. You didn’t say anything about another teacher called Valairs being part of your group.

S: You didn’t ask me. Anyway, he is not in my group. Neither is Karla. They have their own groups.

Dr. N: And these guides have auras which are yellow and blue?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: How many other energy colors do you see floating around here?

S: None.

Dr. N: Why not red and green energy lights? S: Some are reddish, but no green lights.

Dr. N: Why not?

S: I don’t know, but sometimes when I look around, this place is lit up like a Christmas tree.

Comment c6
This is all very interesting. However I can tell the reader that when I was involved in my EBP training that I didn’t really notice the color differentiation’s at all. Everything seemed “normal”.

What I can say is that the non-human entities, when they interacted with me in this environment took on a human form. For me to concentrate on them rather than the lesson at hand was unthinkable.

Dr. N: I’m curious about Valairs. Does every spiritual group have two teachers assigned to their cluster?

S: Hmm … it varies. Karla trains under Valairs, so we have two. We see little of him. He works with other groups besides us.

Dr. N: So, Karla herself is student teaching as a less advanced guide?

S: (somewhat indignantly) She is advanced enough for me!

Dr. N: Okay, but will you help me straighten out these color schemes? Why is Karla’s energy radiating yellow and Valairs blue?

S: That’s easy. Valairs … precedes all of us in knowledge and he gives off a darker intensity of light.

Dr. N: Does the shade of blue, compared to yellow or plain white, make a difference between souls?

S: I’m trying to tell you. Blue is deeper than yellow and yellow is more intense than white, depending on how far along you are.

Comment c7
Honestly, to me, all this concentration on color and appearance seems so damn trivial. But that is just me.

Dr. N: Oh, then the luminosity of Valairs radiates less brightly than Karla and she is less brilliant than your energy because you are further down in development?

S: (laughs) Much further down. They both have a heavier, more steady light than me.

Dr. N: And how does Karla’s yellow color vary from your whiteness in terms of where you are going with your own advancement?

S: (with pride) I’m turning into a reddish-white. Eventually, I’ll have light gold. Recently I’ve noticed Karla turning a little darker yellow. I expected it. She is so knowledgeable and good.

Dr. N: Really, and then will she eventually take her energy level to dark blue in intensity?

S: No, to a light blue at first. It’s always gradual, as our energy becomes more dense.

Comment c8
The more experiences you have as a human, the more quanta you vacuum up. This quanta increases the size of your soul, and the type of the quanta that you vacuum up changes the configuration of your soul.

What is going on is that the travels of one consciousness is observing the appearances of other consciousnesses with the non-physical reality. And a consciousness is but a part of a given soul.

As I have mentioned previously, a consciousness and a soul is partitioned. These partitions are such that a consciousness can occupy numerous world-lines and numerous universes at any singular point in time. Thus, what the consciousness is reporting on is the assumed appearance of a portion of a given consciousness that is reflective of the quanta associated with a given soul. Phew!

Dr. N:  So, these three basic lights of white,  yellow,  and  blue  represent  the development stages of souls and are visibly obvious to all spirits?

S: That’s right, and the changes are very slow.

Dr. N: Look around again. Do you see all the energy colors equally represented by souls in this area?

S: Oh no! Mostly white, some yellows, and few blues.

Dr. N: Thank you for clarifying this for me.

I routinely question everyone about their color hues while they are in trance. Aside from the general whiteness of the spirit world itself, my subjects report seeing a majority of other souls displaying shades of white. Apparently, a neutral white or gray is the starting point of development. Spirit auras then mix the primary colors of red, yellow, and blue from a base of white.

A few people see greenish hues mixed with yellow or blue.

To equate what I have heard about soul energy with the physical laws which govern the color spectrum we see in the heavens is just supposition. However, I have found some similarities.

The energy of radiated light from cooler stars in the sky is a red- orange, while the hotter stars increase from yellow to blue-white. Temperature acts on  light  waves  that  are  also  visible  vibrations  of  the  spectrum  with  different frequencies.

The human eye registers these waves as a band of light to dark colors.

The electron-magnetic spectrum.
The electro-magnetic spectrum.

The energy colors of souls probably have little to do with such elements as hydrogen and  helium,  but  perhaps  there  is  an  association  with  a  high  energy  field  of electromagnetism.

I suspect all soul light is influenced by vibrational motion in tune with a harmonious spiritual oneness of wisdom.

Some aspects of quantum physics suggest the universe is made up of vibrational waves which influence masses of physical objects by an interaction of different frequencies. Light, motion, sound, and time are all interrelated in physical space.

I was hearing these same relationships applied to spiritual matter from my cases.

Eventually, I concluded both our spiritual and physical consciousness project and receive light energy. I believe individual vibrational wave patterns represent each soul’s aura.

As souls, the density, color, and form of light we radiate is proportional to the power of our knowledge and perception as represented by increasing concentrations of light matter as we develop. Individual patterns of energy not only display who we are, but indicate the degree of ability to heal others and regenerate ourselves.

Comment c8
Actually, it is a measure of the types of quanta that forms a soul, and the composition and orientation of the garbions (and swales) within that soul. Then one observes the consciousness that reflects that soul.

Obviously there are other criteria that come into play.

Depending on the construction and garbionic layout of a given species soul, the consciousness may or may not reflect the true and actual composition of the parent soul. For instance the Type-1 greys have a hive / matrix soul and the “individual” consciousnesses reflect something different than the core soul hive center. To an outside observer, there might be very little color in the overall appearance of the entities of this species. Thus the colors as viewed by another soul might not be accurate.

Which lends me to believe that this observation of color associated for other souls / consciousness int he non-physical realm is but a mechanism that young to medium age consciousnesses use to compare themselves with others. Older spirits and entities, or those that are routinely involved in the non-physical world, do not use this primitive method of determination. And find no benefit in comparisons with others.

People in hypnosis speak of colors to describe how souls appear, especially from a distance, when they are shapeless. From my cases, I have learned the more advanced souls project masses of faster moving energy particles which are reported to be blue in color, with the highest concentrations being purple. In the visible spectrum on Earth, blue-violet has the shortest wavelength, with energy peaking in the invisible ultraviolet. If color density is a reflection of wisdom, then the lower wavelengths of white through yellow emanating from souls must represent lower concentrations of vibrational energy.

Comment c10
Again, I consider the concentration on consciousness color to be a trivial matter.

Where does that put hybrid souls, and those that fit outside of the “normal” progression? Indeed, there are far too many variances to make these kinds of broad assumptions.

Figure 3 (page 103) is a chart I have designed for the classification of souls by color coding, as reported by my subjects. The first column lists the soul’s spiritual state, or grade-level of learning. The last column shows our guide status and denotes our ability and readiness to serve in that capacity for others, which will be explained further in the next chapter. Learning begins with our creation as a soul and then accelerates with the first physical life assignment. With each incarnation, we grow in understanding, although we may slip back in certain lives before regaining our footing and advancing again. Nevertheless, from what I can determine, once a spiritual level is attained by the soul, it stays there.

In Figure 3, I show six levels of incarnating souls. Although I generally place my subjects into the broad categories of beginner, intermediate, and advanced souls, there are subtle differences in between, at Levels II and IV. For example, to determine whether a soul is starting to move out of the beginner stage at Level I into Level II, I must not only know how much white energy remains, but analyze the subject’s responses to questions which demonstrate learning. A genealogy of past life successes, future expectations, group associations, and conversations between my subjects and their guides, all form a profile of growth.

Comment c9
I am sorry but I have been unable to locate “Figure 3” from the Journey of Souls.

Some of my subjects object to my characterizing the spirit world as a place governed by societal structure and organizational management symbolized by Figure 3. On the other hand, I continually listen to these same subjects describe a planned and ordered process of self-development influenced by peers and teachers.

If the spirit world does resemble one great schoolhouse with a multitude of classrooms under the direction of teacher souls who monitor our progress-then it has structure.

Figure 3 represents a basic working placement model for my own use.

I know it has imperfections. I hope follow-up research by regression therapists in future years may build upon my conceptualizations with their own replications to measure soul maturity.

This chapter may give the reader the impression that souls are as segregated by light level in the spirit world as people are by class in communities on Earth. Societal conditions on Earth cannot be compared with the spirit world.

Comment c10
The conventions used herein are not used in the non-physical realms in the same way.

The differences in light frequency measuring knowledge in souls all comes from the same energy source.

Souls are fully integrated by thought. If all levels of performance in the spirit world were on one grade level, souls would have a poor system of training. The old one-room schoolhouse concept of education on Earth limited students of different ages. In spiritual peer groups, souls work at their own developmental level with others like them. Mature teacher-guides prepare succeeding generations of souls to take their places.

And so there are practical reasons why conditions exist in the spirit world for a system designed to measure learning and development.

The system fosters enlightenment and ultimately the perfection of souls.

It is important to understand that while we may suffer the consequences of bad choices in our educational tasks, we are always protected, supported, and directed within the system by master souls.

I see this as the spiritual management of souls.

The whole idea of a hierarchy of souls has been part of both Eastern and Western cultures for many centuries. Plato spoke of the transformation of souls from childhood to adulthood passing through many stages of moral reason.

The Greeks felt humankind moves from amoral, immature, and violent beings over many lives to people who are finally socialized with pity, patience, forgiveness, honesty, and love. In the second century AD, the new Christian theology was greatly influence by Polotinus, whose Neoplatonist cosmology involved souls having a hierarchy of degrees of being.

The highest being was a transcendent One, or God-creator, out of which the soul-self was born which would occupy humans. Eventually, these lower- souls would return to complete reunion with the universal over-soul.

Comment c11
During my EBP training period I was not part of any kind of “soul group” or cluster. I was on my own. I do not know the relative importance of this fact and situation.

My classification of soul development is intended to be neither socially nor intellectually elitist. Souls in a high state of advancement are often found in humble circumstances on Earth.

By the same token, people in the strata of influence in human society are by no means in a blissful state of soul maturity. Often, just the reverse is true.

Summary of Soul Groups

In terms of placement by soul development, I cannot overemphasize the importance of our spiritual groups. Chapter Nine, on beginner souls (Levels I and II), will more closely examine how a soul group functions. Before going further, however, I want to summarize what I have learned about the principles of soul group assignments.

  • Regardless of the relative time of creation after their novice status is completed, all beginner souls are assigned to a new group of souls at their level of understanding.
  • Once a new soul support group is formed, no new members are added in the future.
  • There appears to be a systematic selection procedure for homogeneous groupings of souls.  Similarities of ego,  cognitive awareness,  expression, and desire are all considerations.
  • Irrespective of size, cluster groups do not directly intermix with each other’s energy, but souls can communicate with one another across primary and secondary group boundaries.
  • Primary clusters in Levels I and II may split into smaller subgroups for study, but are not separated from the integrated whole within a single cluster of souls.
  • Rates of learning vary among peer group members. Certain souls will advance faster than others in a cluster group, although these students may not be equally competent and effective in all areas of their curricula. Around the intermediate level of learning, souls demonstrating special talents (healing, teaching, creating, etc.) are permitted to participate in specialty groups for more advanced work while still remaining with their cluster group.
  • At the point where a soul’s needs, motives and performance abilities are judged to be fully at Level III in all areas of self-development, they are then loosely formed into an “independent studies” work group. Usually, their old guides continue to monitor them through one master teacher. Thus, a new pod of entities graduating into full Level III could be brought together from many clusters within one or more secondary groups.
  • When they approach Level IV, souls are given more independence outside group activities. Although group size diminishes as souls advance, the intimate contact between original peer group members is never lost.
  • Spirit guides have a wide variety of teaching methods and instructional personifications depending upon group composition.

Our Guides

I HAVE never worked with a subject in trance who did not have a personal guide. Some guides are more in evidence than others during hypnosis sessions.

It is my custom to ask subjects if they see feel a discarnate presence in the room.

If they do, this third party is usually a protective guide.

Often, a client will sense the presence of a discarnate figure before visualizing a face or hearing a voice. People who meditate a great deal are naturally more familiar with these visions than someone who never called upon his or her guide.

The recognition of these spiritual teachers brings people into the company of a warm, loving creative power. Through our guides, we become more acutely aware of the continuity of life and our identity as a soul. Guides are figures of grace in our existence because they are part of the fulfillment of our destiny.

Guides are complex entities, especially when they are master guides. The awareness level of the soul determines to some extent the degree of advancement of the guide assigned to them. In fact, the maturity of a particular guide also has a bearing on whether these teachers have only one student or many under their direction.

Guides at the senior level of ability and above usually work with an entire group of souls in the spirit world and on earth.

These guides have other entities who assist them.

From what I can see, every soul group usually has one or more rather new teachers in training. As a result, some people may have more than one guide helping them.

Comment c12
During my EBP training period I had numerous “Guides”. They pretty much led me to the school, and then left me with the instructor or teacher. I never, at any time, got to know them, their role or their background.

The  personal  names  my  clients  attach  to  their  guides  range  from  ordinary, whimsical, or quaint-sounding words, to the bizarre.

Frequently, these names can be traced back to a specific past life a teacher spent with a student. Some clients are unable to verbalize their guide’s name because the sound cannot be duplicated, even when they see them clearly while under hypnosis. I tell these people it is much more important that they under stand the purpose of why certain guides are assigned to them,  rather than possessing their names.  

A  subject may simply use a general designation  for  their  guide  such  as:  director,  advisor,  instructor,  or  just  “my friend.”

One has to be careful how the word friend is interpreted.

Usually, when a person in trance talks about a spiritual friend, they are referring to a soul-mate or peer group associate rather than a guide. Entities who are our friends exist on levels not much higher or lower than ourselves. These friends are able to offer mental encouragement from the spirit world while we are on Earth, and they can be with us as incarnated human companions while we walk the roads of life.

Comment c13
This is the same in Chinese. A “friend” can mean many things, from a casual acquaintance to something much more, and many shades in-between.

One of the most important aspects of my therapeutic work with clients is assisting them, on a conscious level, with appreciating the role their guides play in life. These teacher entities edify all of us with their skillful instruction techniques. Ideas we claim as our own may be generated by a concerned guide.

Guides also comfort us during the trying periods in our lives, especially when we are children in need of solace.

I remember a charming remark made by a subject after I asked when she began seeing her guide in this life. “Oh, when I was daydreaming,” she said. “I remember my guide was with me on my first day of school when I was really scared. She sat on top of my desk to keep me company and then showed me the way to the bathroom when I was too afraid to ask the teacher.”

The concept of  personalized spiritual beings goes far back in antiquity to our earliest origins as thinking human beings.

Anthropological studies at the sites of prehistoric people suggest their totemic symbols evoked individual protection. Later, some 5,000 years ago as city-states arose, official deities became identified with state religions. These gods were more remote and even generated fear.

Thus, personal and family deities assumed great importance in the day-to-day life of people for protection.

A personal soul deity served as a guardian angel to each person or family, and could be called upon for divine help during a crisis. This tradition has been carried down into our cultures of today.

We have two examples at opposite ends of the United States.

Aumakua is a personal god to Hawaiians. The Polynesians believe one’s ancestors can assume a personal god relationship (as humans, animals, or fish) to living family members. In visions and dreams, Aumakua can either assist or reprimand an individual.

In northeastern America, the Iroquois believe a human’s own inner spiritual power is called Orenda, which is connected to a higher personal Orenda spirit. This guardian is able to resist the powers of harm and evil directed at an individual.

The concept of soul watchers who function as guides is part of the belief system of many Native American cultures.

The Zuni tribes of the Southwest have oral traditions in their mythology of god-like beings with personal existences. They are called “the makers and holders of life paths” and are considered the caretakers of souls.

There are other cultures around the world which also believe someone other than God is watching over them to personally intercede on their behalf.

I think human beings have always needed anthropomorphic figures below a supreme God to portray the spiritual forces around them.

When people pray or meditate, they want to reach out to an entity with whom they are acquainted for inspiration. It is easier to ask for aid from a figure which can be clearly identified in the human mind. There is a lack of imagery with a supreme God which hinders a direct connection for many people.

Regardless of our diverse religious preferences and degrees of faith, people also feel if there is a supreme God, this divinity is too busy to bother about their individual problems.

People often express an unworthiness for a direct association with God. As a result, the world’s major religions have used prophets who once lived on Earth to serve as our intermediaries with God.

Possibly because some of these prophets have been elevated to divine status themselves, they are not personal enough anymore.

I say this without diminishing the vital spiritual influence all the great prophets have had on their followers. Millions of people derive benefit from the teachings of these powerful souls who incarnated on Earth as prophets in our historical past. And yet, people know in their hearts-as they have always known-that someone, some personal entity individual to them-is there, waiting to be reached.

I have the theory that guides appear to people who are very religious as figures of their faith. There was a case on a national television show where the child of a devout Christian family suffered a near-death experience and said she saw Jesus. When asked to draw with crayons what she saw, the little girl drew a featureless blue man standing within a halo of light.

My subjects have shown me how much they depend upon and make use of their spiritual guides during life.

I have come to believe we are their direct responsibility- not God’s. These learned teachers remain with us over thousands of earth years to assist in our trials before, during, and after countless lives. I notice that, unlike people walking around in a conscious state, subjects in trance do not blame God for their misfortunes in life.

More often than not, when we are in the soul state, it is our personal guide who takes the brunt of any dissatisfaction.

I am often asked if teacher-guides are matched to us or just picked at random. This is a difficult question to answer. Guides do appear to be assigned to us in the spirit world in an orderly fashion. I have come to believe their individual teaching styles and management techniques support and beautifully integrate with our permanent soul identity.

For instance, I have heard about younger guides, whose past lives included overcoming particularly difficult negative traits, being assigned to souls with the same behavior patterns. It seems these empathetic guides are graded on how well they do in their assignments to affect positive change.

All guides have compassion for their students, but teaching approaches vary. I find some guides constantly helping their students on Earth, while others demand their charges work out lessons with little overt encouragement. The maturity of the soul is, of course, a factor. Certainly graduate students get less help than freshmen. Aside from the developmental level, I look at the intensity of individual desire as another consideration in the frequency of appearance and form of assistance one receives from his or her guide during a life.

As  to  gender  assignments,  I  find  no  consistent  correlation  of  male  and  female subjects to masculine or feminine appearing guides. On the whole, people accept the gender portrayed by their guide as quite natural. It could be argued that this is because they have become used to them over eons of relative time as males or females rather than the assumption that one sex IS more effective than another between specific students  and teachers. Some guides appear as mixed genders, which lends support to souls being truly androgynous. One client told me, “My guide is sometimes Alexis or Alex, dropping in and out of both sexes, depending on my need for male or female advice.”

Comment c14
Trying to make sense of this is silly. Once you are in the non-physical worlds you do not have the same biological needs, wants, desires as a physical person would have.

From what I can determine, the procedure for teacher selection is carefully managed in the spirit world. Every human being has at least one senior, or a higher master guide, assigned to their soul since the soul was first created. Many of us inherit a newer, secondary guide later in our existence, such as Karla, in the previous chapter. For want of a better term, I have called these student teachers junior guides.

Aspiring junior guides can anticipate the beginning of their training near the end of Level III, as they progress  into the upper intermediate stages  of development. Actually, we begin our training as subordinate guides long before attaining Level IV. In the lower stages of development we help others in life as friends and between lives assist our peer group associates with counseling.

Junior and senior teaching assignments appear to reflect the will of master guides, who form a kind of governing body, similar to a trusteeship, over the younger guides of the spirit world.

We will see examples of how the process of guide development works in Chapters Ten and Eleven, which cover cases of more advanced souls.

Do all guides have the same teaching abilities, and does this affect the size of the group to which we are assigned in the spirit world? The following passage is from the case file of an experienced soul who discussed this question with me.

Case 17

Dr. N: I’m curious about teacher assignments in the spirit world in relation to their abilities to help undeveloped souls. When souls progress as guides, are they given quite a few souls to work with?

S: Only the more practiced ones.

Dr. N; I would imagine large groups of souls needing guides could become quite a responsibility for one advanced guide-even with an assistant.

S: They can handle it. Size doesn’t matter. Dr. N: Why not?

S: Once you attain competency and success as a teacher, the number of souls you are given doesn’t matter. Some sections (clusters) have lots of souls and others don’t.

Dr. N: So, if you are a senior in the blue light aura, class size has no relation to assignments, because you have the ability to handle large numbers of souls?

S: I didn’t exactly say that. Much depends upon the types of souls in a section and the experience of the leaders. In the larger sections they have help too, you know.

Dr. N: Who does?

S: The guides you are calling seniors. Dr. N: Well, who helps them?

S: The overseers. Now, they are the real pros.

Dr. N: I have heard them also called master teachers. S: That’s not a bad description for them.

Dr. N: What energy color do they project to you?

S: It’s … purplish.

Note: As signified in Figure 3 in the last chapter, the lower ranges of a Level V radiate a sky-blue energy. With advancing maturity this aura grows more dense, first to a muted midnight blue and finally to deep purple, representing the total integration of a Level VI ascended master.

Dr. N: Since guides seem to have different approaches to teaching, what do they all have in common?

S: They wouldn’t be teachers if they didn’t have a love of training and a desire to help us join them.

Dr. N: Then define for me why souls are selected as guides. Take a typical guide and tell me what qualities that advanced soul possesses.

S: They must be compassionate without being too easy on you. They aren’t judgmental. You don’t have to do things their way. They don’t restrain by imposing their values on you.

Dr. N: Okay, those are things guides don’t do. If they don’t over-direct souls, what are the important things they do, as you see it?

S: Uh … they build morale in their sections and instill confidence-we all know they have been through a lot themselves. We are accepted for who we are as individuals with the right to make our own mistakes.

Dr. N: I must say, I have found souls very loyal to their guides. S: That’s why-because they never give up on you.

Dr. N: What would you say is the most important attribute of any guide? S: (without hesitation) The ability to motivate you and instill courage.

My next case provides an example of the actions of a still-incarnating guide. This guide is called Owa, and he represents the qualities of a devoted teacher reported by the last case. Evidently, his early assignments as a guide involved looking after the subject in Case 18 in a direct fashion, and his methods apparently have not changed. My client was stunned once she recognized her guide’s latest incarnation.

Owa made his first appearance as a guide in my client’s past about 50 BC. He was described as an old man living in a Judean village which had been overrun by Roman soldiers. Case 18 was then a young girl, orphaned by a Roman raid against local dissidents. In the opening scene Of this past life, she spoke about working in a tavern as a virtual slave. As a serving girl, she was constantly beaten by the owner and  occasionally  raped  by  Roman  customers.  She  died  at  age  twenty-six  of overwork, mistreatment, and despair. This subject made the following statement from her subconscious mind about an old man in her village: “I worked day and night and felt numb with pain and humiliation. He was the only person who was kind to me-who taught me to trust in myself-to have faith in something higher and finer than the cruel people around me.”

Later in the superconscious state, this client detailed parts of other difficult lives where Owa appeared as a trusted friend, and once as a brother. In this state she saw these people were all the same entity and was able to name this soul as Owa, her guide. There were many lives when Owa did not appear, and sometimes his physical contact was only fleeting when he came to help her. Abruptly, I asked if Owa might possibly be in her life now? After a moment of hesitation, my subject began to shake uncontrollably. Tears came to her eyes and she cried out from the vision in her mind.

Case 18 – Owa

S: Oh, Lord-I knew it! I knew there was something different about him.

Dr. N: About who?

S: My son! Owa is my son Brandon.

Dr. N: Your son is actually Owa?

S: Yes, yes! (laughing and crying at the same time) I knew it! I felt it right from the day I delivered him-something wonderfully familiar and special to me-more than just a helpless baby… oh

Dr. N: What did you know the day he was born?

S: I didn’t really know-I felt it inside-something more than the excitement a mother feels at the time of her firstborn. I felt he came here-to help me-don’t you see? Oh, it’s so fantastic-it’s true-it’s him!

Dr. N: (I work on calming my client before continuing, because her excited wiggling around is about to carry her over the side of the office recliner) Why do you think Owa is here as your baby son Brandon?

S: (quieter now, but still crying softly) To get me through this bad time … with hard people who won’t accept me. He must have known I was in for a long period of trouble and decided to come to me as my son. We didn’t talk about doing this before I was born… what a wonderful surprise…

Note: At the time of this session, my client was struggling to gain recognition in a highly competitive business. She was also having marital difficulties at home, partly due to being the major wage earner. I have since learned she is divorced.

Dr. N: Did you sense something unusual about your baby after you took him home?

S: Yes, it started at the hospital and this feeling never left me. When I look into his eyes he… soothes me. Sometimes I come home so worn out-so tired and beat down-I am short-tempered with him when the baby-sitter leaves. But he is so patient with me. I don’t even need to hold him. The way he looks at me is … so wise. I didn’t fully understand what this meant until now. Now, I know! Oh, what a blessing. I wasn’t sure if I should even have the baby-now I see it all.

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: (in a firm voice) As I try to advance in my profession, people are getting … harder … not accepting what I know and can do. My husband and I are having trouble. He puts me down for pushing too hard … wanting to achieve. Owa-Brandon-is here to keep me strong so I can overcome.

Dr. N: And do you think it is all right we discovered your guide is with you as Brandon in this life?

S: Yes, if Owa didn’t want me to know that he decided to come into life, I wouldn’t have come to see you-it wouldn’t have been on my mind.

This exceptional case represents the emotional intoxication a subject feels when an in-life contact is made with their guide. Notice the role Owa chose did not infringe upon the most typical role usually taken by a soulmate. He did not come through as her spouse, and never has, in any of her past lives. Certainly, soulmates take other roles besides spouses, but an incarnating guide does not normally take a role which might transgress between two soulmates working on their lives together. This client’s soulmate happens to be an old flame from high school.

Based upon all the information I was able to gather, Owa seems to have moved into the level of a junior guide in the last two-thousand years. He may possibly graduate into the blue level of a senior guide before this client is qualified herself to rise from white to a yellow energy aura. Regardless of the number of centuries this takes, Owa will remain as her guide, even though he may never incarnate again with her in a life.

Do we ever catch up to our guides in development? Eventually, perhaps, but I can say I have not seen any evidence of this in my cases. Souls who develop relatively fast are gifted, but so are the guides who assist them.

It is not uncommon to find guides working in pairs with people on Earth, each with their own approaches to teaching. In these cases one is dominant, although the more experienced senior guide may actually be less evident in day-to-day activities of their charges. The reason for this spiritual arrangement in tandem is because one of the pair is either in training (such as a junior guide under a senior), or the association is so  long-standing between the two guides (as  with  a senior to a  master)  that  a permanent relationship has evolved. The senior guide may have acquired his or her own cluster of souls, which is still monitored by a master overseeing a number of soul groups.

Teams of guides do not interfere with each other in or out of the spirit world. I have a close friend whose  guides illustrate how  two teachers working  together complement each other. Using this individual’s case is appropriate, because I have observed the way this person’s two guides interact in various life circumstances.

My friend’s junior guide appears in the form of a kindly, nurturing Native American medicine woman called Quan. Dressed simply in a deerskin sheath, her long hair pulled back, Quan’s soft face is bathed in vivid light during her appearances. When she is called, Quan provides a vehicle for insight and understanding events and the individuals associated with those events, which are troubling to my friend.

Comment c15
Appearance is relative to the observer. And thus it is meaningless to us. Appearance in the non-physical worlds are meaningless to anyone other than the observer.

Quan’s desire to lighten the load of the rather difficult life my friend has chosen is tempered by a challenging male figure called Giles. Giles is clearly a senior guide who may be close to being a master in the spirit world. In this capacity, he does not appear nearly as often as Quan. When Giles does come into my friend’s higher consciousness, he does so abruptly.

Here is a sample of how a senior guide operates differently from one of junior status.

Case 19 – Senior Guide

Dr. N: When you are in deep reflection over a serious problem, how does Giles come to you?

S: (laughs) Not the same as Quan-I can tell you. Usually, he likes to … hide a little… at first… behind a shadow of … blue vapor. I hear him chuckling before I see him.

Dr. N: You mean he appears first as a blue energy form?

S: Yes … to hide himself a bit-he likes to be secretive, but it doesn’t last long. Dr. N: Why?

S: I don’t know-to make sure I really want him, I guess.

Dr. N: Well, when he shows himself, what does Giles look like to you?

S: An Irish Leprechaun.

Dr. N: Oh, then he is a small man?

S: (laughs again) An elf figure-tangled hair all over his wrinkled face-he looks a mess and moves constantly in all directions.

Dr. N: Why does he do that?

S: Giles is a slippery character-impatient, too-he frowns a lot while he paces back and forth in front of me with his arms clasped in back of him.

Dr. N: And how would you interpret this behavior?

S: Giles is not dignified like some (guides) … but he is very clever … crafty.

Dr. N: Could you be more specific as to how this conduct relates to you?

S: (strained) Giles has made me look upon my lives as a chess game with the Earth as the board. Certain moves bring certain results and there are no easy solutions. I plan, and then things go wrong during the game in my life. I sometimes think he lays traps for me to work through on the board.

Dr. N: Do you prosper with this technique of your advanced guide? Has Giles been a help to your problem-solving during the game of life?

S: (pause) … More afterward … here (in the spirit world) … but, he makes me work so damn hard on Earth.

Dr. N: Could you get rid of him and just work with Quan?

S: (smiles ruefully) It doesn’t work that way here. Besides, he is brilliant. Dr. N: So, we don’t get to choose our guides?

S: No way. They choose you.

Dr. N: Do you have any idea why you have two guides who approach your problems so differently in the way they help you?

S: No, I don’t, but I consider myself very fortunate. Quan… is gentle… and steady with her support.

Note: The embodiments of Native Americans who once lived in North America make powerful spiritual guides for those of us who have followed them to live in this land. The large number of Americans who report having such guides lends support to my belief that  souls are attracted to geographical settings they have known during earlier incarnations.

Dr. N: What do you like most about Giles’ teaching methods?

S: (pensively) Oh, the way he-well, trifles with me-almost mocking me to do better during the game and stop feeling sorry for myself. When things get especially rough he prods me and keeps me going … insisting I use all my abilities. There is nothing soft about Giles.

Dr. N: And you feel this coaching on Earth, even when you and I are not working together?

S: Yes, when I meditate and go inside myself… or during my dreams.

Dr. N: And Giles comes when you want him?

S: (after some hesitation) No … although it seems as though I have been with him forever. Quan does come to me more. I can’t just grab hold of Giles in any situation I want, unless what I have going on is really serious. He is elusive.

Dr. N: Sum up your feelings about Quan and Giles for me.

S: I love Quan as a mother, but I wouldn’t be where I am without Giles’ discipline. They are both skillful because they allow me to benefit from my mistakes.

These two guides are a cooperating team of instructors, which is standard procedure for those people who have two guides. In this case, Giles enjoys teaching karmic lessons by the Socratic method. Providing no clues in advance, he makes sure problem-solving on major issues is never easy for my friend. Quan, on the other hand, provides comfort and gentle encouragement.

When my friend comes to me for a hypnosis session, I am aware that Quan remains in the background when Giles is on-board and active. Giles is a caring guide, as all guides are, but without a trace of indulgence. Adversity is allowed to build to the absolute limits of my friend’s ability to cope before solutions suddenly begin to unfold.

To be honest, I see Giles as a wicked taskmaster.

This view is not really shared by my friend, who is grateful for the challenges offered by this complex teacher.

What is the average spiritual guide like? In my experience, no two guides are the same.

These dedicated higher entities give me the impression of having attitudinal swings toward me from one session to the next, and even within the same session with a client.

They can be cooperative or obstructive, tolerant or disobliging, evasive or revealing, or just flat out unconcerned with anything I do with a subject.

I have great respect for guides because these powerful figures play such an important part in our destiny, but I must admit  they can frustrate my inquiries. I find them enigmatic because they are unpredictable in their relations with me as a facilitator.

Early in this century, it was common for mediums working with people in hypnosis to call any discarnate entity in the room a ”control,” because they acted as the director of communications on the spiritual side for the subject.

It was recognized that a spiritual control (whether a guide or not) had energy patterns which were in emotional, intellectual, and spiritual attunement with the subject. The importance of a harmonious energy pattern between facilitator and these entities was also known.

If a control is blocking my investigations with a client, I search for the reason why this  is  happening.  With  some  blocking  guides  I  must  fight  for  every  scrap  of information, while others give me a great deal of latitude in a session.

I never forget that guides have every right to block my approach to problems with souls under their care.

After all, I have their people as my subjects for only a short while. Frankly, I would much rather have no contact with a client’s guide than work with one who might assist me at one point and then block the rhythm of memory in the next portion of a session.

I believe a guide’s motivation for blocking information goes far beyond resisting the immediate psychological direction a therapy session is taking. I am constantly searching for new data on the spirit world.

A guide who lends support to a free flow of past life memories from one of my subjects may balk at my far-reaching questions about life on other planets, the structure of the spirit world, or creation itself.

This is why I am only able to collect these spiritual secrets in fragments from a large body of client information reflecting the discretion of many guides. I also feel that I am receiving assistance from my own spiritual guide during communications with subjects and their guides.

Occasionally, a subject will express dissatisfaction with his or her particular guide. This is usually temporary.

At any time, people are capable of believing their guides are too difficult and not working in their best interests, or just not paying enough attention to them. A subject once told me that he had tried for a long time to be assigned another guide. He said, “My guide is stonewalling me, she doesn’t give enough of herself.”

The man told me his desire for a change in guides was not honored.

I observed that he spent considerable time alone, without much group interaction after his last two lives, because he refused to deal with his issues. He projected anger toward his guide for not rescuing him from bad situations.

Our teachers really don’t get perturbed with us to the point of alienation, but I notice they have a way of making themselves scarce when disgruntled students avoid real problem-solving. Guides only want the best for us and sometimes this means they must watch us endure much pain to reach certain objectives. Guides cannot assist in our progress until we are ready to make the necessary changes in order to take full advantage of life’s Opportunities.

Do we have reason to be fearful of our guides? In Chapter Five, with Case 13, we saw an obviously younger soul who expressed some trepidation right after death about meeting the guide Clodees for debriefing. Typically, this concern does not last.

We may feel chagrined over having to explain to our guides why goals were not attained, but they understand. They want us to interpret our past lives so we will have the benefit of assisting in the analysis of mistakes.

My clients express all sorts of sentiments about their guides, but fear is not among them.

On the contrary, people are more worried about being abandoned by spiritual advisors during difficult periods in their lives. Our relationship with guides is one of students and teachers rather than defendants and judges. Our personal guides help us cope with the separateness and isolation which every soul inherits at physical birth, regardless of the degree of love extended by our family. Guides give us an affirmation of Self in a crowded world.

People want to know if their guides always come whenever they call for help. Guides are not consistent in the manner in which they choose to assist us, because they carefully evaluate how badly they are needed.

I am also asked if hypnosis is the best way to get in contact with one’s guide. Naturally, I lean toward hypnosis, because I know how potent and effective this medium  can be to obtain detailed spiritual information. However, hypnosis by a trained facilitator is not convenient on a daily basis, where meditation, prayer, and perhaps channeling with another person would be.

Self-hypnosis, as a form of deep meditation, is an excellent alternative and may be preferred by those who have a fear of being hypnotized by others, or don’t want the interference of a second party in their spiritual life.

Comment c16
This is also an effective way to conduct intention / prayer world-line manipulation.

Regardless of the method used, we all have the capacity to send out far-reaching thought waves from our higher consciousness. Every person’s thoughts represent a mental fingerprint to guides marking who and where we are. During our lives, especially in periods of great stress, most people feel the presence of someone watching out for them. We may not be able to describe this power, but it is there nonetheless.

Reaching our soul is the first step on the ladder of finding our higher power. All lines of mental communication we use to reach a God-head are monitored by our guides on this step. They, too, have their guides further up the ladder. The entire ladder serves as one unbroken conduit to the source of all intelligent energy, with each rung being part of the whole. It is essential for people to have faith that a prayer for help will be answered by their own higher power.

This is why guides are vitally important to our spiritual and temporal lives.

If we are relaxed and in a state of concentrated focus, an inner voice speaks to us. And, even if we didn’t initiate the message, we should trust what we hear.

National surveys by psychologists indicate one person in ten admits to hearing voices which are frequently positive and instructional in nature. It is a relief for many people to learn their inner voices are not the hallucinations associated with the mentally ill. Rather than something to be worried about, an inner voice is like having your own resident counselor on call.

More often than not, these voices are those of our guides.

Guides assigned to different souls do work together relaying urgent mental messages for each other. People unable to help themselves in critical situations may find counselors, friends, and even strangers coming to their aid at just the right moment.

The inner strength which comes to us in our daily lives does not arrive as much by a visual picture of actually seeing our guides, as from the feelings and emotions which convince us we are not alone. People who listen and encourage their inner voice through quiet contemplation say they feel a personal connection with an energy beyond themselves which offers support and reassurance.

If you prefer to call this internal guidance system inspiration or intuition, that is fine, because the system which aids us is an aspect of ourselves as well as higher powers.

During troublesome times in our lives, we have the tendency to ask for guidance to immediately set things right. When they are in trance, my clients see that their guides don’t help them solve all their problems at once,  rather they illuminate pathways by the use of clues.

This is one reason why I am cautious about client- blocking during hypnosis. Insight is best revealed with a controlled pace relative to each person. A concerned teacher may not want all aspects of a problem uncovered at a given point in time for his or her student. We vary in our ability to handle revelations.

When asking for help from your higher spiritual power, I think it is best not to demand immediate change.

Comment c17
As I have stated in my discussions on prayer / intention techniques, you want to avoid problematic world-lines. You want reasonably rapid change to achieve your objective, but not at the risk or danger or discomfort.

Our success in life is predicated on planning, but we do have alternative paths to choose from to reach certain goals.

When seeking guidance, I suggest requesting help with just the next step in your life. When you do this, be prepared for unexpected possibilities. Have the faith and humility to open yourself up to a variety of paths toward solutions.

After death we do not experience sadness as souls with the same emotional definition as grief felt in physical form. Yet, as we have already seen, souls are not detached beings without feelings. I have learned those powers who watch over us also feel what I call a spiritual sorrow when they see us making poor choices in life and going through pain. Certainly, our soul-mates and peers suffer distress when we are tormented, but so do our guides. Guides may not show sorrow in orientation conferences and during soul group discussions between lives, but they keenly feel their responsibilities toward us as teachers.

In Chapter Eleven, we will get the perspective of a guide at Level V.

I have never found a person who is a living grade VI, or master guide, as a subject.

I suspect we don’t have a whole lot of these advanced souls on Earth at any one time. Most Level VI’s are much too involved with planning and directing from the spirit world to incarnate any longer.

From the reports of the Level V’s I have had, it would seem the Level VI has no new lessons to learn, but I have a hunch a still-incarnating soul at Level V may not know all the esoteric tasks involved with master level entities.

Comment c18
Let me clarify. The doctor cannot report on any entity over level V simply because he never encountered any. The justification for this lack of encounter is speculative.

Once in a while during a session with a more advanced soul, I hear references to an even higher level of soul than Level VI. These entities, to whom even the masters report, are in the darkest purple range of energy. These superior beings must be getting close to the creator. I am told these shadowy figures are elusive, but highly venerated beings in the spirit world.

The average client doesn’t know if spiritual guides should be placed in a less than divine category, or considered lesser gods because of their advancement.

There is nothing wrong with any spiritual concept, as long as it provides comfort, is uplifting, and makes sense to each individual. Although some of my clients have the tendency to consider guides god-like-they are not God. In my opinion, guides are no more or less divine than we are, which is why they are seen as personal beings.

In all my cases God is never seen.

People in hypnosis say they feel the presence of a supreme power directing the spirit world, but they are uncomfortable using the word “God” to describe a creator. Perhaps the philosopher Spinoza said it best with these words: “God is not He who is, but That which is.”

Every soul has a spiritual higher power linked to its existence. All souls are part of the same divine essence generated from one oversoul. This intelligent energy is universal in scope and so we all share in divine status. If our soul reflects a small portion of the oversoul we call God, then our guides provide the mirror by which we are able to see ourselves connected to this creator. 9

The Beginner Soul

THERE are two types of beginner souls: souls who are truly young in terms of exposure to an existence out of the spirit world, and souls who have been reincarnating on Earth for a long period of relative time, but still remain immature.

I find beginner souls of both types in Levels I and II.

I believe almost three-quarters of all souls who inhabit human bodies on Earth today are still in the early stages of development. I know this is a grossly discouraging statement because it means most of our human population is operating at the lower end of their training. On the other hand, when I consider a world population beset by so much negative cross-cultural misunderstanding and violence, I am not inclined to change my opinion about the high percentage of lower level souls on Earth. However, I do think each century brings improvement of awareness in all humans.

Over a number of years, I have maintained a statistical count of client soul levels in my case files. Undoubtedly, the figures are weighted to some extent at the lower levels because these subjects were not selected at random. My cases could be over- represented by souls at the lower levels of development because they are the very people who require assistance in life and might come to me seeking information.

For those who are curious, the percentages by soul level of all my cases are as follows:

  • Level I, 42%;
  • Level II, 31%;
  • Level III, 17%;
  • Level IV, 9%;
  • Level V, 1%.

Projecting these figures into a world population of five billion souls would be unreliable, using my small sample. Nevertheless, I see the Possibility we may have only a few hundred thousand people on Earth at Level V.

My subjects state that souls end their incarnations on Earth when they reach full maturity. What is significant about the high percentage of souls in the early stages of development is our rapidly multiplying population and the urgency babies have for available souls. We are increasing by 260,000 children per day. This human necessity for souls means they must normally be drawn from a spiritual pool of less advanced entities who require more incarnations to progress and are, therefore, more available to return to another life.

I am sensitive to the feelings of clients whom I know to be in the early stages of development.

I cannot count the number of times a new client has come into my office and said, “I know I am an old soul, but I seem to have problems coping with life.”

We all want to be advanced souls because most people hate to be considered a beginner in anything.

Every case is unique.

There are many variables within each soul’s character, individual development rate, and the qualities of the guides assigned to them. I see my task as offering interpretations of what subjects report to me about the progression of their souls.

I have had many cases where a client has been incarnating for up to 30,000 years on Earth and is still in the lower levels of I and II. The reverse is also true with a few people, although rapid acceleration in spiritual development is uncommon. As with any educational model, students find certain lessons more difficult than others. One of my clients has not been able to conquer envy for 850 years in numerous lives, but she did not have too much trouble overcoming bigotry by the end of this same period.

Comment c19
It is not important. But the reader might find it curious that long before Metallicman was born, the entity was involved in many incarnations on earth in a selection of different species. All of this took place over a 250,000 year period. Is this impressive? I do not know. It is important? I do not know. Does it mean that Metallicman is enlightened? I do not know. Does it make Metallicman special? I do not know.

We all have our own individual lives. And what spiritual color we have, our duration in any form, or the number of reincarnations one has is as meaningless as the grade that you had in spelling in fourth grade. It’s not a race. It is not a competition. All of this non-physical stuff is all a very personal matter and is part and parcel of your development as soul. Nothing else other than that..

Another  has  spent  nearly  1700  years  off-and-on  seeking  some  sort  of authoritative power over others. However, he has gained compassion.

The next case represents an absolute beginner soul. This novice shows no evidence of having a spiritual group assignment as yet, because she has lived too few past lives. In her first life she was killed in 1260 AD in Northern Syria by a Mongol invasion. Her name was Shabez,  and her settlement was sacked,  resulting in a terrible massacre of the inhabitants when she was five years old.

Case 20 – Shabez

Dr. N: Shabez, now that you have died and returned to the spirit world, tell me what you feel?

S: (shouts) Cheated! That life was so cruel! I couldn’t stay. I was only a little girl unable to help anybody. What a mistake!

Dr. N: Who made this mistake?

S: (in a conspiratorial tone) My leader. I trusted his judgment, but he was wrong to send me into that cruel life to be killed before my life got started.

Dr. N: But you did agree to come into the body of Shabez?

S: (upset) I didn’t know Earth would be such an awful place full of terror-I wasn’t given all the facts-the whole stupid life was a mistake and my leader is responsible.

Dr. N: Didn’t you learn anything from this life?

S: (pause) I started to learn to love … yes, that was wonderful … my brother … parents … but it was so short …

Dr. N: Did anything good come out of this life?

S: My brother Ahmed… to be with him …

Dr. N: Is Ahmed in your present life?

S: (suddenly my subject rises out of her chair) I can’t believe it! Ahmed is my husband Bill-the same person-how can …?

Dr. N: (after calming subject, I explain the process of soul transference to a new body and then continue) Do you see Ahmed on your return to the spirit world after dying as Shabez?

S: Yes, our leader brings us together here … where we stay.

Dr. N: Does Ahmed emit the same energy color as yourself or are there differences?

S: (pause) We … are all white.

Comment c20
Color and appearance are all meaningless.

Dr. N: Describe what you do here.

S: While our leader comes and goes, Ahmed and I… just work together.

Dr. N: Doing what?

S: We search out what we think about ourselves-our experience on Earth. I’m still sore about us being killed so soon … but there was happiness … walking in the sun … breathing the air of Earth … love.

Dr. N: Go back further to the time before you and Ahmed had your life together, perhaps when you were alone. What was it like being created?

S: (disturbed) I don’t know… I was just here .. with thought.

Dr. N: Do you remember during your own creation when you first began to think as an intelligent being?

S: I realized … I existed … but I didn’t know myself as myself until I was moved into this quiet place alone with Ahmed.

Dr. N: Are you saying your individual identity came more into focus when you began interacting with another soul entity besides your guide?

S: Yes, with Ahmed.

Dr. N: Keep to the time before Ahmed. What was it like for you then?

S: Warm … nurturing … my mind opening .. she was with me then.

Dr. N: She? I thought your leader displayed a male gender to you?

S: I don’t mean him… someone was around me with the presence of a … mother and father … mostly mother

Dr. N: What presence?

S: I don’t know … a soft light … changing features… I can’t grasp it … loving messages … encouragement

Dr. N: This was at the time of your creation as a soul?

S: Yes … it’s all hazy … there were others … helpers … when I was born.

Dr. N: What else can you tell me about the place of your creation?

S: (long pause) Others … love me … in a nursery… then we left and I was with Ahmed and our leader.

Dr. N: Who actually created you and Ahmed?

S: The One.

I have learned there seems to be a kind of spirit world maternity ward for newborn souls. One client  told me, “This place is where infantile light  is arranged in a honeycomb fashion as unhatched eggs, ready to be used.”

In Chapter Four, on displaced souls, we saw how damaged souls can be “remodeled .” My conjecture is these creation centers described by Shabez have the same function. In the next chapter, Case 22 will explain more about spiritual areas of ego creation where raw, undefined energy can be manipulated into a genesis of Self.

Case 20 has some obvious traits of the immature soul.

The subject is a sixty-seven- year-old woman who has had a lifetime of getting into disastrous ruts. She does not demonstrate a generosity of spirit toward others, nor does she take much personal responsibility for her actions.

This client came to me searching for answers as to why life had “cheated me out of happiness.”

In our session we learned Ahmed was her first husband, Bill. She  left him long ago for another man, whom she also divorced, because of her inability to bond with people.

She does not feel close to any of her children.

The beginner soul may live a number of lives in a state of confusion and ineffectiveness, influenced by an Earth curriculum which is different from the coherence and supportive harmony of the spirit world.

Less developed souls are inclined to surrender their will to the controlling aspects of human society, with a socio-economic structure which causes a large proportion of people  to be subordinate to others.

The inexperienced soul tends to be stifled by a lack of independent thinking. They also lean towards being self-centered and don’t easily accept others for who they are.

It is not my intention to paint a totally bleak portrait of souls who comprise so much of our world population-if my estimates of the high numbers of this category of soul are accurate. Lower level souls are also able to lead lives which have many positive elements. Otherwise, no one would advance. No stigma should be attached to these souls, since every soul was once a beginner.

If we become angry, resentful, and confused by our life situations, this does not necessarily mean we possess an underdeveloped spirit. Soul development is a complex matter where we all progress by degrees in a variety of areas in an uneven manner. The important thing is to recognize our faults, avoid self-denial, and have the courage and self-sufficiency to make constant adjustments in our lives.

One of the clear indications that souls are coming out of novice status is when they leave their spiritual existence of relative isolation. They are removed from small family cocoons with other novices and placed in a larger group of beginner souls. At this stage they are less dependent upon close supervision and special nurturing from their guides.

For the younger souls, the first realization that they are part of a substantial group of spirits like themselves is a source of delight. Generally, I find this important spiritual event has occurred by the end of a fifth life on Earth, regardless of the relative length of time the novice soul was in semi-isolation. Some of the entities of these new spiritual groups are the souls of relatives and friends with whom the young soul was associated in their few past lives on Earth. What is especially significant about the formation of a new cluster group is that other peer group members are also newer souls who find themselves together for the first time.

In Chapter Seven on placement, we saw how a soul group appeared when Case 16 rejoined them,  and the manner in which life experiences were studied through pictorial scenes, as reported by this subject.

Case 21 will offer a more detailed account of spiritual group dynamics and how members impact on each other. The capacity of souls to learn certain lessons may be stronger or weaker between one another depending upon inclination, motivation, and prior incarnation experience. Cluster groups are carefully designed to give peer support through a sensitivity of identity traits between all members. This cohesiveness is far beyond what we know on Earth.

Although the next case is presented from the perspective of one group member, his superconscious mind provides an objectivity into the process of what goes on in groups.

My subject will describe a grandiose, male-oriented spiritual group.

The raucous entities of this group are linked by exhibitionism which could be labeled narcissistic. The common approaches these souls use in finding personal value is one indication why they are working together.

The extravagant behavior modes of these souls is offset, to some extent, by their spiritual prescience. Since the complete truth is known by all group members about each other in a telepathic world, humor is indispensible. Some readers may find it hard to accept that souls do joke with each other about their failings, but humor is the basis upon which self-deception and hypocrisy are exposed.

Ego defenses are so well understood by everyone in spiritual groups that evidence of a mastery of oneself among peers is a strong incentive for change. Spiritual “therapy” occurs because of honest peer feedback, mutual trust, and the desire to advance with others over eons of time. Souls can hurt, and they need caring entities around them. The curative power of spiritual group interaction is quite remarkable.

Soul members network by the use of criticism and acclaim as each strives toward common goals. Some of the best help I am able to give my clients comes from information I receive about their soul group. Spiritual groups are a primary means of soul instruction. Learning appears to come as much from one’s peers as from the skill of guides who monitor these groups.

In the case which follows, my client has finished reliving his last past life as a Dutch artist living in Amsterdam. He died of pneumonia at a young age in 1841, about the time he was gaining recognition for his painting.

We have just rejoined his spiritual group when my subject bursts out laughing.

Case 21 – Dutch Artist

Dr. N: Why are you laughing?

S: I’m back with my friends and they are giving me a hard time.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Because I’m wearing my fancy buckled shoes and the bright green velvet jacket-with yellow piping down the sides-I’m flashing them my big floppy painter’s hat.

Dr. N: They are kidding you about projecting yourself wearing these clothes?

S: You know it! I was so vain about clothes and I cut a really fine figure as an artist in Amsterdam cafe society. I enjoyed this role and played it well. I don’t want it to end.

Dr. N: What happens next?

S: My old friends are around me and we are talking about the foolishness of life. We rib each other about how dramatic it all is down there on Earth and how seriously we all take our lives.

Dr.  N:  You and your friends don’t think it  is important to take life on Earth seriously?

S: Look, Earth is one big stage play-we all know that.

Dr. N: And your group is united in this feeling?

S: Sure, we see ourselves as actors in a gigantic stage production.

Dr. N: How many entities are in your particular cluster group in the spirit world?  

S: (pause) Well, we work with … some others … but there are five of us who are close.

Dr. N: By what name do they call you?

S: L … Lemm-no that’s not right-it’s Allum … that’s me.

Dr. N: All right, Allum, tell me about your close friends.

S: (laughs) Norcross … he is the funniest … at least he is the most boisterous.

Dr. N: Is Norcross the leader of your group?

S: No, he is just the loudest. We are all equal here, but we have our differences. Norcross is blunt and opinionated.

Dr. N: Really, then how would you characterize his Earth behavior?

S: Oh, as being rather unscrupulous-but not dangerous.

Dr. N: Who is the quietest and most unassuming member of your group?

S: (quizzical) How did you guess-it’s Vilo.

Dr. N: Does this attribute make Vilo the least effective contributing member of your group?

S: Where did you get that idea? Vilo comes up with some interesting thoughts about the rest of us.

Dr. N: Give me an example.

S: In my life in Holland-the old Dutch couple who adopted me after my parents died-they had a beautiful garden. Vilo reminds me of my debt to them-that the garden triggered my painting-to see life as an artist … and what I didn’t do with my talent.

Dr. N: Does Vilo convey any other thoughts to you about this?

S: (sadly) That I should have done less drinking and strutting around and painted more. That my art was … reaching the point of touching people … (subject pulls his shoulders back) but I wasn’t going to stay cooped up painting all the time!

Dr. N: Do you have respect for Vilo’s opinions?

S: (with a deep sigh) Yes, we know he is our conscience.

Dr. N: So, what do you say to him?

S: I say, “Innkeeper, mind your own business-you were having fun, too.”

Dr. N: Vilo was an innkeeper?

S: Yes, in Holland. Engaged in a business for profit, I might add.

Dr. N: Do you feel this was wrong of Vilo?

S: (contrite) No … not really … we all know he took losses to help those poor people on the road who needed food and shelter. His life was beneficial to others.

Dr.  N:  I  would  guess  telepathic  communication  makes  it  hard  to  sustain  your arguments when the complete truth is known by everyone?

S: Yes, we all know Vilo is progressing-damn!

Dr. N: Does it bother you that Vilo may be advancing faster than the rest of you?

S: Yes … we have had such fun … (subject then recalls an earlier life with Vilo where they traveled together as brothers in India)

Dr. N: What will happen to Vilo?

S: He is going to leave us soon-we all know that-to have associations with the others who have also gone.

Dr. N: How many souls have left your original group, Allum?

S: (A long pause, and then ruefully) Oh … a couple have moved on … we will eventually catch up to them … but not for a while. They haven’t disappeared-we just don’t see their energy as much.

Dr. N: Name the others of your immediate group for me besides Vilo and Norcross.

S: (brightening) Dubri and Trinian-now those two know how to have a good time!

Dr. N: What is the most obvious identifying characteristic of your group?

S: (with relish) Adventure! Excitement! We have some real pioneer types around here. (subject rushes on happily) Dubri just came off a wild life as a sea captain. Norcross was a free-wheeling trading merchant. We live life to its fullest because we are talented at taking what life has to offer.

Dr. N: I’m hearing a lot of self-gratification here, Allum.

S:  (defensively)  And  what’s  wrong  with  that?  Our  group  is  not  made  up  of shrinking violets, you know!

Dr. N: What’s the story on Trinian’s last life?

S: (reacts boisterously) He was a Bishop! Can you believe it? What hypocrisy.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: What self-deception! Norcross, Dubri, and I tell Trinian his choice to be a churchman had nothing to do with goodness, charity, or spirituality.

Dr. N: And what does Trinian’s soul mentally project to you in self-defense? S: He tells us he gave solace to many people.

Dr. N: What do you, Norcross and Dubri, tell him in response?

S: That he is going soft. Norcross tells him he wanted money or otherwise he would have been a simple priest. Ha-that’s telling him-and I’m saying the same thing. You can guess what Dubri thinks about all this!

Dr. N: No, tell me.

S: Humph-that Trinian picked a large city with a rich cathedral-spilling a ton of money into Trinian’s fat pockets.

Dr. N: And what do you tell Trinian yourself?

S: Oh, I’m attracted to the fancy robes he wore-bright red-the finest of cloth-his Bishop’s ring which he loved-and all the gold and silver around. I also mention his desire to bask in adulation from his flock. Trinian can hide nothing from us-he wanted an easy, cushy life where he was well-fed.

Dr. N: Does he try to explain his motivations for choosing this life?

S: Yes, but Norcross reproaches him. He confronts Trinian on seducing a young girl in the vestry. (jovially) Yes, it actually happened! … So much for providing solace to parishioners. We know Trinian for who he really is-an outright rogue!

Dr. N: Does Trinian offer any excuses to the group for his conduct?

S: (subject becomes quieter) Oh, the usual. He got carried away with the girl’s need for him-she had no family-he was lonely in his choice of a celibate church life. He says he was trying to get away from the customary lives we all choose by going into the church-that he fell in love with the girl.

Dr. N: And how do you, Norcross and Dubri, feel about Trinian now?

S: (severely) We think he is trying to follow Vilo (as an advancing soul), but he failed. His pious intentions just didn’t work for him.

Dr. N: Allum, you sound rather cynical about Trinian’s attempts to improve himself and make changes. Tell me honestly, how do you feel about Trinian?

S: Oh, we are just teasing him … after all…

Dr. N: Your amusement sounds as if you are scornful over what may have been Trinian’s good intentions.

S: (sadly) You’re right … and we all know that … but, you see … Norcross, Dubri, and I… well, we don’t want to lose him from the group, too…

Dr. N: What does Vilo say about Trinian?

S: He defends Trinian’s original good intentions and tells him that he fell into a trap of self-gratification during this life in the church. Trinian wants too much admiration and attention.

Dr. N: Forgive me for passing judgment on your group, Allum, but it seems to me this is something you all want, except perhaps Vilo?

S: Hey, Vilo can be pretty smug. Let me tell you, his problem is conceit and Dubri tells him that in no uncertain terms.

Dr. N: And does Vilo deny it?

S: No, he doesn’t … he says at least he is working on it.

Dr. N: Who among you is the most sensitive to criticism?

S: (pause) Oh, I guess it would be Norcross, but it’s hard for all of us to accept our faults.

Dr. N: Level with me, Allum. Does it bother the members of your soul group when things can’t be hidden from the others-when all your shortcomings in a past life are revealed?

S: (pause) We are sensitive about it-but not morbid. There is great understanding here among us. I wanted to give artistic pleasure to people and grow through the meaning of art. So, what did I do? I ran around the Amsterdam canals a lot at night and got caught up in the fun and games. My original purpose was pushed aside.

Dr. N: If you admit all this to the group, what kind of feedback do you get? For example, how do you and Norcross regard each other?

S: Norcross often points out I hate to take responsibility for myself and others. With Norcross it’s wealth … he loves power … but we are both selfish … except that I am more vain. Neither of us gets many gold stars.

Dr. N: How does Dubri fit into your group with his faults?

S: He enjoys controlling others by leadership. He is a natural leader, more than the rest of us. He was a sea captain-a pirate-one tough individual. You wouldn’t want to cross him.

Dr. N: Was he cruel?

S: No, just hard. He was respected as a captain. Dubri was merciless against his opponents in sea battles, but he took care of his own men.

Dr. N: You have told me that Vilo assisted people who were in need on the road, but you haven’t said much about the positive side of your lives. Is anyone in your group given any gold stars for unselfish acts?

S: (intently) There is something else about Dubri …

Dr. N: What is that?

S: He did one outstanding thing. Once, during heavy seas, a sailor fell off the mast into the ocean and was drowning. Dubri tied a line around his waist and dove off the deck. He risked his life and saved a shipmate.

Dr. N: When this incident is discussed in your group, how do you all respond to Dubri?

S: We praise him for what he did with admiration in our minds. We came to the same conclusion that none of us could match this single act of courage in our last lives.

Dr. N: I see. Yet, Vilo’s life at the inn, feeding and housing people who could not pay him, may represent acts of unselfishness for a longer term and therefore is more praiseworthy?

S: Granted, and we give him that. (laughs) He gets more gold stars than Dubri.

Dr. N: Do you get any strokes from the group for your last life?

S: (pause) I had to scramble for patrons to survive as a painter, but I was good to people … it wasn’t much … I enjoyed giving pleasure. My group recognizes I had a good heart.

Every one of my clients has special attachments to their soul group, regardless of character makeup. People tend to think of souls in the free state as being without human deficiencies. Actually, I think there are many similarities between groups of souls close to each other and human family systems.

For instance, I see Norcross as the rebellious scapegoat for this group of souls, while he and Allum are the inventory takers for everyone’s shortcomings. Allum said Norcross is usually the first to openly scrutinize any rationalizations or self-serving justifications of past life failures offered by the other members. He appears to have the least self-doubt and emotional investment over standards of conduct. This may define his own insecurity, because Norcross is probably fighting the hardest to keep up with the advancing group.

I suspect Allum himself could be the group’s mascot (often the youngest child in human families), with all his clowning around, preening, and making light of serious issues. Some souls in spiritual groups do seem to me to be more fragile and protected than other group members. Vilo’s conduct demonstrates he is the current hero (or eldest family member), with his drive for excellence. I have the impression from Allum that Vilo is the least defiant of the group, partly because he has the best record of achievement in recent past lives. Just as in human family systems, the roles of spiritual group members can be switched around, but I was told Vilo’s kinetic energy is turning pink, signaling his growth into Level II.

I attach human labels on ethereal spirits because, after all, souls who come to Earth do show themselves through human characteristics.

However, I don’t see hatred, suspicion, and disrespect in soul groups.

In a climate of compassion, there are no power struggles for control among these peer groups whose members are unable to manipulate each other or keep secrets. Souls distrust themselves, not each other. I do see fortitude, desire, and the will to keep trying in their new physical lives. In an effort to confirm some of my observations about the social dynamics among spiritual group members in this case, I ask Allum a few more questions.

Dr. N: Allum, do you believe your criticism of each other is always constructive?

S: Sure, there is no real hostility. We have fun at each other’s expense-I admit that- but it’s just a form of … acknowledgement of who we really are, and where we should be going.

Dr. N: Is any member of your soul group ever made to feel shame or guilt about a past life?

S: Those are … human weapons… and too narrow for what we feel.

Dr. N: Well, let me approach your feelings as a soul in another way. Do you feel safer getting feedback from one of your group members more than another?

S: No, I don’t. We all respect each other immensely. The greatest criticism comes from within ourselves.

Dr. N: Do you have any regrets for your conduct in any past life?

S: (long pause) Yes … I feel sorry if I have hurt someone … and then have everyone here know all about my mistakes. But we learn.

Dr. N: And what do you do about this knowledge?

S: Talk among ourselves… and try to make amends the next time.

Dr. N: From what you told me earlier, I had the idea that you, Nor-cross, and Dubri might be releasing some pent-up feelings over your own shortcomings by dumping on each other.

S: (thoughtfully) We make cynical remarks, but it’s not like being human anymore. Without our bodies we take criticism a little differently. We see each other for who we are without resentment or jealousy.

Dr. N: I don’t want to put words in your mouth, but I just wondered if all this flamboyance exhibited by your group might indicate underlying feelings of unworthiness?

S: Oh, that’s something else again. Yes, we do get discouraged as souls, and feel unworthy about our abilities … to meet the confidence placed in us to improve.

Dr. N: So, while you have self-doubts about yourselves, it’s okay to make cynical remarks about each other’s motivations?

S: Of course, but we want to be recognized by one another for being sincere in working on our individual programs. Sometimes self-pride gets in the way and we use each other to move past this.

In the next passage of dialogue, I introduce another spiritual phenomenon relating to group healing. I have heard a number of variations about this activity which are supported by the interpretations of Case 21.

Dr. N: Now Allum, as long as we are discussing how your group members relate to each other, I want you to describe the spiritual energy by which you all are assisted in this process.

S: (hesitant) I’m not sure I can tell you …

Dr. N: Think carefully. Isn’t there another means by which your group is brought into harmony with each other with intelligent energy?

S: (long pause) Ah … you mean from the cones?

Dr. N: (the word “cone” is new to me, but I know I’m on the right track) Yes, the cones. Explain what you know about them relative to your group.

S: (slowly) Well, the cones do assist us.

Dr. N: Please continue, and tell me what the cone does. I think I have heard about this before, but I want your version.

S: It’s shaped to go around us, you know.

Dr. N: Shaped in what way? Try to be more explicit.

S: It is cylindrical-very bright-it is above and all around us. The cone is small at the top and wide at the bottom, so it fits over all of us-like getting under a great white cap-we can float under the cone in order to use it.

Dr. N: Are you sure this isn’t the shower of healing you experienced right after your return to the spirit world?

S: Oh no, that was more individual purification-to repair Earth damage. I thought you knew …

Dr. N: I do. I want you to explain how the cone is different from the shower of healing.

S: The top funnels energy down as a waterfall in a spreading circle around all of us and allows us to really concentrate on our mental sameness as a group.

Dr. N: And what do you feel when you are under the cone?

S: We can feel all our thoughts being expanded … then drawn up … and returned back … with more knowledge added.

Dr. N: Does this intelligent energy help your unity as a group in terms of more focused thinking?

S: Yes, it does.

Dr. N: (deliberately confrontational) To be frank with you, Allum, I wonder if this cone is brainwashing your original thoughts? After all, the arguments and disagreements between you and the others of your group are what make you individuals.

S: (laughs) We aren’t brainwashed! Don’t you know anything about the afterlife? It gives us more collective insight to work together.

Dr. N: Is the cone always available?

S: It is there when we need it.

Dr. N: Who operates the cone?

S: Those who watch over us.

Dr. N: Your guide?

S:(bursts out laughing) Shato? I think he is too busy traveling around on his circuit.

Dr. N: What do you mean?

S: We think of him as a circus master-a stage manager-of our group.

Dr. N: Does Shato take an active part in your group deliberations?

S: (shakes head) Not really-guides are above a lot of this stuff. We are left on our own quite a bit, and that’s fine.

Dr. N: Do you think there is one specific reason for the absences of Shato?

S: (pause) Oh, he probably gets bored with our lack of progress. He loves to show off as the master of ceremonies though.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: (chuckling) Oh, to suddenly appear in front of us during one of our heated debates-throwing off blue sparks-looking like a wizard who is an all-powerful moderator!

Dr. N: A wizard?

S: (still laughing) Shato appears in long, sapphire-blue robes with a tall, pointed hat. With his flowing white beard he looks simply great, and we do admire him.

Dr. N: I get the picture of a spiritual Merlin.

S: An Oriental Merlin, if you will. Very inscrutable sometimes. He loves making a grand entrance in full costume, especially when we are about to choose another life. He knows how much we appreciate his act.

Dr. N: With all this stage management, I am curious if Shato has much emotional connection to your group as a serious guide.

S: (scoffing at me) Listen, he knows we are a wild bunch, and he plays to that as a non-conformist himself-but he is also very wise.

Dr.  N:  Is  Shato  indulgent  with  your  group?  He  doesn’t  seem  to  limit  your extravagance very much.

S: Shato gets results from us because he is not heavy-handed or preachy. That wouldn’t sit well with our people. We respect him.

Dr. N: Do you see Shato as a consultant who comes only once in a while to observe, or as an active supervisor?

S: He will pop in unannounced to set up a problem for our discussions. Then he leaves, coming back later to listen to how we might solve certain things …

Dr. N: Give me an example of a major problem with your group.

S: (pause) Shato knows we identify too much as actors playing parts on Earth. He hits … on superficiality. He is trying to get us to cast ourselves from the inside out, rather than the reverse.

Dr. N: So Shato’s instruction is serious, but he knows you all like to have fun along the way?

S: Yeah, that’s why Shato is with us, I think. He knows we waste opportunities. He assists us in interpreting the predicaments we get into in order to get the best out of us.

Dr. N: From what you have told me, I have the impression that your spiritual group is run as a kind of workshop directed by your guide.

S: Yes, he builds up our morale and keeps us going.

Unlike educational classrooms or therapy groups on Earth, I have learned teacher- counselors in the spirit world are not confined as group activity leaders on a continuous basis. Although Shato and his students are a colorful family of souls, there is much here that is typical of all cluster groups. A guide’s leadership is more parental than dictatorial. In this case, Shato is a directive counselor while not being possessive, nor does he pose a threat to the group. There is warm acceptance of these young souls by this empathic guide, who seems to cater to their masculine inclinations. I will close this case with a few final questions about the group as a spiritual unit.

Dr. N: Why is your group so male-oriented on Earth?

S: Earth is an action planet which rewards physical exertion. We are inclined to male roles so we can grab hold and mold events … to dominate our surroundings … to be recognized.

Dr. N: Women are also influential in society. How can your group hope to progress without more experience in female roles?

S: We know this, but we have such a fierce desire to be independent. In fact, we often expend too much energy for too little return, but the female aspects don’t interest us as much right now.

Dr. N: If you have no female counterparts in your immediate group, where do you go for those entities to complement your lives on Earth?

S: Nearby there are some who relate better to female roles. I get along with Josey- she has been with me in some of my lives-Trinian is attached to Nyala-and there are others

Dr. N: Allum, I would like to end our conversation about your spiritual associations by asking you what you know about the origin of your group.

S: (long pause) I … can’t tell you … we just came together at one time.

Dr. N: Well, someone had to bring those of you with the same attributes together. Do you think it was God?

S: (puzzled) No, below the source … the higher ones …

Dr. N: Shato, or other guides like him?

S: No, higher, I think… the planners… I don’t know any more.

Dr. N: A while back you told me some of your old friends were reducing their active participation in your group due to their development. Do you ever get new members?

S: Never.

Dr. N: Is this because a new member might have trouble assimilating with the rest of you?

S: (laughs) We aren’t that bad! It’s just we are too closely connected by thought for an outsider, and they would not have shared our past experiences.

Dr. N: During your discussions about these past lives together, does your group believe it contributes to the betterment of human society?

S:  (pause)  We  want  our  presence  in  a  community  to  challenge  conventions-to question basic assumptions. I think we bring nerve into our physical lives-and laughter, too …

Dr. N: And when your spiritual group has finished discussing what is necessary to further your aims, do you look forward to a new life?

S: (zestfully) Oh yeah! Every time I leave for a new role on Earth, I say goodbye with, “See you all back here A.D. (after death):’

This case is an example of like-minded souls with ego-inflating needs who support and validate each other’s feelings and attitudes. Herein lies the key to understanding the formation of soul groups. I have learned that many spiritual clusters have sub- groups made up of entities whose identities are linked by similar issues blocking their advancement. Even so, these souls do have differences in strengths and weaknesses. Each group member contributes their best attributes toward advancing the goals of others in the family.

I do not want to leave the impression from Case 21 that the few remaining souls in this inner circle of close friends represent the behavior traits of everyone in the original cluster. When a primary group of, say fifteen or twenty souls is formed, there are marked similarities in talent and interests.

But a support group is also designed to have differences in disposition, feelings, and reactions.

Typically, my subjects report a male-female oriented mixture of one or more of the following character types in their groups:

1) Courageous, resilient, a tenacious survivor.

2) Gentle, quiet, devoted, and rather innocent.

3) Fun-loving, humorous, a jokester and risk-taker.

4) Serious, dependable, cautious.

5) Flamboyant, enthusiastic, frank.

6) Patient, steady, perceptive.

7) Thoughtful, calculating, determined.

8) Innovative, resourceful, adaptable.

These differences give a group balance. However, if an entire group displays a strong tendency toward flamboyance or daring, the most cautious member would appear less so to another group of souls.

There is no question that the souls in Case 21 are in for a long development period.

Yet they do contribute to the vitality of earth. Subsequent questioning of this subject revealed the paths of these souls continue to cross in the twentieth century. For instance, Allum is a graphic designer and part-time professional guitar player involved with Josey, who is a singer. The fact that the closely-knit souls in this case were so male-oriented in their physical lives does hot take away from their ability to associate with young souls with predominantly female preferences. Cluster groups are gender-mixed. As I have mentioned, truly advanced souls have balanced gender preferences in their physical life choices.

The desire for expression of self-identity is an important motivating factor for souls choosing to come to Earth to learn practical lessons. Sometimes a reason for discomfort with the lower level soul is the discrepancy in perception of Self in their free soul state, compared to how they act in human bodies. Souls can get confused with who they are in life. Case 21 did not seem to exhibit any conflict in this area, but I question the rate of growth achieved by Allum in recent past lives. However, the basic experience of living a life may compensate, to some extent, for the lack of insight gained from that life.

Our shortcomings and moral conflicts are recognized as faults far more in the spirit world than on Earth. We have seen how the nuances of decision-making are dissected and analyzed in spiritual groups. Cluster members have worked together for such a long time in earth years that entities become accountable to each other and the group as a whole. This fosters a great sense of belonging in all spiritual groups, and can give the appearance of thought barriers between clusters, especially with souls in the lower levels. Nevertheless, while rejection and loneliness is part of every soul’s life in human form, in the spirit world our individual ego-identity is constantly enhanced by warm peer group socialization.

The social structure of soul groups is not the same as groups of people on Earth.

Although there is some evidence of paired friendships, I don’t hear about cliques, stars of attraction, or isolated souls within clusters. I am told souls do spend time alone in the silence of personal reflection when attached to a group. Souls are intimate entities in their family relationships on Earth and engagement in group community life in the spirit world. And yet, souls do learn much from solitude.

I understand from my white-light subjects that souls at the beginning levels are frequently separated from their groups to individually work on simple energy projects. One rather young soul recalled being alone in an enclosure trying to put together “a moving puzzle” of dissembled geometric shapes of cylinders, spheres, cubes, and squares with self-produced energy. It was described as being “multi- dimensional, colorful, and holographic” in nature. He said, “We have to learn to intensify our energy to bring the diffused and jumbled into focus to give it some kind of basic shape.” Another subject added, “These tests give the Watchers information about our imagination, creativity, and ingenuity, and they offer us encouragement rather than being judgmental.”

Souls on all levels engage in another all important activity when they are alone.They are expected to spend time mentally concentrating on helping those on Earth (or other physical worlds) whom they have known and cared about.

From what I can gather, they go to a space some call the place of projection.

Here they enter an “interdimensional field of floating, silvery-blue energy,” and project outward to a geographical area of their choosing. I am told this is a mental exercise in “holding and releasing positive vibrational energy to create a territory.”

This means souls ride on their thought waves to specific people, buildings, or a given area of land in an attempt to comfort or effect change.

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The Geography of Heaven; Journey of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton (part 1b) with world-line (MWI) annotations.

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Comment 46
This post continues our study of the Journey of Souls. This is part 1b.

Orientation

AFTER those entities who meet us during our homecoming have dispersed, we are ready to be taken to a space of healing. This will be followed by another stop involving the soul’s reorientation to a spiritual environment. In this place we are often examined by our guide.

I tend to call the cosmology of all spiritual locations as places, or spaces, simply for convenient identification because we are dealing with a non-physical universe. The similarity of descriptions among clients of what they do as souls at the next two combined stops is remarkable, although they do have different names for them. I hear such terms as: chambers, travel berths, and interspace stop over zones, but the most common is “the place of healing.”

I think of the healing station as a field hospital, or MASH unit, for damaged souls coming off Earth’s battlefields. I have selected a rather advanced male subject who has been through this revitalization process many times to describe the nature of this next stop.

Case 11 – The Revitalization process.

Dr. N: After you leave the friends who greeted you following your death, where does your soul go next in the spirit world?

S: I am alone for a while … moving through vast distances …

Dr. N: Then what happens to you?

S: I am being guided by a force I can’t see, into a more enclosed space-an opening into a place of pure energy.

Dr. N: What is this area like?

S: For me … it is the vessel of healing.

Dr. N: Give me as much detail as possible about what you experience here.

S: I’m propelled in and I see a bright warm beam. It reaches out to me as a stream of liquid energy. There is a … vapor-like … steam swirling around me at first … then gently touching my soul as if it were alive. Then it is absorbed into me as fire and I am bathed and cleansed from my hurts.

Dr. N: Is someone bathing you, or is this light beam enveloping you from out of nowhere?

S: I am alone, but it is directed. My essence is being bathed … restoring me after my exposure to Earth.

Dr. N: I have heard this place is similar to taking a refreshing shower after a hard day’s work.

S: (laughs) After a lifetime of work. It’s better and you don’t get wet, either.

Dr. N: You also don’t have a physical body anymore, so how can this energy shower heal a soul?

S: By reaching into … my being. I’m so tired from my last life and with the body I had.

Dr. N: Are you saying the ravages of the physical body and the human mind leaves an emotional mark on the soul after death?

S: God, yes’. My very expression-who I am as a being-was affected by the brain and body I occupied.

Dr. N: Even though you are now separated from that body forever?

S: Each body leaves … an imprint … on you, at least for a while. There are some bodies I have had that I can never get away from altogether. Even though you are free of them you keep some of the outstanding memories of your bodies in certain lives.

Comment 47
This is similar to the movie “The butterfly effect”, where the hero retains his mannerisms from prior existences when he is on a new world-line. It is something that I am well familiar with. .

Dr. N: Okay, now I want you to finish with your shower of healing and tell me what you feel.

S: I am suspended in the light … it permeates through my soul … washing out most of the negative viruses. It allows me to let go of the bonds of my last life … bringing about my transformation so I can become whole again.

Dr. N: Does the shower have the same effect upon everyone?

S: (pause) When I was younger and less experienced, I came here more damaged- the energy here seemed less effective because I didn’t know how to use it to completely purge the negativity. I carried old wounds with me longer despite the healing energy.

Dr. N: I think I understand. So, what do you do now?

S: When I am restored, I leave here and go to a quiet place to talk to my guide.

This place I have come to call the shower of healing is only a prelude for the rehabilitation of returning souls. The orientation stage which immediately follows (especially with younger souls), involves a substantial counseling session with one’s guide. The newly refreshed soul arrives at this station to undergo a debriefing of the life just ended. Orientation is also designed as an intake interview to provide further emotional release and readjustment back into the spirit world.

People  in  hypnosis  who  discuss  the  type  of  counseling  which  goes  on during orientation say their guides are gentle but probing. Imagine your favorite elementary school teacher and you have the idea. Think of a firm but concerned entity who knows all about your learning habits, your strong and weak points, and your fears, who is always ready to work with you as long as you continue to try.

In the movie "Defending your life", the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime. Here, his "attorney" / advocate wishes him a firm goodbye as he leaves for his next reincarnation.
In the movie “Defending your life”, the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime. Here, his “attorney” / advocate wishes him a firm goodbye as he leaves for his next reincarnation.

When you don’t, everything remains stationary in your development. Nothing can be hidden by students from their Spiritual teachers. No subterfuge or deception exists in a telepathic world.

There are a multitude of differences in orientation scenes depending upon the souls’ individual makeup and their state of mind after the life just ended. Souls report their orientation often takes place in a room. The furnishings of these settings and the intensity of this first conference can vary after each life.

The case below gives a brief example of an orientation scene which attests to the desire of higher forces to bring comfort to the returning soul.

Case 12 – Comfort to a returning soul.

S: At the center of this place I found my bedroom where I was so happy as a child. I see my rose-covered wallpaper and four-poster bed with the squeaky springs under a thick, pink quilt made for me by my grandmother. My grandmother and I used to have heart-to-heart chats whenever I was troubled and she is here, too-just sitting on the edge of my bed with my favorite stuffed animals around her-waiting for me. Her wrinkled face is full of love, as always. After a while I see she is actually my guide Amephus.

I talk to Amephus about the sad and happy times of the life I have finished. I know I made mistakes, but she is so kind to me. We laugh and cry together while I reminisce. Then we discuss all the things I didn’t do that I might have done with my life. But in the end it’s okay. She knows I must rest in this beautiful world. I’m going to relax. I don’t care if I ever go back to Earth again because my real home is here.

Apparently, the more advanced souls do not require any orientation at this stage. This does not mean the ten percent of my clients in this category just sail right by their guides with a wave upon their return from Earth.

Everybody is held accountable for their past lives.

Performance is judged upon how each individual interpreted and acted upon their life roles. Intake interviews for the advanced souls are conducted with master teachers later. The less experienced entities are usually given special attention by counselors because the abrupt transition from the physical to a spiritual form is more difficult for them.

The next case I have selected has a more in-depth therapeutic spiritual orientation.

The exploration of attitudes and feelings with a view to reorienting future behavior is typical of guides. The client in Case 13 is a strong, imposing thirty-two-year-old woman of above-average height and weight. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a loose- fitting sweat shirt, Hester arrived at my office one day in a state of agitation.

Her presenting problems fell into three parts. She was dissatisfied with her life as a successful real estate broker as being too materialistic and unfulfilling. Hester also felt she lacked feminine sexuality. She mentioned having a closet full of beautiful clothes which were “hateful to wear.” This client then told me how she had easily manipulated men all her life because, “There is a male aggression about me which also makes me feel incomplete as a woman.” As a young girl, she avoided dolls and wearing dresses because she was more interested in competitive sports with boys. Her masculine feelings had not changed with age, although she had found a man who became her husband because he accepted her dominance in their relationship. Hester said she enjoyed sex with him as long as she was in physical control and that he found this exciting. In addition, my client complained of headaches on the right side of her head above the ear which, after extensive medical examinations, doctors had attributed to stress.

During our session, I learned this subject had experienced a recent series of male lives, culminating with a short life as a prosecuting attorney called Ross Feldon in the state of Oklahoma during the 1880s. As Ross, my client had committed suicide at age thirty-three in a hotel room by shooting himself in the head. Ross was in despair over the direction his life had taken as a courtroom prosecutor.

Oklahoma during the 1880s.
Oklahoma during the 1880s.

As the dialogue progresses, the reader will notice displays of intense emotion. Regression therapists call this “heightened response” being in a state of revivification (meaning to give new life) as opposed to the alternative trance state where subjects are observer-participants.

Case 13 – A stern talking to.

Dr. N: Now that you have left the shower of healing, where are you going?

S: (apprehensively) To see my advisor.

Dr. N: And who is that?

S: (pause) … Dees … no … his name is Clodees.

Dr. N: Did you talk to Clodees when you entered the spirit world?

S: I wasn’t ready yet. I just wanted to see my parents.

Dr. N: Why are you going to see Clodees now?

S: I … am going to have to make some kind of … accounting … of myself. We go through this after all my lives, but this time I’m really in the soup.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Because I killed myself.

Dr. N: When a person kills himself on Earth does this mean they will receive some sort of punishment as a spirit?

S: No, no, there is no such thing here as punishment-that’s an Earth condition. Clodees will be disappointed that I bailed out early and didn’t have the courage to face my difficulties. By choosing to die as I did means I have to come back later and deal with the same thing all over again in a different life. I just wasted a lot of time by checking out early.

Dr. N: So, no one will condemn you for committing suicide?

S: (reflects for a moment) Well, my friends won’t give me any pats on the back either-I feel sadness at what I did.

Note: This is the usual spiritual attitude toward suicide, but I want to add that those who escape from chronic physical pain or almost total incapacity on Earth by killing themselves feel no remorse as souls. Their guides and friends also have a more accepting view toward this motivation for suicide.

Dr. N: All right, let’s proceed into your conference with Clodees. First describe your surroundings as you enter this space to see your advisor.

S: I go into a room-with walls … (laughs) Oh, it’s the Buckhorn!

Dr. N: What’s that?

Typical saloon in Oklahoma in the 1880's.
Typical saloon in Oklahoma in the 1880’s.

S: A great cattleman’s bar in Oklahoma. I was happy as a patron there-friendly atmosphere-beautiful wood paneling-the stuffed leather chairs. (pause) I see Clodees is sitting at one of the tables waiting for me. Now we are going to talk.

Dr. N: How do you account for an Oklahoma bar in the spirit world?

S: It’s one of the nice things they do for you to ease your mind, but that’s where it ends. (then with a deep sigh) This talk is not going to be like a party at the bar.

Dr. N: You sound a little depressed at the prospect of an intimate conversation with your guide about your last life?

S: (defensively) Because I blew it! I have to see him to explain why things didn’t work out. Life is so hard! I try to do it right… but …

Dr. N: Do what right?

S: (with anguish) I had an agreement with Clodees to work on setting goals and then following through. He had expectations for me as Ross. Damn! Now I have to face him with this.

Dr. N: You don’t feel you met the contract you had with your advisor about lessons to be learned as Ross?

S: (impatiently) No, I was terrible. And, of course, I’ll have to do it all over again. We never seem to get it perfect. (pause) You know, if it weren’t for Earth’s beauty- the birds-flowers-trees-I would never go back. It’s too much trouble.

Dr. N: I can see you are upset, but don’t you think …

S: (breaks in with agitation) You can’t get away with a thing either. Everybody here knows you so well. There is nothing I can keep from Clodees.

In the movie "Defending your life", the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime.
In the movie “Defending your life”, the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime.

Dr. N: I want you to take a deep breath and go further into the Buckhorn Bar and tell me what you do.

S: (subject gulps and squares her shoulders) I float in and sit down across from Clodees at a round table near the front of the bar.

Dr. N: Now that you are near Clodees, do you think he is as upset as you are over this past life?

S: No, I’m more upset with myself over what I did and didn’t do and he knows that. Advisors can be displeased but they don’t humiliate us, they are too superior for that.

The counseling input of a directive guide gives the healing process of our soul a boost during orientation, but that does not mean the defensive barriers to progress are completely removed. The painful emotional memories from our past do not die as easily as our bodies. Hester must see her negative past life script as Ross clearly, without distorted perceptions.

Recreating spiritual orientation scenes during hypnosis assists me as a therapist. I have found the techniques of psychodramatic role playing to be useful in exposing feelings and old beliefs related to current behavior. Case 13 had quite a long orientation which I have condensed. At this juncture of the case I shifted my questioning to involve the subject’s guide.

As the proceedings unfold with Ross Feldon’s life, I will take the roll of a third party intermediary between Ross and Clodees. Within this counseling mode I also want to initiate a role transference where Hester-Ross will speak the thoughts of Clodees. The integration of a subject with their guide is a means of eliciting assistance from these higher entities and bringing problems into sharper focus. I sometimes sense even my own guide is directing me in these sessions.

I  am  cautious  about  summoning  up  guides  without  good  cause.  Facilitating communication directly with a client’s guide always has an uncertain outcome. If my intrusion is clumsy or unnecessary, guides will block a subject’s response by silence or use metaphoric language which is obscure.

I have had guides speak through a subject’s vocal chords in raspy tones which are so discordant I can hardly understand the responses to questions. When subjects talk for their guides, rather than guides speaking for themselves through the subject, usually the cadence of speech is not as broken. In this case, Clodees comes through Hester-Ross easily and allows me some latitude in working with his client.

Comment 48
I know nothing about this, aside from it being a hypnotic technique. I have never had the opportunity to experience this..

Dr. N: Ross, we both need to understand what is happening psychologically to you right from the start of your orientation with Clodees. I want you to assist me. Are you willing to do this?

S: Yes, I am.

Dr. N: Good, and now you are going to be able to do something unusual. On the count of three, you will have the ability to assume the dual roles of Clodees and yourself. This ability will enable you to speak to me about your thoughts and those of your guide as well. It will seem that you will actually become your guide when I question you. Are you ready?

S: (with hesitation) I … think so.

Dr. N: (rapidly) One-two-three! ( I place my palm on the subject’s forehead to stimulate the transference.) Now be Clodees speaking his thoughts through you. You are sitting at a table across from the soul of Ross Feldon. What do you say to him? Quickly! I want the subject to react without thinking critically about the difficulty of my command)

S: Subject reacts slowly, speaking as his own guide) You know… you could have done better.

Dr. N: Quickly now-be Ross Feldon again. Move to the other side of the table and answer Clodees.

S: I… tried … but I fell short of the goal

Dr. N: Switch places again. Become the voice of Clodees’ thoughts and answer Ross. Quickly!

S: If you could change anything about your life, what would it be?

Dr. N: Respond as Ross.

S: Not to be … corrupted … by power and money.

Comment 49
Power and money are corruptible influences. Not only do they tend to cause people to start behaving badly, but the resultant bad behaviors cause all sorts of other problems that retard the growth of the soul in both the physical and the non-physical realms.

Dr. N: Answer as Clodees.

S: Why did you let these things detract from your original commitment?

Dr. N: (I lower my voice) You are doing fine. Keep switching chairs back and forth at the table. Now answer your guide’s question.

S: I wanted to belong… to feel important in the community… to rise above others and be admired … for my strength.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Especially by women. I observed you tried to dominate them sexually as well, making conquests without attachments.

Dr. N: Speak as Ross.

S: Yes … that’s true … (shakes head from side to side) I don’t have to explain-you know everything anyway.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Oh, but you do. You must bring your self-awareness to bear on these matters.

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (defiantly) If I hadn’t exerted power over these people they would have controlled me.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: This lacks merit and was unworthy of you. What you became is not how you started. We chose your parents carefully.

Note: The Feldon family were farmers of modest means who displayed honesty, forbearance, and sacrificed much so Ross could study law.

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (in a rush) Yes-I know-they brought me up to be idealistic-to help the little guy, and I wanted this, too, but it didn’t work for me. You saw what happened. I was in debt when I began as a lawyer…ineffective … of no consequence. I didn’t want to be poor anymore, defending people who couldn’t pay me. I hated the farm-the pigs and the cows. I liked being around substantial people and when I joined the establishment as a prosecutor, I had the idea of reforming the system and helping farm people. It was the system that was wrong.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Ah, you were corrupted by the system-explain this to me.

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (hotly) People had to pay fines they couldn’t afford-others I sent to jail because of offenses they didn’t mean to commit – others I had hung! (voice breaks) I became a legal killer.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S:  Why  did  you  feel  responsible  for  prosecuting  criminals  who  were  guilty  of hurting others?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: Few of those … most were … just ordinary people like my parents who got caught up in the system … needing money to survive … and there were those who were … sick in the head

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: What about the victims of the people you prosecuted? Didn’t you choose a life of law to help society and to make the farms and the towns safer with justice?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (loudly) Don’t you see, it didn’t work for me-I was turned into a murderer by a primitive society!

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: And so you murdered yourself?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: I got off track… I couldn’t go back to being a nobody… and I couldn’t go forward.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Too easily you became a participant with those whose motivations were  for personal gain and notoriety. This was not you. Why did you hide from yourself?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (with anger) Why didn’t you help me more-when I started as a public defender?

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: What benefit do you get from thinking I should pick you up at every turn?

Dr. N: (I ask Hester to respond as Ross, but when she remains silent after the last question, I step in) Ross, if I may interrupt-I believe Clodees is inquiring into the payoff for you from both the pain you feel now and strokes you get from blaming him over your last life.

S: (pause) Wanting sympathy … I guess.

Dr. N: Okay, respond as Clodees to this thought.

S: (very slowly) What more would you have me do? You didn’t reach far enough inside yourself. I placed thoughts in your mind of temperance, moderation, responsibility, original goals, your parents’ love-you ignored these thoughts and were stubborn to alternative action.

S: (Ross responds without my command) I know I missed the signs you set up … I wasted opportunities … I was afraid …

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees to your statement.

S: What do you value most about who you are?

Dr. N: Answer your guide.

S: That I had the desire to change things on Earth. I started with wanting to make a difference for the people of Earth.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: You left that assignment early and now I see you missing opportunities again- being afraid to take risks-taking paths which damage you-trying to become someone who is not you and there is sadness again.

Recreating the orientation stage does produce abrupt transitions during my hypnosis sessions. While Case 13 is speaking as Clodees, notice how her responses take on a more lucid and decisive quality which is different from either my client Hester, or her former self as Ross. I am not always successful with my subjects translating their guides’ comments so insightful[y in former spiritual orientations. Nevertheless, past life memories often spill over into contemporary problems in whatever spiritual setting is selected.

Comment 50
Everything is connected. Whether it is a past life, a world-line slide, or something that you did a month ago… each things will reflect what you are now. As thoughts and actions create our reality. Therefore it is very important that we be mindful and positive in providing help, assistance and positive and proactive efforts in everything that we do. Sure there will be mistakes, but we need to try. Our life, our world, our relationships and our futures depend upon it.

Whether my subject or her guide actually directed the conversation in the Buckhorn Bar scene while I moved the time frame around does not matter to me. After all, Ross Feldon as a person is dead.

But Hester is caught in the same quagmire, and I want to do what I can to break this destructive pattern of behavior. I spend a few minutes reviewing with this subject what her guide has indicated about lack of self- concept, alienation, and lost values. After asking Clodees for his continued assistance, I close the orientation scene and immediately take Hester to a later spiritual stage just before her rebirth today.

Dr. N: With all the knowledge of who you were as Ross, and having a greater understanding of your real spiritual identity after your stay in the spirit world, why did you choose your current body?

S: I chose to be a woman so people would not feel intimidated by me.

Dr. N: Really? Then why did you take the body of such a strong, forceful woman in the twentieth century?

S: They won’t see a prosecuting attorney dressed in black in a courtroom-this time I am a surprise package!

Dr. N: A surprise package? What does that mean?

S: As a woman, I knew I would be less intimidating to men. I can catch them off guard and scare them to death.

Dr. N: What kind of men?

S: The big guys-the power structure in society-catch then when they are lulled into a false sense of security because I’m a woman.

Dr. N: Catch them and do what?

S: (drives her right fist into the left palm) Nail them-to save the little guy from the sharks who want to eat up all the small fish in this world.

Dr. N: (I move my subject into the present while she remains in the superconscious state) Let me understand your reason for choosing to be a woman in this life. You wanted to help the same sort of people who you were unable to help as a man in your previous life-is this correct?

S: (sadly) Yeah, but it’s not the best way. It’s not working out for me like I thought. I’m still too strong and macho. Energy is pouring out of me in the wrong direction.

Dr. N: What wrong direction?

S: (wistfully) I’m doing it again. Misusing people. I chose the body of a woman who is intimidating to men and I don’t feel like a woman.

Dr. N: Give me an example?

S: Sexually and in business. I’m in the power game again … pushing aside principles … getting off track as before (as Ross). This time I manipulate real estate deals. I’m too interested in acquiring money. I want status.

Dr. N: And how does this hurt you, Hester?

S: The influence of money and position is a drug to me as it was in my last life. My being a woman now has done nothing to change my desire to control people. So … stupid …

Comment 51
A change in gender will not change your being. It is just superficial. The only way that you can change is not cosmetically. You need to change internally..

Dr. N: Then do you think your motivations were wrong in choosing to be a female?

S: Yes, I do feel more natural living as a man. But I thought as a woman this time around I would be… more subtle. I wanted this chance to try again in a different sex and Clodees let me take it. (client slumps down in her chair) What a blunder.

In the movie "Defending your life", the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime.
In the movie “Defending your life”, the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime.

Dr. N: Don’t you think you are being a little hard on yourself, Hester? I have the sense you also chose to be a woman because you wanted a woman’s insight and intuition to give you a different perspective to tackle your lessons. You can have masculine energy, if you want to call it that, and still be feminine.

Before finishing this case, I should touch on the issue of homosexuality. Most of my subjects select the bodies of one gender over another 75 percent of the time. This pattern is true of all but the advanced souls, who maintain more of a balance in choosing to be men and women. A gender preference by a majority of earthbound souls does not mean they are unhappy the other 25 percent of the time as males or females.

Hester is not necessarily gay or hi-sexual because of her body choice. Homosexuals may or may not be comfortable with their anatomy as humans. When I do have a client who is gay, they often ask if their homosexuality is the result of choosing to be “‘the wrong sex” in this life. When their sessions are over this inquiry is usually answered.

Regardless of the  circumstances which  lead  souls  to  make  gender choices,  this decision was made before arriving on Earth. Sometimes I find that gay people have chosen in advance of their current lives to experiment with a sex that was seldom used in former lives.

Being gay carries a sexual stigma in our society which presents a more difficult road in life. When this road is chosen by one of my clients, it can usually be traced to a karmic need to accelerate personal understanding of the complex differences in gender identity as related to certain events in their past. Case 13 chose to be a woman in this life to try and get over the stumbling blocks experienced as Ross Feldon.

Would Hester have benefited from knowing about her past as Ross from birth rather than having to wait over thirty years and undergo hypnosis?

Having no conscious memory of our former existences is called amnesia.

This human condition is perplexing to people attracted to reincarnation. Why should we have to grope around in life trying to figure out who we are and what we are supposed to do and wondering if some spiritual divinity really cares about us? I closed my session with this woman by asking about her amnesia.

Dr. N: Why do you think you had no conscious memory about your life as Ross Feldon?

S: When we choose a body and make a plan before coming back to Earth, there is an agreement with our advisors.

Dr. N: An agreement about what?

S: We agree … not to remember … other lives.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Learning from a blank slate is better than knowing in advance what  could happen to you because of what you did before.

Dr. N: But wouldn’t knowing about your past life mistakes be valuable in avoiding the same pitfalls in this life?

S: If people knew all about their past, many might pay too much attention to it rather than trying out new approaches to the same problem. The new life must be… taken seriously.

Comment 52
It’s actually simpler than that. How can you learn through your mistakes when you remember 10,000 past lives and 100,000 similar mistakes? This limitation on what we can remember is part of our soul makeup and it is directly intended to permit us to learn, and grow so that the soul can increase the number of quantum connections..

Dr. N: Are there any other reasons?

S: (pause) Without having old memories, our advisors say there is less preoccupation for … trying to … avenge the past … to get even for the wrongs done to you.

Comment 53
Of course.

Dr. N: Well, it seems to me that so far this has been part of the motivation and conduct in your life as Hester.

S: (forcefully) That’s why I came to you.

Dr. N: And do you still think a total blackout of our eternal spiritual life on Earth is essential to progress?

S: Normally, yes, but it’s not a total blackout. We get flashes from dreams… during times of crisis… people have an inner knowing of what direction to take when it is necessary. And sometimes your friends can fudge a little …

Dr. N: By friends, you mean entities from the spirit world?

S: Uh-huh… they give you hints, by flashing ideas-I’ve done it.

Dr. N: Nevertheless, you had to come to me to unlock your conscious amnesia.

S: (pause) We have … the capacity to know when it is necessary. I was ready for change when I heard about you. Clodees allowed me to see the past with you because it was to my benefit.

Dr. N: Otherwise, your amnesia would have remained intact?

S: Yes, that would have meant I wasn’t supposed to know certain things yet.

In my opinion, when clients are unable to go into hypnosis at any given time, or if they have only sketchy memories in trance, there is a reason this blockage. This does not mean these people have no past memories, that they are not ready to have them exposed.

My client knew something was hindering her growth and wanted it revealed. The superconscious identity of the soul houses our continuous memory, including goals. When the time in our lives is appropriate, we must harmonize human material needs with our soul’s purpose for being ‘. I try to take a common sense approach in bringing past and present experiences into alignment.

In the movie "Defending your life", the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime.
In the movie “Defending your life”, the recently deceased person is put on trial to defend his actions during his lifetime.

Our eternal identity never leaves us alone in the bodies we choose, despite our current status. In reflection, meditation, or prayer, the memories of who we really are do filter down to us in selective thought each day. In small, intuitive ways- through the cloud of amnesia-we are given clues the justification of our being.

After desensitizing the source of her headaches, I completed my session with Hester by reinforcing her choice to be a woman for reasons other than intimidating men. I gave her permission to lower her defenses a little and be less aggressive.

We discussed options for restructuring occupational goals toward the helping professions and the possibilities of volunteer service work. She was finally able to see her life today as a great opportunity for learning rather than a failure of gender choice.

After a case is completed, I never cease to admire the brutal honesty of souls. When a soul has lead a productive life beneficial to themselves and those around them, I notice they return to the spirit world with enthusiasm. However, when subjects like Case 13 report they wasted a past  life, especially from early suicide, then they describe going back rather dejected.

When orientation is upsetting to a subject, I find an underlying reason is the abruptness with which a soul is once again in full possession of all knowledge. After physical death, unencumbered by a human body, the soul has a sudden influx of perception. The stupid things we did in life hit us hard in orientation. I see more relaxation and greater clarity of thought move my subjects further into the spirit world.

Souls are created in a positive matrix of such love and wisdom that when a soul starts to come to a planet like Earth and join the physical beings who have evolved from a primitive state, the violence is a shock. Humans have the raw, negative emotions of anger and hate as an outgrowth of their fear and pain connected with survival going back to the Stone Age.

Both positive and negative emotions are mixed between soul and host for their mutual benefit. If a soul only knew love and peace, it would gain no insight and never truly appreciate the value of these positive feelings. The test of reincarnation for a soul coming to Earth is the conquering of fear in a human body. A soul grows by trying to overcome all negative emotions connected to fear through perseverance in many lifetimes, often returning to the spirit world bruised or hurt, as Case 13 indicated. Some of this negativity can be retained, even in the spirit world, and may reappear in another life with a new body. On the other hand, there is a trade-off. It’s in joy and unabashed pleasure that the true nature of an individual soul is revealed on earth in the face of a happy human being.

Orientation conferences with our guides allow us to begin the long process of self-evaluation between lives. Soon we will have another conference, this time with more master beings in attendance. In the last chapter, I referred to the ancient Egyptian tradition of newly deceased souls being taken into a Hall of Judgement to account for their past life. In one form or another, the concept of a torturous courtroom trial awaiting us right after death has been part of the religious belief system of many cultures.

Being judged at death is a common event in most religions.
Being judged at death is a common event in most religions.

Occasionally, a susceptible individual in a traumatic situation will say they had an out-of-body experience with nightmarish visions of being taken by frightening specters into an afterlife of darkness where they were sentenced in front of demonic judges.

In these cases, I suspect a strong preconditioned belief system of hell.

In the quiet, relaxing state of hypnosis, with continuity on all mental levels, my subjects report that the initial orientation session with their guides prepares them to go before a panel of superior beings.

However, the words courtroom and trial are not used to describe these proceedings.

A number of my cases have called these wise beings, directors and even judges, but most refer to them as a Council of Masters or Elders. This board of review is generally composed of between three and seven members and since souls appear before them after arriving at their home base, I will go into this conference in more detail at the end of the next chapter.

All soul evaluation conferences, be they with our guides, peers, or a panel of masters have one thing in common. The feedback and past life analyses we receive in terms of judgement is based upon the original intent of our choices as much as the actions of a lifetime.

Our motivations are questioned and criticized, but not condemned in such a way as to make us suffer.

As I explained in Chapter Four, this does not mean souls are exonerated for their acts which harmed others simply because they are sorry. Karmic payment will come in a future life. I have been told that our spiritual masters constantly remind us that because the human brain does not have an innate moral sense of ethics, conscience is the soul’s responsibility. Nevertheless, there is overwhelming forgiveness in the spirit world. This world is ageless and so too are our learning tasks. We will be given other chances in our struggle for growth.

When the initial conference with our guide is over, we leave the place of orientation and join a coordinated flow of activity involving the transit of enormous numbers of other souls into a kind of central receiving station.

Transition

ALL souls, regardless of experience, eventually arrive at a central port in the spirit world which I call the staging area.

I have said there are variations in the speed of soul movement right after death, depending upon spiritual maturity. Once past the orientation station there seems to be no further travel detours for anyone entering this space of the spirit world.

Apparently, large numbers of returning souls are conveyed in a spiritual form of mass transit.

Comment 54
My experience is that it is more or less platforms connected by tubes of light. But that is only my perceptions. In the movie “Defending your life” they picture this as a sort of New York City / urban transport system run by Angels. LOL.
In the Hollywood movie "Defending your life" people are escorted to a staging area upon arrival to Heaven.
In the Hollywood movie “Defending your life” people are escorted to a staging area upon arrival to Heaven.

Sometimes souls are escorted by their guides to this area. I find this practice is especially true for the younger souls. Others are directed through by an unseen force which pulls them into the staging area and then beyond to waiting entities. From what I am able to determine, accompaniment by other entities depends upon the volition of one’s guide. In most cases haste is not an issue, but souls do not dawdle along on this leg of their journey. The feelings we have along this path depend on our state of mind after each life.

The assembly and transfer of souls really involves two phases.

The staging area is not an encampment space. Spirits are brought in, collected, and then projected out to their proper final destinations. When I hear accounts of this particular junction, I visualize myself walking with large numbers of travelers through the central terminal of a metropolitan airport which has the capacity to fly all of us out in any direction. One of my clients described the staging area as resembling the hub of a great wagon wheel, where we are transported from a center along the spokes to our designated places.”

Comment 55
My experience is that it is more or less platforms connected by tubes of light. Which pretty much resemble that statement about a “wagon wheel”. Only the spokes are not on a plane, but radiate out in all directions.

My subjects say this region appears to them as having a large number of unacquainted spirits moving in and out of the hub in an efficient manner with no congestion. Another person called this area “the Los Angeles freeway without gridlock.” There may be other similar wheel hubs with freeway-type on and off ramps in the spirit world, but each client considers their own route to and from this center to be the only one.

Comment 56
There are multiple hubs. One just one singular busy hub. The hub is a function on who you are and your experience level. I guess you could say that there are “VIP” hubs, and hubs for “special” souls. This is what I am most familiar with.

In these special hubs, it really isn’t all that crowded It’s more like going to a bank on on off-hour during the weekday, or entering a mall when everyone else is at work. It’s mostly empty, but there are entities moving about here and there.

And no, I have no idea why I ended up attached to “VIP” or “special access” hubs.

The observations I hear about the nature of the spirit world when entering the staging area have definitely changed from those first impressions of layering and foggy stratification.

It is as if the soul is now traveling through the loosely-wound arms of a mighty galactic cloud into a more unified celestial field. While their spirits hover in the open arena of the staging area preparing for further transport out to prescribed spaces, I enjoy listening to the excitement in the voices of my subjects. They are dazzled by an eternal world spread out before them and believe that somewhere within lies the nucleus of creation.

When they look at the fully opened canopy around them, subjects will state that the spirit world appears to be of varied luminescence. I hear nothing about the inky blackness we associate with deep space.

The gatherings of souls that clients see in the foreground in this amphitheater appear as myriads of sharp star lights all going in different directions. Some move fast while others drift. The more distant energy concentrations have been pictured as “islands of misty veils.” I am told the most outstanding characteristic of the spirit world is a continuous feeling of a powerful mental force directing everything in uncanny harmony. People say this is a place of pure thought.

Thought takes many forms. It is at this vantage point in their return that souls begin to anticipate meeting others who wait for them. A few of these companions may have already been seen at the gateway, but most have not. Without exception, souls who wish to contact each other, especially when on the move, do so by just thinking of the entity they want. Suddenly, the individual called will appear in the soul mind of the traveler. These telepathic communications by the energy of all spiritual entities allow for a non-visual affinity, while two energy forms who actually come near one another provide a more direct connection. There is uniformity in the accounts of my subjects as to their manner of spiritual travel, routes, and destinations, although what they see along the way is distinctive with each person.

I searched through my case files to find a subject whose experiences along this route to an ultimate spiritual destination was both descriptive and yet representative of what many others have told me. I selected an insightful, forty-one-year-old graphic designer with a mature soul.

This man’s soul had traveled over this course many times between a long span of lives.

Case 14 – What it is like…

Dr. N: You are now ready to begin the final portion of your homeward journey toward the place where your soul belongs in the spirit world. On the count of three, all the details of this final leg of your travels will become clear to you. It will be easy for you to report on everything you see because you are familiar with the route. Are you ready?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: (raising my voice to a commanding tone) One-we are getting started. Two- your soul has now moved out of the area of orientation. Three! Quickly, what is your first impression?

S: Distances are … unlimited … endless space … forever …

Dr. N: So, are you telling me the spirit world is endless?

S: (long pause) To be honest-from where I am floating-it looks endless. But when I begin to really move it changes.

Dr. N: Changes how?

S: Well … everything remains … formless … but when I am … gliding faster … I see I’m moving around inside a gigantic bowl-turned upside down. I don’t know where the rims of the bowl are, or even if any exist.

Dr. N: Then movement gives you the sense of a spherical spirit world?

S: Yes, but it’s only a feeling of… enclosed uniformity … when I am moving rapidly.

Dr. N: Why does rapid movement-your speed-give you the feeling of being in a bowl?

S: (long pause) It’s strange. Although everything appears to go on straight when my soul is drifting-that changes to … a feeling of roundness when I am moving fast on a line of contact.

Dr. N: What do you mean by a line of contact?

S: Towards a specific destination.

Dr. N: How does moving with speed on a given line of travel change your observational perceptions of the spirit world to a feeling it is round?

S: Because with speed the lines seem to .. bend. They curve in a more obvious direction for me and give me less freedom of movement.

Note: Other subjects, who are also disposed toward linear descriptions, speak of traveling along directional force lines which have the spatial properties of a grid system. One person called them “vibrational strings.”

Dr. N: By less freedom, do you mean less personal control?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: Can you more precisely describe the movement of your soul along these curving contact lines?

S: It’s just more purposeful-when my soul is being directed someplace on a line. It’s like I’m in a current of white water-only not as thick as water-because the current is lighter than air.

Dr. N: Then, in this spiritual atmosphere, you don’t have the sense of density such as in water?

S: No, I don’t, but what I am trying to say is I’m being carried along as if I were in a current underwater.

Dr. N: Why do you think this is so?

S: Well, it’s as if we are all swimming-being carried along-in a swift current which we can’t control … under somebody’s direction up and down from each other in space … with nothing solid around us.

Comment 57
It is like being carried within a slipstream. Whether it is air or water, it is a similar effect. You just relax and go along with the right. It reminds me of the “jump tubes” from the old 1970’s televisions show ‘The Starlost”.
Scene from the 1970's televisions series 'The Starlost". Here, Rachael, Deven and Garth are at the "After-bridge" of the Space Arc where children are being taught on how to operate the spacecraft.
Scene from the 1970’s televisions series ‘The Starlost”. Here, Rachael, Devin and Garth are at the “After-bridge” of the Space Arc where children are being taught on how to operate the spacecraft.

Dr. N: Do you see other souls traveling in a purposeful way above and below you?

S: Yes, it’s as if we start in a stream and then all of us returning from death are pulled into a great river together.

Dr. N: When do the numbers of returning souls seem the highest to you?

S: When the rivers converge into … I can’t describe it

Dr. N: Please try.

S: (pause) We are gathered into … a sea … where all of us swirl around … in slow motion. Then, I feel as though I’m being pulled away to a small tributary again and it’s quieter … further from the thoughts of so many minds … going to the ones I know.

Dr. N: Later, in your normal travels as a soul, is it the same as being propelled around in streams and rivers as you have just described?

S: No, not at all. This is different. We are like salmon going up to spawn-returning home. Once we get there we are not pushed about this way. Then we can drift.

Dr. N: Who is doing the pushing while you are being taken home?

S: Higher entities. The ones in charge of our movements to get us home.

Dr. N: Entities such as your guide?

S: Above him, I think.

Dr. N: What else are you feeling at this moment?

S: Peace. There is such peace you never want to leave again.

Dr. N: Anything more?

S: Oh, I have some anticipation, too, while moving slowly with the energy current.

Dr. N: All right, now I want you to continue to move further along with the current of energy closer to the area where you are supposed to go. Look around carefully and tell me what you see.

S: I see … a variety of lights … in patches … separated from each other by … galleries

Dr. N: By galleries, do you mean a series of enclosures?

S: Mmm … more like a long … corridor … bulging out in places … stretching out away from me into the distance.

Dr. N: And the lights?

S: They are people. The souls of people within the bulging galleries reflecting light outward to me. That’s what I’m seeing-patches of lights bobbing around..

Dr. N: Are these clusters of people structurally separated from each other in the bulges along the corridor?

Comment 58
This is what you would see as you are riding in one of those “light tubes” and look out towards a nexus. It sort of looks like this. In my mind, it is not at all dissimilar to that of the way the brain is wired up.

S: No, there are no walls here. Nothing is structural, with angles and corners. It’s hard for me to explain, exactly…

The transport tube to the individual nexuses look something like this. Only the clusters are further apart, and when you get closer to each cluster, you see nearby bulges on the tubes.
The transport tube to the individual nexuses look something like this. Only the clusters are further apart, and when you get closer to each cluster, you see nearby bulges on the tubes.

Dr. N: You are doing fine. Now, I want you to tell me what separates the light clusters from each other along this corridor you are describing.

S: The people … are divided by … thin, wispy … filaments … making the light milky, like the transparency of frosted glass. There is an incandescent glow from their energy as I pass by.

Dr. N: How do you see individual souls within the clusters?

S: (pause) As light dots. I see masses of dots hanging in clumps as hanging grapes, all lit up.

Dr. N: Do these clumps represent various groups of soul energy masses with space between them?

S: Yes … they are separated into small groups … I am going to my own clump.

Dr. N: What else do you feel about them as you pass by on the way to your cluster? S: I can feel their thoughts reaching out … so varied … but together too … such harmony … but … (stops)

Dr. N: Go on.

S: I don’t know the ones I’m passing now… it doesn’t matter.

Comment 59
Most clusters have nothing to do with you. You don’t even consider a deviation to investigate. You just move on your way.

Dr. N: Okay, let’s pass on by these clusters which seem to bulge out along  a corridor. Give me an example of what the whole thing looks like to you from a distance.

S: (laughs) A long glow-worm, its sides bulging in and out … the movement is … rhythmic.

Dr. N: You mean the corridor itself appears to move?

S: Yes, parts of it … swaying as a ribbon in the breeze while I am going further away.

Dr. N: Continue floating and tell me what happens to you next.

S: (pause) I’m at the edge of another corridor… I’m slowing down.

Dr. N: Why?

S: (grows excited) Because … oh, good! I’m coming in towards the site where my friends are attached.

Dr. N: And how do you feel at this moment?

S: Fantastic!  There is a  familiar pulling of  minds …  reaching out  to me…  I’m catching the tail of their kite … joining them in thought I’m home!

Dr. N: Is your particular cluster group of friends isolated from the other groups of souls living in other corridors?

S: No one is really isolated, although some of the younger ones may think so. I’ve been around a long time, though, and I have a lot of connections (said with modest confidence).

Dr. N: So you felt connections with those other corridors, even with spirits in them you might not know from past experience?

S: I do because of the connections I have had. There is a oneness here.

Dr. N: When you are moving around as a spirit, what is the major difference in your interactions with other souls, compared to being in human form on Earth?

S: Here no one is a stranger. There is a total lack of hostility toward anyone.

Dr. N: You mean every spirit is friendly to every other spirit, regardless of prior associations in many settings?

S: That’s right, and it’s more than just being friendly.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: We recognize a universal bond between us which makes us all the same. There is no suspicion toward each other.

Comment 60
The Mantids are a multi-dimensional species that are part in this realm, and part in the physical realm at the same time. There are so many species and entities that occupy both realms that it just seems silly that we, as humans, would try to engage in armed conflict with these other beings.

Dr. N: How does this attitude manifest itself between souls who first meet? S: By complete openness and acceptance.

Dr. N: Living on Earth must be difficult for souls, then?

S: It is, for the newer ones especially, because they go to earth expecting to be treated fairly. When they aren’t, it’s a shock. For some, it takes quite a few lives to get used to the earth body.

Dr. N: And if the newer souls are struggling with these earth conditions, are they less efficient when working within the human mind?

S: I would have to say yes, because the brain drives a lot of fear and violence into our souls. It’s hard for us, but that’s why we come to earth … to overcome …

Dr. N: In your opinion, might the newer souls tend to be more fragile and in need of group support upon returning to their cluster?

S: That’s absolutely true. We all want to return home. Will you let me stop talking now, so I can meet with my friends?

I have touched on the commonality of word usage by different clients to describe spiritual phenomena. Case 14 offered us a few more.

One person’s “glow worms bulging out in places” is another’s “floating trail of balloons.” A description about “clumps of huge, translucent bulbs” in one case becomes “giant bunches of transparent bubbles” from somebody else mentally returning to the spirit world. I regularly hear such water-words as currents and streams used to explain a flowing directional movement, where a sky-word like cloud denotes a freedom of motion associated with drifting. Visual images which call up expressions of energy mass and group clusters to indicate souls themselves are especially popular. I have adopted some of this spiritual language myself.

To me, this appears a lot like a neural network in the human brain.
To me, this appears a lot like a neural network in the human brain.

At  the  final debarkation  zone  for the  incoming  soul,  waiting cluster groups  of familiar entities may be large or small, depending upon the soul developmental level and other factors which I will take up as we get a little further along. By way of comparison with Case 14, the next case demonstrates a more insular perception of the spirit world from a soul with less maturity.

In Case 15, the transition of this soul from the staging area to her home cluster is fairly rapid in her mind. The case is informative because it presents attributes of propriety felt by this soul to a designated space, as well as deference toward those who manage the system. Because this subject is less experienced and a bit edgy over what she sees as a need for conformity, we are given another interpretation of spiritual guidelines for group placement.

Case 15 – Fresh impressions.

Dr. N: I want to talk to you about your trip into the place where you normally stay in the spirit world. Your soul is now moving toward this destination. Explain what you see and feel.

S: (nervously) I’m … going … outward, somehow …

Dr. N: Outward?

S: (puzzled) I am… floating along… in a chain of some kind. It’s as though I’m weaving through a series of … connecting links … a foggy maze … then … it opens up

… oh!

Dr. N: What is it?

S: (with awe) I have come into … a grand arena … I see many others … criss-crossing around me … (subject grows uncomfortable)

Dr. N: Just relax-you are in the staging area now. Do you still see your guide?

S: (with hesitation) Yes … nearby … otherwise I would be lost … it’s so … vast …

Dr. N: (I place my hand on the subject’s forehead) Continue to relax and remember you have been here before, although everything may seem new to you. What do you do now?

S: I ‘m … carried forward … rapidly … straight past others … then I’m in… an empty space… open

Dr. N: Does this void mean everything is black around you?

S: It’s never black here … the light … just contracts to darker shades because of my speed. When I slow down things get brighter. (others confirm this observation)

Dr. N: Continue on and report back to me what you see next.

S: After a while I see … nests of people

Dr. N: You mean groups of people?

S: Yes-like hives-I see them as bunches of moving lights … fireflies

Dr. N: All right, keep moving and tell me what you feel?

S: Warmth … friendship … empathy … it’s dreamy … ….. .?

Dr. N: What is it?

S: I have slowed way down-things are different.

Dr. N: How?

S: More clearly defined (pause)-I know this place.

Dr. N: Have you reached your own hive (cluster group)?

S: (long pause) Not yet, I guess

Dr. N: Just look about you and report back to me exactly what you see and feel.

S: (subject begins to tremble) There are … bunches of people … together … off in the distance … but … there!

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: (fearfully) People I know… some of my family… off in the distance … but … (with anguish) I don’t seem to be able to reach them!

Dr. N: Why?

S: (in tearful bewilderment) I don’t know! God, don’t they know I’m here? (subject begins to struggle in her chair and then extends her arm and open hand at my office wall) I can’t reach my father!

Note: I briefly stop my questioning. This client’s father had a great influence in her most immediate past life and she needs additional calming techniques. I also decide to reinforce her protective shield before continuing.

Dr. N: What do you think is the reason your father is off in the distance so you can’t reach him?

S: (during a long pause I use the time to dry subject’s face, which has become wet with tears and perspiration) I don’t know …

Dr. N: (I place my hand on subject’s forehead and command) Connect with your father-now!

S: (after a pause the subject relaxes) It’s okay … he is telling me to be patient and everything will become clear to me … I want to go over there and be near him.

Dr. N: And what does he tell you about that?

S: (sadly) He says … that he can always be in my mind if I need him and… I will learn to do this better (think telepathically), but he has to stay where he is…

Dr. N: What do you think is the basic reason for your father remaining in this other place?

S: (tearfully) He does not belong in my hive.

Dr. N: Anything else?

S: The … directors … they don’t … (crying again) I’m not sure …

Note: Normally, I try to avoid too much intervention when subjects are describing their spiritual transitions. In this case, my client is confused and disoriented, so I offer a little guidance of my own.

Dr. N: Let’s analyze why you can’t reach your father’s position right now. Could this separation be the result of higher entities believing this is a time for individual reflection on your part and that you should associate only with other souls at your own level of development?

S: (subject is more restored) Yes, those messages are coming through. I have to work things out for myself … with others like me. The directors encourage us … and my father is helping me understand, too.

Dr. N: Are you satisfied with this procedure?

S: (pause) Yes.

Dr. N: All right, please continue with your passage from the moment you see some of your family in the distance. What happens next?

S: Well, I’m still slowing down … moving gradually … I’m being taken along a course I have been on before. I’m passing some other bunches of people (group clusters). Then, I stop.

Note: The final transit inward is especially important for the younger souls. One client, upon awakening, described this scene as giving him the sense he was arriving back home at twilight after a long trip away. Having passed from the countryside into his town, he finally reached the proper street.

The front windows of his neighbors’ houses were lit, and he could see people inside as he drove slowly past before reaching the driveway of his own home. Although people in trance may use such words as “clumps” and “hives” to describe how their home spaces look from a distance, this view becomes more individualistic once they go into each cluster. Then the subjects’ spiritual surroundings are associated with towns, schools, and other living areas identified with earthly landmarks of security and pleasure.

Dr. N: Now that you are stationary, what are your impressions?

S: It’s … large … activity… there are a lot of people in the vicinity. Some are familiar to me, others are not.

Dr. N: Can we get a little closer to all of them?

S: (abruptly my subject raises her voice with indignation) You don’t understand! I don’t go over there. (points a finger toward my office wall)

Dr. N: What’s the problem?

S: I’m not supposed to. You can’t just go off anywhere.

Dr. N: But, you have reached your destination?

S: It doesn’t matter. I don’t go over there. (again points a finger at her mental picture)

Dr. N: Does this tie in with the messages you received about your father?

S: Yes, it does.

Dr. N: Are you saying to me your soul energy cannot arbitrarily float anywhere- such as outside your group?

S: (pointing outward) They are not in my group over there.

Dr. N: Define what you mean by over there?

S: (in a grave tone of voice) Those others nearby-that is their place. (points down to the floor) This is our place. We are here. (nods head to confirm her statement)

Dr. N: Who are they?

S: Well, the others, of course, people not in my group. (in a burst of nervous laughter) Oh, look! … my own people, it’s wonderful to see them again. They are coming toward me!

Dr. N: (I act as though I am hearing this information for the first time, to encourage spontaneous answers) Really? This does sound wonderful. Are these the  same people who were involved with your past life?

S: More than one life, I can tell you. (with pride) These are my people!

Dr. N: These people are entities who are members of your own group?

S: Of course, yes, I have been with them for so long. Oh, it’s fun seeing them all again. (subject is overjoyed and I give her a few moments with this picture)

Dr. N: I see quite a change in your understanding in just the short time since we arrived here. Look off in the distance at the others around this space. What is it like where they live?

S: (agitated) I don’t want to know. That is their business. Can’t you see? I’m not attached to them. I’m too busy with the people I am supposed to be with here. People I know and love.

Dr. N: I do see, but a few minutes ago you were quite distressed at not being able to get close to your father.

S: I know now he has his own gathering place with people. Dr. N: Why didn’t you know that when we arrived here?

S: I’m not sure. I admit it was a shock at first. Now I know the way things are. It’s all coming back to me.

Dr. N: Why wasn’t your guide around to explain all this to you before you saw your father?

S: (long pause) I don’t know.

Dr. N: Probably other people you have known and loved besides your father are also in these groups. Are you saying you have no contact with them now that you are in your proper place in the Spirit world?

S: (upset with me) No, I have contact with my mind. Why are you being so difficult? I am supposed to stay here.

Dr. N: (I prod the subject once more to gain additional information) And you don’t just drift over to those other groups for visits?

S: No! You don’t do that! You don’t go into their groups and interfere with their energy.

Dr. N: But mental contact offers no interference with their energy?

S: At the right time. When they are free to do this with me …

Dr. N: So, what you are telling me is that everyone here is located in their own group spaces and you don’t go wandering around visiting or making too much mental contact at the wrong times?

S: (calming down) Yes, they are in their own spaces with instruction going on. It’s the directors who move around mostly …

Dr. N: Thank you for clearing all this up for me. You want me to know that you and your group friends are especially careful about infringing upon others’ spaces?

S: That’s right. At least that’s the way things are around my space.

Dr. N: And you don’t feel confined by this custom?

S: Oh no, there are great expanses of space and such a sense of freedom here, as long as we pay attention to the rules.

Dr. N: And what if you don’t? Who decides what is the proper location for each group of souls?

S: (pause) The teachers help us, otherwise we would be lost.

Dr. N: It seemed to me you were lost when we first arrived here?

S: (with uncertainty) I didn’t connect … I wasn’t mentally in tune… I messed up … I don’t think you realize how big it is around here.

Dr. N: Look around you at all the occupied spaces. Isn’t the spirit world crowded with souls?

S: (laughs) Sometimes we do get lost-that’s our own fault-this place is big! That’s why it never gets crowded.

The two cases in this chapter represent different reactions from a beginner and a more advanced soul recalling the final phase of their return passages back to the spirit world. Every participant has their own interpretation of the panoramic view from the staging area to the terminus in their cluster group. Some of my subjects find the transition from the gateway to group placement to be so rapid that they need time to adjust upon arrival.

When recalling their memories between homecoming and placement, my subjects sometimes express concern that an important individual was not present in light form or did not communicate with them telepathically. Often this is a parent or spouse in the life just completed. By the end of the transition stage, the reason usually becomes evident. Frequently it has to do with embodiment.

We have seen how the average returning soul is overwhelmed by pleasure. Familiar beings are clustered together in undulating masses of bright light. On occasion, resonating musical sounds with specific chords guide the incoming traveler. One subject remarked, ‘As I come near my place, there is a monotone of many voices sounding the letter A, like Aaaaa, for my recognition, and I can see them all vibrating fast as warm, bright energy, and I know these are the disembodied ones right now.”

What this means is that those souls who are currently incarnated in one or more bodies at the moment may not be actively engaged with welcoming anybody back. Another subject explained, “It is as if they are sleeping on autopilot-we always know who is out and who is in:’

Those souls who are not totally discarnated radiate a dim light with low pulsating energy patterns and don’t seem to communicate much with anyone. Even so, these souls are able to greet the returning soul in a quiet fashion within the group setting.

Comment 61
“Not totally discarnated”. Means exactly what it says. A soul partitions itself into various consciousnesses. It assigns a percentage of it’s self into that consciousness. Which can vary from 5% up to 40%.

In this life, for me, I actually happen to know that my earth consciousness as Metallicman is set at 35%, which is considered to be very high. But given my role(s) it needs to be at that level.

Now, then it should be clear for me that my soul has 35% in the physical universe traipsing around the world-lines and the balance of 65% in the non-physical reality known as Heaven. This would be considered a discarnated being in Heaven.

Now, as far as my 35% that is currently Metallicman and in the physical world, a sizable percentage of it is in any one given world line at a time. Say, perhaps 85% of the 35% that is here. The rest (the 15%) is off in a multitude in adjacent world-lines as they all cluster together.

The sense of a barrier between various groups, as experienced by Case 15, has different versions among my subjects, depending upon the age of the soul. I will have another perspective about mobility in the next case. The average soul with a great deal of basic work to do describes the separation of their group from others as similar to being in different classrooms in the Same schoolhouse. I have also had clients who felt they were entirely separated in their own schoolhouse. The analogy of spiritual schools directed by teacher-guides is used so often by people under hypnosis that it has become a habit for me to use the same terminology.

Metallicman's soul quanta allocation between the two universes.
Metallicman’s soul quanta allocation between the two universes.

As I mentioned earlier, after souls arrive back into their soul groups, they are summoned to appear before a Council of Elders.  While  the  Council  is  not prosecutorial, they do engage in direct examination of a soul’s activities before returning them to their groups. It is not unusual for my subjects to have some difficulty providing me with full details of what transpires at these hearings, and I am sure these blocks are intentional.

Here is a report from one case. “After I meet with my friends, my guide Veronica (subject’s younger teacher) takes me to another place to meet with my panel of Elders.

She is at my side as an interpreter for what I don’t understand and to provide support for explanations of my conduct in the last life. At times, she speaks on my behalf as a kind of defense advocate but Quazel (subject’s senior guide who arrived before Veronica) carries the most weight with the panel.

There are always the same six Elders in front of me who wear long white robes.

Their faces are kindly, and they evaluate my perceptions of the life I have just lived and how I could have done better with my talents and what I did that was beneficial.

I am freely allowed to express my frustrations and desires.

All the Elders are familiar to me, especially two of them who address me more than the others and who look younger than the rest. I think I can distinguish appearances which are male or female. Each has a special aspect in the way they question me but they are honest and truthful, and I am always treated fairly. I can hide nothing from them, but sometimes I get lost when their thoughts are transmitted back and forth in the rapid communication between them. When it is more than I can handle, Veronica translates what they are saying about me, although I have the feeling she does not tell me everything. Before I return to Earth, they will want to see me a second time.”

Souls consider themselves having finally arrived home when they rejoin familiar classmates in group settings. Their attendance here with certain other souls does resemble an educational placement system in form and function. The criteria for group admission is based upon knowledge and a given developmental level. As in any classroom situation, some students connect well with teachers and others less so. The next chapter will examine the sorting-out process for soul groups and how souls view themselves in their respective spiritual locations.

Placement

My impression of the people who believe we do have a soul is that they imagine all souls are probably mixed into one great congregation of space.

Many of my subjects believe this too, before their sessions begin. After awakening, it is no wonder they express surprise with the knowledge that everyone has a designated place in the spirit world.

When I began to study life in the spirit world with people under hypnosis, I was unprepared to hear about the existence of organized soul support groups. I had pictured spirits just floating around aimlessly by themselves after leaving Earth.

Group placement is determined by soul level. After physical death, a soul’s journey back home ends with debarkation into the space reserved for their own colony, as long as they are not a very young soul or isolated for other reasons as mentioned in Chapter Four. The souls represented in these cluster groups are intimate old friends who have about the same awareness level.

When people in trance speak of being part of a soul cluster group, they are talking about a small primary unit of entities who have direct and frequent contact, such as we would see in a human family. Peer members have a sensitivity to each other which is far beyond our conception on Earth.

Secondary groups of souls are arranged in the form of a community Support group which is much less intimate with one another.

Larger secondary groups of entities are made up of giant sets of primary clusters as lily pads in one pond. Spiritual ponds appear to be endless. Within these ponds, I have never heard of a secondary group estimated at less than a thousand souls.

The many primary group clusters which make up one secondary group seem to have sporadic relationships, or no contact at all between clusters. It is rare for me to find souls involved with each other in any meaningful way who are members of two different secondary groups, because the number of souls is so great it is not necessary.

The smaller sub-group primary clusters vary in number, containing anywhere from three to twenty-five souls.

I am told the average assemblage is around fifteen, which is called the Inner Circle.  Any working  contact  between  members  of  different cluster groups is governed by the lessons to be learned during an incarnation.

This may be due to a past life connection, or the particular identity trait of the souls involved.  

Soul  acquaintanceships between  members of  different  cluster  groups usually involve peripheral roles in life on Earth.

An example would be a high school classmate who was once a close friend, but who you now see only at class reunions. 

Members of the same cluster group are closely united for all eternity.

These tightly- knit clusters are often composed of like-minded souls with common objectives which they continually work out with each other. Usually they choose lives together as relatives and close friends during their incarnations on Earth.

It is much more common for me to find a subject’s brother or sister from former lives in the same cluster group rather than souls who have been their parents.

Parents can meet us at the gateway to the spirit world after a death on Earth, but we may not see much of their souls in the spirit world.

This circumstance exists not for reasons of maturity, since a parent soul could be less developed than their human offspring. Rather, it is more a question of social learning between siblings who are contemporary in one time frame.

Although parents are a child’s primary identification figures for both good and bad karmic effects, it is frequently our relations with spouses, brothers, sisters, and selected close friends over a whole lifetime that most influences personal growth.

This takes nothing away from the importance of parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents who serve us in different ways from another generation.

The younger souls within secondary Groups A, B, and C would probably have little or no contact with each other in the spirit world or on Earth.

Close association between souls depends on their assigned proximity to one another in cluster groups,  where there is a similarity of knowledge and affinity brought about by shared earthly experiences.

The next case offers us an account of what it is like coming back to one’s cluster group after physical death.

This is the second part of a multiple part series. To go to the next part, please click HERE.

Do you want to see the main index?

You can access the main index of these kinds of articles here…

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The Geography of Heaven; Journey of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton (part 1a) with world-line (MWI) annotations.

I had previously posted the complete text of the Journey of Souls by Michael Newton. This post, unfortunately, was fraught with problems. It was poorly formatted, had errors galore, and most strikingly created confusion. The book, as great as it is, was written by an imperfect person who did not understand the MWI and world-lines. Neither did his patients. They were stuck in the quaint notion of a Heaven and a Hell, and a shared physical universe. And their answers, and comments, reflected those beliefs. And, as a result, ended up generating confusion.

And I ended up having to deal with it.

Jeeze! Guys!

"Why did you, of all people, put such new age mumbo jumbo in your blog? Just when I was starting to understand things, you throw a wrench into everything and show that you are just another con artist. "

Sigh…

I can understand the anguish.

Doctor Newton, and his patients, would make statements along the lines of “shared experiences” which implied that two consciousnesses would occupy the same world-line simultaneously. Which is wrong, or at best, partially true. Or discuss instances of a consciousness communicating with a living person in the physical. Sure, all these things are observations from the point of view of a given consciousness; one that does not fully understand what is going on.

Thus this post.

Here, we are going to take the great writings of the good Doctor Newton and expand upon them. We will elaborate on what is actually going on from a (dispassionate) fourth person perspective, instead of the second-person narrative.

Which is unfortunate. I kind of hoped that people would be able to have some degree of discernment. A work by someone else ALWAYS includes their own personal biases, and misunderstandings.

So this post is going to take the good writings of the good doctor and try to edit out the misconceptions and place some insight into what is actually going on.

This thus is useful for a person to understand the following things about the non-physical world;

  • Firstly, the point of view of a given consciousness. (The book.)
  • Secondly, what is going on pertaining to the mechanics of the non-physical reality. (My comments.)

For us, as a person using our consciousness, we are often confused as things might or might not make sense to us.

It is like we are trapped in a car that we just woke up in. We look out the window and see a storm of water, wind and movement. 

We look at the toddler in the front seat to tell us what is going on, but they are not much help. 

It's only when the car-wash attendant comes to the window do we realize that we were actually inside a car wash.

This post discusses the operation of the car wash, in reference to a book that describes the feelings and perceptions of the inhabitants inside the car.

Thus, this is a very useful post. It provides both the stories and the experiences of consciousness, along with the “nuts and bolts’ mechanics of the operation and what is actually going on.

Multiple Part Post

This post is a multiple part post. I have labeled them…

This is an annotation to the Journey of Souls book

I politely suggest that the reader, go ahead and read the initial post (the raw book) first HERE, and then start going thought this post. As this is a “study guide” that uses the book as a medium from which to discuss the nature of the non-physical world.

About the MAJestic disclosure and this…

OK. Well it took a long time to come about, but now we are finally getting to the part of “the disclosure” that I am entrusted with disclosing. Nope. It’s not about who our extraterrestrial benefactors are, or about the nature of our physical universe. It is about our role inside the physical universe as it pertains to the non-physical universe.

What? You think that MAJestic was “only” about the reverse engineering of extraterrestrial artifacts? Did you, eh?

Maybe the bulk of it was, but my role and the role of Sebastian was far deeper and involved interaction / interfacing with a society of individuals who’s very nature was inherently much larger than what we humans perceive. And for us to improve our lot, as humans on Earth, we need to understand why our non-physical reality is so darn important.

You are here.
This is about our role inside the physical universe as it pertains to the non-physical universe.

For mankind, human-kind, or our species to advance in a unified sentience, we will need to understand our role in the “big picture”, and that boys and girls means the non-physical reality; the so called “Heaven”.

And those of you that are worried about what the “Big Boys” think about all this, rest easy. The PTB are concerned with the overall well-being of a world that is increasingly overpopulated, greedy and “out of control”. They want a smaller, more compact, and far more “reasonable” world for us to live in. And unfortunately, that means that there will need to be a sorting process…

We all must need to know our place and role in the big scale of things. This is the first step to our personal enlightenment.

Journey of Souls by Michael Newton

Table of Contents

  • Death and Departure
  • Gateway to the Spirit World
  • Homecoming
  • The Displaced Soul
  • Orientation
  • Transition
  • Placement
  • Our Guides The Beginner Soul
  • The Intermediate Soul
  • The Advanced Soul
  • Life Selection
  • Choosing a New Body
  • Preparation for Embarkation
  • Rebirth

Introduction by Dr. Newton

You would know the hidden realm where all souls dwell. The journey’s way lies through death’s misty fell. Within this timeless passage a guiding light does dance, Lost from conscious memory, but visible in trance. 

-M.N.

ARE you afraid of death? Do you wonder what is going to happen to you after you die? Is it possible you have a spirit which came from somewhere else and will return there after your body dies, or is this just wishful thinking because you are afraid?

It is a paradox that humans, alone of all creatures of the Earth, must repress the fear of death in order to lead normal lives. Yet our biological instinct never lets us forget this ultimate danger to our being. As we grow older, the specter of death rises in our consciousness. Even religious people fear death is the end of personhood. Our greatest dread of death brings thoughts about the nothingness of death which will end all associations with family and friends. Dying makes all our earthly goals seem futile.

If death were the end of everything about us, then life indeed would be meaningless.

However, some power within us enables humans to conceive of a hereafter and to sense a connection to a higher power and even an eternal soul. If we do actually have a soul, then where does it go after death? Is there really some sort of heaven full of intelligent spirits outside our physical universe? What does it look like? What do we do when we get there? Is there a supreme being in charge of this paradise? These questions are as old as humankind itself and still remain a mystery to most of us.

The true answers to the mystery of life after death remain locked behind a spiritual door for most people. This is because we have built-in amnesia about our soul identity which, on a conscious level, aids in the merging of the soul and human brain.

Comment 1
The ability to remember non-physical events is innate with all creatures. Including humans. We do not simply because of two reasons. [1] Our soul structure is such that the garbions are not configured for “easy” (physical) mental access, and [2] we have purposefully atrophied our physical ability to access these memories while in particle form.

In the last few years the general public has heard about people who temporarily died and then came back to life to tell about seeing a long tunnel, bright lights, and even brief encounters with friendly spirits. But none of these accounts written in the many books on reincarnation has ever given us anything more than a glimpse of all there is to know about life after death.

This book is an intimate journal about the spirit world. It provides a series of actual case histories which reveal in explicit detail what happens to us when life on Earth is over. You will be taken beyond the spiritual tunnel and enter the spirit world itself to learn what transpires for souls before they finally return to Earth in another life. 

I am a skeptic by nature, although it will not seem so from the contents of this book. As a counselor and hypnotherapist, I specialize in behavior modification for the treatment of psychological disorders. A large part of my work involves short-term cognitive restructuring with clients by helping them connect thoughts and emotions to  promote  healthy  behavior.  Together  we  elicit  the  meaning,  function,  and consequences of their beliefs because I take the premise that no mental problem is imaginary.

In the early days of my practice, I resisted past life requests from people because of my orientation toward traditional therapy. While I used hypnosis and age- regression techniques to determine the origins of disturbing memories and childhood trauma, I felt any attempt to reach a former life was unorthodox and non-clinical. My interest in reincarnation and metaphysics was only intellectual curiosity until I worked with a young man on pain management.

This client complained of a lifetime of chronic pain on his right side. One of the tools of hypnotherapy to manage pain is directing the subject to make the pain worse so he or she can also learn to lessen the aching and thus acquire control. In one of our sessions involving pain intensification, this man used the imagery of being stabbed to recreate his torment. Searching for the origins of this image, I eventually uncovered his former life as a World War I soldier who was killed by a bayonet in France, and we were able to eliminate the pain altogether.

With encouragement from my clients, I began to experiment with moving some of them further back in time before their last birth on Earth. Initially I was concerned that a subject’s integration of current needs, beliefs, and fears would create fantasies of recollection.

However, it didn’t take long before I realized our deep-seated memories offer a set of past experiences which are too real and connected to be ignored. I came to appreciate just how therapeutically important the link is between the bodies and events of our former lives and who we are today.

Comment 2
When the subconscious is “opened up”, everyone will recall their past physical events, as well as past reincarnated lives. This is with a 100% certainty. You might argue that this is a natural ability of the mind to lie and tell falsehoods, if you prefer. However, you MUST accept the fact that the ability to recall memories is a normal event under regressive hypnosis..

Then I stumbled on to a discovery of enormous proportions. I found it was possible to see into the spirit world through the mind’s eye of a hypnotized subject who could report back to me of life between lives on Earth.

The case that opened the door to the spirit world for me was a middle-aged woman who was an especially receptive hypnosis subject. She had been talking to me about her feelings of loneliness and isolation in that delicate stage when a subject has finished recalling their most recent past life. This unusual individual slipped into the highest state of altered consciousness almost by herself Without realizing I had initiated an overly short command for this action, I suggested she go to the source of her loss of companionship. At the same moment I inadvertently used one of the trigger words to spiritual recall. I also asked if she had a specific group of friends whom she missed.

Suddenly, my client started to cry. When I directed her to tell me what was wrong, she blurted out,

“I miss some friends in my group and that’s why I get so lonely on Earth.” 

I was confused and questioned her further about where this group of friends was actually located.

“Here, in my permanent home,” 

She answered simply,

“...and I’m looking at all of them right now!”

After finishing with this client and reviewing her tape recordings, I recognized that finding the spirit world involved an extension of past life regression. There are many books about past lives, but none I could find which told about our life as souls, or how to properly access the spiritual recollections of people.

I decided to do the research myself and with practice I acquired greater skill in entering the spirit world through my subjects. I also learned that finding their place in the spirit world was far more meaningful to people than recounting their former lives on Earth. 

How is it possible to reach the soul through hypnosis?

Visualize the mind as having three concentric circles, each smaller than the last and within the other, separated only by layers of connected mind-consciousness. The first outer layer is represented by the conscious mind which is our critical, analytic reasoning source. The second layer is the subconscious, where we initially go in hypnosis to tap into the storage area for all the memories that ever happened to us in this life and former lives. The third, the innermost core, is what we are now calling the superconscious mind. This level exposes the highest center of Self where we are an expression of a higher power.

The Human Mind as described by Dr. Newton. All of these elements are PHYSICAL elements that reside within the physical brain. However they can tap into the non-physical reality.
The Human Mind as described by Dr. Newton. All of these elements are PHYSICAL elements that reside within the physical brain. However they can tap into the non-physical reality.

The superconscious houses our real identity, augmented by the subconscious which contains the memories of the many alter-egos assumed by us in our former human bodies. The superconscious may not be a level at all, but the soul itself. The superconscious mind represents our highest center of wisdom and perspective, and all my information about  life after death comes from this source of intelligent energy.

Comment 3
What doctor Newton is saying that that the physical components of the physical brain have an ability to tap into the non-physical universe. He breaks down the functions into catagories. But that need not concern us here. All that matters is the understanding that the physical brain has the ability to connect with the non-physical reality.

How valid is the use of hypnosis for uncovering truth?

People in hypnosis are neither dreaming nor hallucinating. We don’t dream in chronological sequences nor hallucinate in a directed trance state.

When subjects are placed in trance, their brain waves slow from the Beta wake state and continue to change vibration down past the meditative Alpha stage into various levels within the Theta range. Theta is hypnosis-not sleep. When we sleep we go to the final Delta state where messages from the brain are dropped into the subconscious and vented through our dreams. In Theta, however, the conscious mind is not unconscious, so we are able to receive as well as send messages with all memory channels open.

When under a "trance" the brain waves slow from the woke state (Beta) into the (Theta) range. This is hypnosis, it is not sleeps. In this state our physical brain is completely functional and able to access both the physical reality as well as the non-physical reality simultaneously.
When under a “trance” the brain waves slow from the woke state (Beta) into the (Theta) range. This is hypnosis, it is not sleeps. In this state our physical brain is completely functional and able to access both the physical reality as well as the non-physical reality simultaneously.

Once in hypnosis, people report the pictures they see and dialogue they hear in their unconscious minds as literal observations.

In response to questions, subjects cannot lie, but they may misinterpret something seen in their unconscious mind, just as we do in the conscious state. In hypnosis, people have trouble relating to anything they don’t believe is the truth.

Some critics of hypnosis believe a subject in trance will fabricate memories and bias their  responses  in  order  to  adopt  any  theoretical  framework  suggested  by  the hypnotist. I find this generalization to be a false premise.

In my work, I treat each case  as  if I  were  hearing  the  information  for the  first  time.  If  a  subject  were somehow able to overcome hypnosis procedure and construct a deliberate fantasy about the spirit world, or free-associate from pre-set ideas about their afterlife, these  responses  would  soon  become  inconsistent  with  my  other  case  reports.  

I learned the value of careful cross-examination early in my work and I found no evidence of anyone faking their spiritual experiences to please me.

In fact, subjects in hypnosis are not hesitant in correcting my misinterpretations of their statements. As my case files grew, I discovered by trial and error to phrase questions about the spirit  world in a  proper sequence.  Subjects in a superconscious state are not particularly motivated to volunteer information about the whole plan of soul life in the spirit world.

One must have the right set of “keys” for specific “doors”.

In the hypnosis session you need the proper combination of words or phrases to obtain access to specific memories. That can be considered to be like finding the right key to open the right door.
In the hypnosis session you need the proper combination of words or phrases to obtain access to specific memories. That can be considered to be like finding the right key to open the right door.

Eventually, I was able to perfect a reliable method of memory access to different parts of the spirit world by knowing which door to open at the right time during a session.

As I gained confidence with each session, more people sensed I was comfortable with the hereafter and felt it was all right to speak to me about it. The clients in my cases represent some men and women who were very religious, while others had no particular spiritual beliefs at all. Most fall somewhere in between, with a mixed bag of personal philosophies about life.

The astounding thing I found as I progressed with my research was that once subjects were regressed back into their soul state they all displayed a remarkable consistency in responding to questions about the spirit world. People even use the same words and graphic descriptions in colloquial language when discussing their lives as souls.

Comment 4
Regardless of religion, or education, people described the same things about the non-physical world while under hypnosis. Obviously those under hypnosis were able to tap into a shared understand or reality that all humans experience as part of the non-physical world.

However, this homogeneity of experience by so many clients did not stop me from continually trying to verify statements between my subjects and corroborate specific functional activities of souls.

There were some differences in narrative reporting between cases, but this was due more to the level of soul development than to variances in how each subject basically saw the spirit world.

The research was painfully slow, but as the body of my cases grew I finally had a working model of the eternal world where our souls live. I found thoughts about the spirit world involve universal truths among the souls of people living on Earth.

It was these perceptions by so many different types of people which convinced me their statements were believable. I am not a religious person, but I found the place where we go after death to be one of order and direction, and I have come to appreciate that there is a grand design to life and afterlife.

Comment 5
There is a reason; a design, a functional purpose that connects the physical world with the non-physical world.

When I considered how to best present my findings, I determined the case study method would provide the most descriptive way in which the reader could evaluate client recall about the afterlife.  Each case I have selected represents a direct dialogue between myself and a subject. The case testimonies are taken from tape recordings from my sessions.

This book is not intended to be about my subjects’ past lives, but rather a documentation of their experiences in the spirit world relating to those lives.

For readers who may have trouble conceptualizing our souls as non-material objects, the case histories listed in the early chapters explain how souls appear and the way in which they function. Each case history is abbreviated to some extent because of space constraints and to give the reader an orderly arrangement of soul activity.

The chapters are designed to show the normal progression of souls into and out of the spirit world, incorporated with other spiritual information.

The travels of souls from the time of death to their next incarnation has come to me from a ten-year collection of clients.

Comment 6
This is the first book that was written after a ten year period. After the success of this book was completed, a second (far more detailed book) was published. It is called / titled “Destiny of Souls”, and is here in Metallicaman as well..

It surprised me at first, that I had people who remembered parts of their soul life more clearly after distant lifetimes than recent ones. Yet, for some reason, no one subject was able to recall the entire chronology of soul activities I have presented in this book. My clients remember certain aspects of their spiritual life quite vividly, while other experiences are hazy to them. As a result, even with these twenty-nine cases, I found I could not give the reader the full range of information I have gathered about the spirit world. Thus, my chapters contain details from more cases than just the twenty-nine listed.

The reader may consider my questioning in certain cases to be rather demanding. In hypnosis, it is necessary to keep the subject on track. When working in the spiritual realm, the demands on a facilitator are higher than with past life recall.

In trance, the average subject tends to let his or her soul-mind wander while watching interesting scenes unfold. My clients often want me to stop talking so they can detach from reporting what they see and just enjoy their past experiences as souls. I try to be gentle and not overly structured, but my sessions are usually single ones which run three hours in length and there is a lot to cover. People may come long distances to see me and not be able to return.

Comment 7
Individuals usually had to travel a long distance to obtain the session. At that, each session was very difficult and lasted no more than three hours. It was not an easy restful event.

I find it very rewarding to watch the look of wonder on a client’s face when his or her session ends.

For those of us who have had the opportunity to actually see our immortality, a new depth of self-understanding and empowerment emerges.

Before awakening my subjects, I often implant appropriate post-suggestion memories. Having a conscious knowledge of their soul life in the spirit world and a history of physical existences on planets gives these people a stronger sense of direction and energy for life.

Finally, I should say that what you are about to read may come as a shock to your preconceptions about death. The material presented here may go against your philosophical and religious beliefs. There will be those readers who will find support for their existing opinions.

For others, the information offered in these cases will all appear to be subjective tales resembling a science fiction story. Whatever your persuasion, I hope you will reflect’ upon the implications for humanity if what my subjects have to say about life after death is accurate.

Comment 8
Thus ends the introduction by Dr. Newton in his first book “Journey of Souls”.

Death and Departure Case 1

S. (Subject): Oh, my god! I’m not really dead-am I? I mean, my body is dead-I can see it below me-but I’m floating… I can look down and see my body lying flat in the hospital bed. Everyone around me thinks I’m dead, but I’m not. I want to shout, hey, I’m not really dead! This is so incredible … the nurses are pulling a sheet over my head… people I know are crying. I’m supposed to be dead, but I’m still alive! It’s strange, because my body is absolutely dead while I’m moving around it from above. I’m alive!

THESE  are  the  words  spoken  by  a  man  in  deep  hypnosis,  reliving  a  death experience. His words come in short, excited bursts and are full of awe, as he sees and feels what it is like to be a spirit newly separated from a physical body.

This man is my client and I have just assisted him in recreating a past life death scene while he lies back in a comfortable recliner chair. A little earlier, following my instructions during his trance induction, this subject was age-regressed in a return to childhood memories.  His subconscious perceptions gradually coalesced as we worked together to reach his mother’s womb.

I then prepared him for a jump back into the mists of time by the visual use of protective shielding.

Comment 9
This technique of “protective shielding” is a method where you isolate the subject from experiencing pain or suffering. You essentially disconnect the troublesome aspects of reliving an event. If you do not do so, a subject might end up reliving the pain of giving birth, or dying under torture, or experiencing a great loss. There are numerous ways and techniques to do this all utilized by the hypnotist.

When we completed this important step of mental conditioning, I moved my subject through an imaginary time tunnel to his last life on Earth.

It was a short life because he had died suddenly from the influenza epidemic of 1918.

As the initial shock of seeing himself die and feeling his soul floating out of his body begins to wear off a little, my client adjusts more readily to the visual images in his mind.  Since a small part of the conscious,  critical  portion of his mind is still functioning, he realizes he is recreating a former experience. It takes a bit longer than usual since this subject is a “younger soul” and not so used to the cycles of birth, death, and rebirth as are many of my other clients.

Comment 10
It is widely common to expect a person under hypnosis to remember past lives. However the number of past lives differ from individual to individual. Those with only a few previous past lives and past reincarnation events are considered to be “young” or “young souls”. While those with many, many, many previous past lives are considered to be “old” or “ancient souls”.

Yet,  within  a  few  moments  he  settles  in  and  begins  to  respond  with  greater confidence to my questions. I quickly raise this subject’s subconscious hypnotic level into the superconscious state. Now he is ready to talk to me about the spirit world, and I ask what is happening to him.

S: Well … I’m rising up higher … still floating … looking back at my body. It’s like watching a movie, only I’m in it! 

The doctor is comforting my wife and daughter. My wife is sobbing (subject wiggles with discomfort in his chair). 

I’m trying to reach into her mind … to tell her everything is all right with me. She is so overcome by grief I’m not getting through. 

I want her to know my suffering is gone … I’m free of my body … I don’t need it any more … that I will wait for her. 

I want her to know that … but she is … not listening to me. 

Oh, I’m moving away now …

And so, guided by a series of commands, my client starts the process of moving further into the spirit world.

It is a road many others have traveled in the security of my office.

Typically, as memories in the superconscious state expand, subjects in hypnosis become more connected to the spiritual passageway. As the session moves forward, the subject’s mental pictures are more easily translated into words.

Short descriptive phrases lead to detailed explanations of what it is like to enter the spirit world.

We have a great deal of documentation, including observations from medical personnel, which describes the out-of-body near-death experiences of people severely injured in accidents.

These people were considered clinically dead before medical efforts brought them back from the other side.

Souls are quite capable of leaving and returning to their host bodies, particularly in life-threatening situations when the body is dying’. People tell of hovering over their bodies, especially in hospitals, watching doctors perform life-saving procedures on them. In time these memories fade after they return to life.

Comment 11
So much to explain here. Firstly, our consciousness (who we are) goes in and out of the world-lines quickly. Roughly about 144 times a second. Each time it does so, it is momentarily outside of the physical body. It is there outside for roughly 1/144 of a second. so being outside the body, between world-lines, within a fraction of “time” is a normal occurrence. What isn’t is staying there in particle form and leaving the train of world-lines by staying in wave from.

In the early stages of hypnosis regression into past lives, the descriptions of subjects mentally going through their past deaths do not contradict the reported statements of people who have actually died in this life for a few minutes.

The difference between these two groups of people is that subjects in hypnosis are not remembering their experiences of temporary death. People in a deep trance state are capable of describing what life is like after permanent physical death.

Comment 12
What is different during “death” is that this time the consciousness has stayed in wave form, and not particle form. And thus the body is dead. What most people do not realize is that, they as consciousness, can actually “jump” to another world-line in this state (if it is adjacent”) and not go through the death sequence. (But that is an involved process, and might take about ten posts just to start explaining the basics of it.) The thoughts of the consciousness over the life-time has created this world-line ending and departure.

What are the similarities of afterlife recollection between people reporting on their out-of-body experiences as a result of a temporary physical trauma and a subject in hypnosis recalling death in a past life?

Both find themselves floating around their bodies in a strange way, trying to touch solid objects which dematerialize in front of them.

Both kinds of reporters say they are frustrated in their attempts to talk to living people who don’t respond.

Both state they feel a pulling sensation away from the place where they died and experience relaxation and curiosity rather than fear.

All these people report a euphoric sense of freedom and brightness around them. Some of my subjects see brilliant whiteness totally surrounding them at the moment of death, while others observe the brightness is farther away from an area of darker space through which they are being pulled. This is often referred to as the tunnel effect, and has become well known with the public.

Most people who have died and then returned back to life describe a tunnel of light that they see and experience.
Most people who have died and then returned back to life describe a tunnel of light that they see and experience.
Comment 13
This “tunnel of light” is quite different from normal “everyday” travel in and out of the world-lines. What is going on here is that the consciousness is leaving the area of the physical constructions. It is leaving a “plane of existence” that includes the near-infinite numbers of world-lines and moving “upwards” to a different universe. One in which we call “Heaven”..
This is what is going on. There are two (possibly many other) universes involved. Our consciousness experiences "time" in one universe. This time is a sequence of trips in and out through multiple world-lines. All the time in a frequency of vibration around 4Hz. It switches back and forth between wave and particle. Up until he moment of death. Then, it is in the universe of physical realities, but not within a given world-line. To leave this universe it needs to "cross over" and exit it and go to a different universe. This is often described as going through a tunnel of light.
This is what is going on. There are two (possibly many other) universes involved. Our consciousness experiences “time” in one universe. This time is a sequence of trips in and out through multiple world-lines. All the time in a frequency of vibration around 4Hz. It switches back and forth between wave and particle. Up until he moment of death. Then, it is in the universe of physical realities, but not within a given world-line. To leave this universe it needs to “cross over” and exit it and go to a different universe. This is often described as going through a tunnel of light.

My second case will take us further into the death experience than Case 1.

The subject here is a man in his sixties describing to me the events of his death as a young woman called Sally, who was killed by Kiowa Indians in an attack on a wagon train in 1866.

Map showing the location of the Kiowa Indians in the Oklahoma / Texas region. This regression describes the death of "White" settlers encroaching on Indian Territories and Nations.
Map showing the location of the Kiowa Indians in the Oklahoma / Texas region. This regression describes the death of “White” settlers encroaching on Indian Territories and Nations.

Although this case and the last one relate death experiences after their most immediate past lives, a particular death date in history has no special relevance because it is recent. I find no significant differences between ancient and modern times in terms of graphic spirit world recall, or the quality of lessons learned.

I should also say the average subject in trance has an uncanny ability to zero in on the dates and geographic locations of many past lives. This is true even in earlier periods of human civilization, when national borders and place names were different than exist today. Former names, dates, and locations may not always be easily recalled in every past life, but descriptions about returning to the spirit world and life in that world are consistently vivid.

Wagon train in the Americas. During this period of time, European settlers formed these convoys of wagons and people moved West to find lands to settle upon. It is unfortunate that they lands were already occupied and the Indians that occupied them did not want these strangers taking their lands.
Wagon train in the Americas. During this period of time, European settlers formed these convoys of wagons and people moved West to find lands to settle upon. It is unfortunate that they lands were already occupied and the Indians that occupied them did not want these strangers taking their lands.

The scene in Case 2 opens on the American southern plains right after an arrow has struck Sally in the neck at close range. I am always careful with death scenes involving violent trauma in past lives because the subconscious mind often still retains these experiences. The subject in this case came to me because of a lifetime of throat discomfort. Release therapy and deprogramming is usually required in these cases. In all past life recall, I use the time around death for quiet review and place the subject in observer status to soften pain and emotion.

Case 2 – Sally dies by an arrow

Dr. N: Are you in great pain from the arrow?

S: Yes … the point has torn my throat … I’m dying (subject begins to whisper while holding his hands at the throat). I’m choking… blood pouring down … Will (husband) is holding me … the pain … terrible … I’m getting out now … it’s over, anyway.

Note: Souls often leave their human hosts moments before actual death when their bodies are in great pain. Who can blame them? Nevertheless, they do stay close by the dying body. After calming techniques, I raise this subject from the subconscious to the superconscious level for the transition to spiritual memories.

Dr. N: All right, Sally, you have accepted being killed by these Indians. Will you please describe to me the exact sensation you feel at the time of death?

S: Like … a force … of some kind … pushing me up out of my body.

Dr. N: Pushing you? Out where?

S: I’m ejected out the top of my head.

Dr. N: And what was pushed out?

S: Well-me!

Dr. N: Describe what “me” means. What does the thing that is you look like going out of the head of your body?

S: (pause) Like a … pinpoint of light … radiating…

Dr. N: How do you radiate light?

S: From… my energy. I look sort of transparent white my soul…

Dr. N: And does this energy light stay the same after leaving your body?

S: (pause) I seem to grow a little … as I move around.

Dr. N: If your light expands, then what do you look like now?

S: A… wispy … string… hanging …

Dr. N: And what does the process of moving out of your body actually feel like to you?

S: Well, it’s as if I shed my skin … peeling a banana. I just lose my body in one swoosh!

Dr. N: Is the feeling unpleasant?

S: Oh no! It’s wonderful to feel so free with no more pain, but … I am… disoriented … I didn’t expect to die …

(sadness is creeping into my client’s voice and I want him to stay focused on his soul for a minute more, rather than what is taking place on the ground with his body)

Dr. N: I understand, Sally. You are feeling a little displacement at the moment as a soul. This is normal in your situation for what you have just gone through. Listen and respond to my questions. You said you were floating. Are you able to move around freely right after death?

S: It’s strange … it’s as if I’m suspended in air that isn’t air … there are no limits… no gravity… I’m weightless.

Dr. N: You mean it’s sort of like being in a vacuum for you?

S: Yes… nothing around me is a solid mass. There are no obstacles to bump into… I’m drifting…

Dr. N: Can you control your movements-where you are going?

S: Yes … I can do some of that … but there is … a pulling … into a bright whiteness … it’s so bright!

Dr. N: Is the intensity of whiteness the same everywhere?

S: Brighter … away from me … it’s a little darker white … gray … in the direction of my body … (starts to cry) oh, my poor body … I’m not ready to leave yet. (subject pulls back in his chair as if he is resisting something)

The subject is reliving the moment of death when an Indian arrow kills her by slicing open her neck.
The subject is reliving the moment of death when an Indian arrow kills her by slicing open her neck.

Dr. N: It’s all right, Sally, I’m with you. I want you to relax and tell me if the force that took you out of your head at the moment of death is still pulling you away, and if you can stop it.

S: (pause) When I was free of my body the pulling lessened. Now, I feel a nudge … drawing me away from my body … I don’t want to go yet … but, something wants me to go soon …

Dr. N: I understand, Sally, but I suspect you are learning you have some element of control. How would you describe this thing that is pulling you?

S: A … kind of magnetic … force … but … I want to stay a little longer …

Dr. N: Can your soul resist this pulling sensation for as long as you want?

S: (there is a long pause while the subject appears to be carrying on an internal debate with himself in his former life as Sally) Yes, I can, if I really want to stay. (subject starts to cry) Oh, it’s awful what those savages did to my body. There is blood all over my pretty blue dress … my husband Will is trying to hold me and still fight with our friends against the Kiowa.

Note: I reinforce the imagery of a protective shield around this subject, which is so important as a foundation to calming procedures. Sally’s soul is still hovering over her body after I move the scene forward in time to when the Indians are driven off by the wagon train rifles.

Dr. N: Sally, what is your husband doing right after the attack?

S: Oh, good … he isn’t hurt … but … (with sadness) he is holding my body … crying over me … there is nothing he can do for me, but he doesn’t seem to realize that yet. I’m cold, but his hands are around my face … kissing me.

Dr. N: And what are you doing at this moment?

S: I’m over Will’s head. I’m trying to console him. I want him to feel my love is not really gone … I want him to know he has not lost me forever and that I will see him again.

Dr. N: Are your messages getting through?

S: There is so much grief, but he … feels my essence … I know it. Our friends are around him … and they separate us finally … they want to reform the wagons and get started again.

Dr. N: And what is going on now with your soul?

S: I’m still resisting the pulling sensation … I want to stay.

Dr. N: Why is that?

S: Well, I know I’m dead … but I’m not ready to leave Will yet and I want to watch them bury me.

Dr. N: Do you see or feel any other spiritual entity around you at this moment?

S: (pause) They are near … soon I will see them … I feel their love as I want Will to feel mine … they are waiting until I’m ready.

Dr. N: As time passes, are you able to comfort Will? S: I’m trying to reach inside his mind.

Dr. N: And are you successful?

S: (pause) I … think a little … he feels me … he realizes … love…

Dr. N: All right, Sally, now we are going to move forward in relative time again. Do you see your wagon train friends placing your body in some kind of grave?

S: (voice is more confident) Yes, they have buried me. It’s time for me to go … they are coming for me now… I’m moving… into a brighter light…

Contrary to what some people believe, souls often have little interest in what happens to their bodies once they are physically dead. This is not callousness over personal situations and the people they leave behind on Earth, but an acknowledgement of these souls to the finality of mortal death. They have a desire to hurry on their way to the beauty of the spirit world.

Comment 14
The consciousness usually leaves quite readily once the world-line is over. Any attachment is residual, but as time progresses they realize that the person that they love is still there. They are not tied to a given specific world-line. But that they can visit that part of soul or consciousness that is merrily hopping in and out of world-lines all the time.

What the person’s consciousness sees at this moment in time is the shock of an abrupt ending of a time track at death.

However, many other souls want to hover around the place where they died for a few Earth days, usually until after their funerals. Time is apparently accelerated for souls and days on Earth may be only minutes to them. There are a variety of motivations for the lingering soul. For instance, someone who has been murdered or killed unexpectedly in an accident often does not want to leave right away. I find these souls are frequently bewildered or angry. The hovering soul syndrome is particularly true of deaths with young people.

Comment 15
Again, there is not one singular world-line. There are multitudes all with different outcomes.

When a given consciousness wants to “stay” and visit loved ones, its mostly due to the fact that the traumatic events of the death is preventing them from seeing the reality around them.

They are not looking around and seeing their loved ones (or a percentage part off their loved ones) are outside of the physical reality as well. You are never alone.

To abruptly detach from a human form, even after a long illness, is still a jolt to the average soul and this too may make the soul reluctant to depart at the moment of death. There is also something symbolic about the normal three- to five-day funeral arrangement periods for souls. Souls really have no morbid curiosity to see themselves buried because emotions in the spirit world are not the same as we experience here on Earth. Yet, I find soul entities appreciate the respect given to the memory of their physical life by surviving relatives and friends.

As we saw in the last case, there is one basic reason for many spirits not wanting to immediately leave the place of their physical death.

This comes from a desire to mentally reach out to comfort loved ones before progressing further into the spirit world. Those who have just died are not devastated about their death, because they know those left on Earth will see them again in the spirit world and probably later in other lives as well.

Comment 16
For every world line is one consciousness. These “others” that surround the person are what I refer to as “quantum shadows”. They are a partial percentage of another consciousness.

Consciousnesses might spend the bulk of their time in one world-line as they experience time, but that is not where all the consciousness or soul is.

It is all over the place in many different world-lines simultaneously. Thus, in this case Sally died. Her consciousness left the last world-line. Those others that she cared about (Will) did not die on that world line. However, Will’s consciousness is not limited to that world-line. He is in other world-lines as well. Most as “quantum shadows”, but also in a non-physical state as well.

And as such, all Sally need do is look for Will OUTSIDE of the given world-line to see him, or at least part of him.

On the other hand, mourners at a funeral generally feel they have lost a loved one forever.

During hypnosis, my subjects do recall frustration at being unable to effectively use their energy to mentally touch a human being who is unreceptive due to shock and grief. Emotional trauma of the living may overwhelm their inner minds to such an extent that their mental capabilities to communicate with souls are inhibited. When a newly departed soul does find a way to give solace to the living-however briefly- they usually are satisfied and want to then move on quickly away from Earth’s astral plane.

I had a typical example of spiritual consolation in my own life.

My mother died suddenly from a heart attack. During her burial service, my sister and I were so filled with sadness our minds were numb at the ceremony. A few hours later we returned to my mother’s empty house with our spouses and decided to take a needed rest.

My sister and I must have reached the receptive Alpha state at about the same time.

Appearing in two separate rooms, my mother came through our subconscious minds as a dream-like brush of whiteness above our heads. Reaching out, she smiled, indicating her acceptance of death and current well-being. Then she floated away. Lasting only seconds, this act was a meaningful form of closure, causing both of us to release into a sound sleep of the Delta state.

Comment 16
When I was attending University, one of our close friends died. He was playing football and had an aneurysm and died suddenly. His name was Marty. And he went by the name of “Rhino” because of his cute habit of head bumping everyone who he met.

About four days later, me and my two friends were sleeping the dorm after a night of drinking beer. At around 3am we all suddenly woke up and all of us were sitting up. We all had a dream that Marty was telling us that he was fine and well and not to worry about him. It was so loving and kind that we have never forgot that experience..

We are capable of feeling the comforting presence of the souls of lost loved ones, especially during or right after funerals. For spiritual communication to come through the shock of mourning it is necessary to try to relax and clear your mind, at least for short periods. At these moments our receptivity to a paranormal experience is more open to receive positive communications of love, forgiveness, hope, encouragement, and the reassurance your loved one is in a good place.

When a widow with young children says to me, “A part of my husband comes to me during the difficult times,” I believe her.

My clients tell me as souls they are able to help those on Earth connect their inner minds to the spirit world itself As it has been wisely said, people are not really gone as long as they are remembered by those left on Earth.

In the chapters ahead, we will see how specific memory is a reflection of our own soul, while collective memories are the atoms of pure energy for all souls.

Comment 17
There are different types of memories. There is not one singular generic thing called a “memory”. There are memories that are attached to a specific consciousness. There are memories attached to a specific soul that controls that consciousness, and then there are group memories that are shared with other consciousnesses.

Death does not break our continuity with the immortal soul of those we love simply because they have lost the physical personhood of a mortal body. Despite their many activities, these departed souls are still able to reach us if called upon.

Occasionally, a disturbed spirit does not want to leave the Earth after physical death. This is due to some unresolved problem which has had a severe impact on its consciousness. In these abnormal cases, help is available from higher, caring entities who can assist in the adjustment process from the other side. We also have the means to aid disturbed spirits in letting go on Earth, as well. I will have more to say about troubled souls in Chapter Four, but the enigma of ghosts portrayed in books and movies has been greatly overblown.

Comment 18
Ghosts, spirits and sprites do exist, as do all sorts of other non-physical entities. However most humans need not fear them. They are typically harmless. What does happen is that other create situations to generate fear. And they use that to control us. Don’t permit others to manipulate you..

How should we best prepare for our own death?

Our lives may be short or long, healthy or sick, but there comes that time when we all must meet death in a way suited  for us.  If  we  have  had  a  long  illness  leading  to  death,  there  is  time  to adequately prepare the mind once initial shock, denial, and depression have passed.

The mind takes a short cut through this sort of progression when we face death suddenly.

As the end of our physical life draws near, each of us has the capacity to fuse with our higher consciousness.  Dying is the easiest  period in our lives  for spiritual awareness, when we can sense our soul is connected to the eternity of time.

Although there are dying people who find acceptance to be more difficult than resignation, caregivers working around the dying say most everyone acquires a peaceful detachment near the end. I believe dying people are given access to a supreme knowledge of eternal consciousness and this frequently shows in their faces. Many of these people realize something universal is out there waiting and it will be good.

Comment 19
At or approaching the moment of death, the consciousness changes the frequency of world-line changes.

This can be slower or faster.

In any event, the brain and the person interprets this as a general calming effect as there is a greater percentage of conscious “duration” within a wave state..

Dying people are undergoing a metamorphosis of separation by their souls from an adopted body. People associate death as losing our life force, when actually the opposite is true. We forfeit our body in death, but our eternal life energy unites with the force of a divine oversoul.

Death is not darkness, but light.

My clients  say after recalling former death experiences  they are so filled with rediscovered freedom from their earthbound bodies that they are anxious to get started on their spiritual journey to a place of peace and familiarity. In the cases which follow, we will learn what life is like for them in afterlife.

Gateway to the Spirit World

For thousands of years the people of Mesopotamia believed the gates into and out of heaven lay at opposite ends of the great curve of the Milky Way, called the River of Souls. After death, souls had to wait for the rising doorway of Sagittarius and the autumn equinox, when day and night are equal. Reincarnation back to Earth could only take place during the spring equinox through the Gemini exit in their night sky.

The Milkyway in the night sky.
The Milkyway in the night sky.

My subjects tell me that soul migration is actually much easier.

The tunnel effect they experience when leaving Earth is the portal into the spirit world. Although souls leave their bodies swiftly, it  seems to me entry into the spirit  world is a carefully measured process. Later, when we return to Earth in another life, the route back is described as being more rapid.

The location of the tunnel in relation to the Earth has some variations between the accounts of my subjects.

Some newly dead people see it opening up next to them right over their bodies, while others say they move high above the Earth before they enter the tunnel. In all cases, however, the time lapse in reaching this passageway is negligible once the soul leaves Earth.

There are variations on where the "tunnel of light" appears when a person dies. Some report that it opens up right next to them, while others report it to be far away and they must travel to it.
There are variations on where the “tunnel of light” appears when a person dies. Some report that it opens up right next to them, while others report it to be far away and they must travel to it.

Here are the observations of another individual in this spiritual location.

Case 3 – The Tunnel of Light

Dr. N: You are now leaving your body. See yourself moving further and further away from the place where you died, away from the plane of Earth. Report back to me what you are experiencing.

S: At first … it was very bright … close to the Earth … now it’s a little darker because I have gone into a tunnel.

Dr. N: Describe this tunnel for me.

S: It’s a … hollow, dim vent … and there is a small circle of light at the other end. Dr. N: Okay, what happens to you next?

S: I feel a tugging … a gentle pulling… I think I’m supposed to drift through this tunnel … and I do. It is more gray than dark now, because the bright circle is expanding in front of me. It’s as if… (client stops)

Dr. N: Go on.

S: I’m being summoned forward …

Dr. N: Let the circle of light expand in front of you at the end of the tunnel and continue to explain what is happening to you.

S: The circle of light grows very wide and … I’m out of the tunnel. There is a … cloudy brightness … a light fog. I’m filtering through it.

Dr. N: As you leave the tunnel, what else stands out in your mind besides the lack of absolute visual clarity?

S: (subject lowers voice) It’s so … still … it is such a quiet place to be in … I am in the place of spirits

Comment 20
The space directly outside of our immediate reality is the “universe” of the many, many world-lines. Within that space we can “hear” or “perceive” things. And as such it tends to be rather noisy…

Not just the sounds of the physical world-lines that lie as part of the “time track” that the consciousness was part of, but the thoughts of all the “quantum shadows” nearby.

Dr. N: Do you have any other impressions at this moment as a soul?

S: Thought! I feel the … power of thought all around …….

Dr. N: Just relax completely and let your impressions come through easily as you continue to report back to me exactly what is happening to you. Please go on.

S: Well, it’s hard to put into words. I feel… thoughts of love companionship … empathy … and it’s all combined with … anticipation … as if others are … waiting for me.

Dr. N: Do you have a sense of security, or are you a little scared?

S: I’m not scared. When I was in the tunnel, I was more … disoriented. Yes, I feel secure … I’m aware of thoughts reaching out to me of caring … nurturing. It is strange, but there is also the understanding around me of just who I am and why I am here now.

Dr. N: Do you see any evidence of this around you?

S: (in a hushed tone) No, I sense it-a harmony of thought everywhere.

Dr. N: You mentioned cloud-like substances around you right after leaving the tunnel. Are you in a sky over Earth?

S: (pause) No-not that-but I seem to be floating through cloud stuff which is different from Earth.

Dr. N: Can you see the Earth at all? Is it below you?

S: Maybe it is, but I haven’t seen it since I went in the tunnel.

Dr. N: Do you sense you are still connected to Earth through another dimension, perhaps?

S: That’s a possibility-yes. In my mind Earth seems close … and I still feel connected to Earth … but I know I’m in another space.

Dr. N: What else can you tell me about your present location?

S: It’s still a little … murky … but I’m moving out of this.

This particular subject, having been taken through the death experience and the tunnel, continues to make tranquil mental adjustments to her bodiless state while pulling further into the spirit world. After some initial uncertainty, her first reported impressions reflect an inviting sense of  well-being.

This is a common feeling among my subjects.

Once through the tunnel, our souls have passed the initial gateway of their journey into the spirit world. Most now fully realize they are not really dead, but have simply left the encumbrance of an Earth body which has died.

With this awareness comes acceptance in varying degrees depending upon the soul. Some subjects look at these surroundings with continued amazement while others are more matter-of-fact in reporting to me what they see.

Much depends upon their respective maturity and recent life experiences.

The most common type of reaction I hear is a relieved sigh followed by something on the order of, ” wonderful, I’m home in this beautiful place again.”

There are those highly developed souls who move so fast out of their bodies that much of what I am describing here is a blur as they home into their spiritual destinations.  These are the pros and,  in my opinion,  they are a distinct minority on Earth.

The average soul does not move that rapidly and some are very hesitant.

If we exclude the rare cases of highly disturbed spirits who fight to stay connected with their dead bodies, I find it is the younger souls with fewer past lives who remain attached to Earth’s environment right after death.

Most of my subjects report that as they emerge from the mouth of the tunnel, things are still unclear for awhile. I think this is due to the density of the nearest astral plane surrounding Earth, called the kamaloka by Theosophists.

The Astral Plane is just another term for the universe that houses our many, many world-lines.
The Astral Plane is just another term for the universe that houses our many, many world-lines.

The next case describes this area from the perspective of a more analytical client. The soul of this individual demonstrates considerable observational insight into form, colors, and vibrational levels. Normally, such graphic physical descriptions by my subjects occur deeper into the spirit world after they get used to their surroundings.

Case 4 – Exiting the “Tunnel of Light” and entering the “Heaven” Universe.

Dr. N: As you move further away from the tunnel, describe what you see around you in as much detail as possible.

S: Things are … layered.

Dr. N: Layered in what way?

S: Umm, sort of like … a cake.

Dr. N: Using a cake as a model, explain what you mean?

S: I mean some cakes have small tops and are wide at the bottom. It’s not like that when I get through the tunnel. I see layers … levels of light … they appear to me to be .. translucent… indented…

Dr. N: Do you see the spirit world here as made up of a solid structure?

S: That’s what I’m trying to explain. It’s not solid, although you might think so at first. It’s layered-the levels of light are all woven together in … stratified threads. I don’t want to make it sound like things are not symmetrical-they are. But I see variations in thickness and color refraction in the layers. They also shift back and forth. I always notice this as I travel away from Earth.

Comment 21
What we consider to be physical is actually the movement of quanta. It’s quantum physics. And all quanta are stratified and form patterns and relationships.

Our consciousness can interpret the visualization of this effect as light. For after all, that is the way our eyes see things, through colors and light.

What is actually going on is that the subject is perceiving the different levels of quanta that make up the physical universe. He / she “sees” it as light.

The quanta has the ability to move from one universe to another, so it should not be misunderstood. The consciousness can see quanta in different universes.

Dr. N: Why do you think this is so?

S: I don’t know. I didn’t design it.

Dr. N: From your description, I picture the spirit world as a huge tier with layers of shaded sections from top to bottom.

S: Yes, and the sections are rounded-they curve away from me as I float through them.

Dr. N: From your position of observation, can you tell me about the different colors of the layers?

S: I didn’t say the layers had any major color tones. They are all variations of white. It is lighter … brighter where I’m going, than where I have been. Around me now is a hazy whiteness which was much brighter than the tunnel.

Comment 22
A color is the absorption of light by a material. What you see is the colors not absorbed by the material. Thus it makes sense that the sensing of the “light” would be full-spectrum by the senses of our consciousness.

Dr. N: As you float through these spiritual layers, is your soul moving up or down?

S: Neither. I am moving across.

Dr. N: Well, then, do you see the spirit world at this moment in linear dimensions of lines and angles as you move across?

S: (pause) For me it is … mostly sweeping, non-material energy which is broken into layers by light and dark color variations. I think something is … pulling me into my proper level of travel and trying to relax me, too …

Dr. N: In what way?

S: I’m hearing sounds.

Dr. N: What sounds?

S: An … echo … of music … musical tingling … wind chimes … vibrating with my movements … so relaxing.

Dr. N: Other people have defined these sounds as vibrational in nature, similar to riding on the resonance from the twang of a tuning fork. Do you agree or disagree with this description?

Comment 23
All of these perceptions by the consciousness as it moves in the Heaven(s), whether in the physical universe (Astral plane) or the heavenly universe are interpretations of the quanta.

Each interpretation is based on a human sense. As that this the soul construction that the consciousness is familiar with.

This includes all the sense, from sight to taste, to sound, to vibration, to touch. And since the consciousness can apply human sensations to these quanta, the ability to manipulate the quanta can create human-like constructions.

S: (nods in assent) Yes, that’s what this is … and I have a memory of scent and taste, too.

Dr. N: Does this mean our physical senses stay with us after death?

S: Yes, the memory of them … the waves of musical notes here are so beautiful … bells … strings. such tranquility.

Many spirit world travelers report back to me about the relaxing sensations of musical vibrations. Noise sensations start quite early after death. Some subjects tell me they hear humming or buzzing sounds right after leaving their physical bodies. This is similar to the noise one hears standing near telephone wires and may vary in volume before souls pull away from what I believe to be the Earth’s astral plane.

People have said they hear these same sounds when under general anesthesia. These flat, ringing sounds become more musical when we leave the tunnel. This music has been appropriately called energy of the universe because it revitalizes the soul.

The Buddhism 31 planes of existence is one such believe that maps out and categorizes the various planes in the "Heavenly" realms.
The Buddhism 31 planes of existence is one such believe that maps out and categorizes the various planes in the “Heavenly” realms.

With subjects who speak about spiritual layering, I mention the possibility that they could be seeing astral planes. In metaphysical writing, we read a lot about planes above the Earth.

Comment 24
The use of the term “planes” is a way for our human mind to understand the complexities of the different “textures” and attributes of how quanta behave outside of the physical world-lines.

The reason for this has to do with the construction of our own individual souls. Most specifically the garbions and the swales that connect them.

Other species, with different soul constructions, and different types of garbions and swale arrangements would interpret these variations quite differently and might even have a difficult time understanding what we are talking about.

Beginning with ancient Indian scriptures called the Vedas, followed by later Eastern texts, astral planes have historically represented a series of rising dimensions above the physical or tangible world, which blend into the spiritual. These invisible regions have been experienced by people over thousands of years through meditative, out-of-body observations of the mind. Astral planes also have been described as being less dense as one moves farther away from the heavy influences of Earth.

Theravada Buddhist cosmology describes the 31 planes of existence in which rebirth takes place. The order of the planes are found in various discourses of the Gautama Buddha in the Sutta Pitaka. For example, in the Saleyyaka Sutta of the Majjhima Nikaya the Buddha mentioned the planes above the human plane in ascending order. In several sūtras in the Anguttara Nikaya, the Buddha described the causes of rebirth in these planes in the same order. In Buddhism, the devas are not immortal gods that play a creative role in the cosmic process. They are simply elevated beings who had been reborn in the celestial planes as a result of their words, thoughts, and actions. Usually, they are just as much in bondage to delusion and desire as human beings, and as in need of guidance from the Enlightened One. The Buddha is the "teacher of devas and humans (satthadevamanussanam). The devas come to visit the Buddha in the night. The Devatasamyutta and the Devaputtasamyutta of the Samyutta Nikaya gives a record of their conversations. The devaputtas are young devas newly arisen in heavenly planes, and devatas are mature deities.

There are more than 10,000 crore (100 billion) solar systems in our Galaxy, and more than 10,000 crore (100 billion) galaxies in our Universe. There are many Universes in space. Past and future lives may occur on other planets. The data for the 31 planes of existence in samsara are compiled from the Majjhima Nikaya, Anguttara Nikaya, Samyutta Nikaya, Digha Nikaya, Khuddaka Nikaya, and others. The 31 planes of existence can be perceived by a Buddha's Divine eye (dibbacakkhu) and some of his awakened disciples through the development of jhana meditation. According to the suttas, a Buddha can access all these planes and know all his past lives as well as those of other beings.

-Buddhist cosmology of the Theravada school - Wikipedia

The next case  represents a soul who is still troubled after passing through the spiritual tunnel. This is a man who, at age thirty-six, died of a heart attack on a Chicago street in 1902. He left behind a large family of young children and a wife who was deeply loved.

They were very poor.

Case 5 – Death in 1902 Chicago.

Dr. N: Can you see clearly yet as you travel beyond the tunnel?

S: I’m still passing through these… foamy clouds around me.

Dr. N: I want you to move all the way through this and tell me what you see now.

S: (pause) Oh … I’m out of it … my God, this place is big! It’s so bright and clean-it even smells good. I am looking at a beautiful ice palace.

A big beautiful ice palace.
A big beautiful ice palace.

Dr. N: Tell me more.

S:  (with  amazement)  It’s  enormous  …  it  looks  like  bright,  sparkling  crystal … colored stones shining all around me.

Dr. N: When you say crystalline, I think of a clear color.

S: Well, there are mostly grays and white … but as I float along I do see other colors … mosaics … all glittery.

Dr. N: Look into the distance from within this ice palace-do you see any boundaries anywhere?

S: No, this space is infinite … so majestic … and peaceful.

Dr. N: What are you feeling right now?

S: I… can’t fully enjoy it … I don’t want to go further … Maggie (subject’s widow)

When a person dies, they care about those that are left behind. Yet, they are actually not really left behind. They are "quantum shadows" of the person. Their consciousness exists in both the physical and the nearby non-physical word. As they too are cycling in and out for form; wave / particle... wave / particle. A well-trained (spiritually or quantum-trained) individual can easily communicate to them at this period of death.
When a person dies, they care about those that are left behind. Yet, they are actually not really left behind. They are “quantum shadows” of the person. Their consciousness exists in both the physical and the nearby non-physical word. As they too are cycling in and out for form; wave / particle… wave / particle. A well-trained (spiritually or quantum-trained) individual can easily communicate to them at this period of death.

Dr. N: I can see you are still disturbed about the Chicago life, but does this inhibit your progress into the spirit world?

S: (subject jerks upright in my office chair) Good! I see my guide coming towards me-she knows what I need.

Dr. N: Tell me what transpires between you and your guide.

S: I say to her I can’t go on… that I need to know Maggie and the children are going to be okay.

Dr. N: And how does your guide respond?

S: She is comforting me-but I’m too loaded down.

Dr. N: What do you say to her?

S: (shouting) I tell her, “Why did you allow this to happen? How could you do this to me? You made me go through such pain and hardship with Maggie and now you cut off our life together.”

Dr. N: What does your guide do?

S: She is trying to soothe me. Telling me I did a good job and that I will see my life ran its intended course.

Dr. N: Do you accept what she says?

S: (pause) In my mind… information comes to me … of the future on Earth … that the family is getting on without me … accepting that I am gone … they are going to make it … and we will all see each other again.

Dr. N: And how does this make you feel?

S: I feel … peace … (with a sigh) .. I am ready to go on now.

Comment 24
After spending years in a given body, our consciousness becomes attached to the physical world. Even if we see our guides, angels or friends, we often have to be reminded that the entire time in the various physical world is but a learning event.

Before touching on the significance of Case 5 meeting his guide here, I want to mention this man’s interpretation of the spirit world appearing as an ice palace.

Further into the spirit world, my subjects will talk about seeing buildings and being in furnished rooms.

The state of hypnosis by itself does not create these images.

Logically, people should not be recalling such physical structures in a non-material world unless we consider these scenes of Earth’s natural environment are intended to aid in the soul’s transition and adjustment from a physical death. These sights have individual meaning for every soul communicating with me, all of whom are affected by their Earth experiences.

Comment 25
Perhaps. However, the consciousness can manipulate quanta and shape it. More on this later on. Thus all consciousness can create things through the manipulation of quanta, and it is much, much, MUCH easier to do outside of the physical universe.

When the soul sees images in the spirit world which relate to places they have lived or visited on Earth, there is a reason.

An unforgotten home, school, garden, mountain, or seashore are seen by souls because a benevolent spiritual force allows for terrestrial mirages to comfort us by their familiarity. Our planetary memories never die-they whisper forever into the soul-mind on the winds of mythical dreams just as images of the spirit world do so within the human mind.

I enjoy hearing from subjects about their first images of the spirit world. People may see fields of wildflowers, castle towers rising in the distance, or rainbows under an open sky when returning to this place of adoration after an absence.

Many people report amazing views that they "see" when in the spirit form. They report beautiful skies, flat surfaces with flowers, grasses, pleasant scents and fresh breezes.
Many people report amazing views that they “see” when in the spirit form. They report beautiful skies, flat surfaces with flowers, grasses, pleasant scents and fresh breezes.

These first ethereal Earth scenes of the spirit world don’t seem to change a great deal over a span of lives for the returning soul, although there is variety between client descriptions. I find that once a subject in trance continues further into the spirit world to describe the functional aspects of spiritual life, their comments become more uniform.

The case I have just reviewed could be described as a fairly unsettled spirit bonded closely to his soulmate, Maggie, who was left behind.

There is no question that some souls do carry the negative baggage of a difficult past life longer than others, despite the calming influences of the spirit world.

People tend to think all souls become omniscient at death.

This is not completely true because adjustment periods vary. The time of soul adjustment depends upon the circumstances of death, attachments of each soul to the memories of the life just ended, and level of advancement.

Comment 26
The adjustment period varies. It depends on the “age” of the soul and how many previous incarnations he has had. It also depends on the duration and the harshness of his previous life.

I frequently hear anger during age-regression when a young life ends suddenly.

Souls reentering the spirit world under these conditions are often bewildered and confused over leaving people they love without much warning. They are unprepared for death and some feel sad and deprived right after leaving their bodies.

If a soul has been traumatized by unfinished business, usually the first entity it sees right after death is its guide. These highly developed spiritual teachers are prepared to take the initial brunt of a soul’s frustration following an untimely death.

After a particularly difficult and grueling lifetime of hurt and trauma, the spiritual guides, also known as angels, will come and meet the distressed soul / consciousness and help them return home. This painting is titled "Hind's feet" by Daniel Gerhartz and can be found on the Art Renewal Center website.
After a particularly difficult and grueling lifetime of hurt and trauma, the spiritual guides, also known as angels, will come and meet the distressed soul / consciousness and help them return home. This painting is titled “Hind’s feet” by Daniel Gerhartz and can be found on the Art Renewal Center website.

Case 5 will eventually make a healthy adjustment to the spirit world by allowing his guide to assist him during the balance of his incoming trip.

However, I have found our guides do not encourage the complete working out of thought disorders at the spiritual gateway. There are more appropriate times and places for detailed reviews about karmic learning lessons involving life and death, which I will describe later.

The guide in Case 5 offered a brief visualization of accelerated Earth time as a means of soothing this man about the future of his wife and children so he could continue on his journey with more acceptance.

Regardless of their state of mind right after death, my subjects are full of exclamations about rediscovered marvels of the spirit world.

Usually, this feeling is combined with euphoria that all their worldly cares have been left behind, especially physical pain. Above all else, the spirit world represents a place of supreme quiescence to the traveling soul. Although it may at first  appear we are alone immediately following death, we are not isolated or unaided. Unseen intelligent energy forces guide each of us through the gate.

Comment 27
The non-physical world is not void empty blackness, but rather a warm and sunny place filled with those that care about you. You might well be surprised at how lushly populated it is and the great number of people and souls that care about your well-being.

New arrivals in the spirit world have little time to float around wondering where they are or what is going to happen to them next. Our guides and a number of soulmates and friends  wait for us close to the gateway to provide recognition, affection, and the assurance we are all right. Actually, we feel their presence from the moment of death because much of our initial readjustment depends upon the influence of these kindly entities toward our returning soul.

Homecoming

SINCE encountering friendly spirits who meet us after death is so important, how do we recognize them?

I find a general consensus of opinion among subjects in hypnosis about how souls look to each other in the spirit world. A soul may appear as a mass of energy, but apparently it is also possible for non-organic soul energy to display human characteristics.

Souls often use their capacity to project former life forms when communicating with each other.

Comment 28
A soul / consciousness can project any image that it wishes to project. Mostly the “default” images projected to others is the image associated with the last (or current) earthly incarnation.

Now this can get confusing. What happens when you are moving about world-line sliding and in one world-line you are a poor beggar, and the next a heavily tattooed weight-lifter, and the third, a frail sickly man? What is the default image that is projected?

The default image projected is always the image that the consciousness associates with itself.

Further, the projected image is usually the upper torso. This will be apparent once one migrates about in the non-physical reality.

Projecting a human life form is only one of an incalculable number of appearances which can be assumed by souls from their basic energy substance. Later on, in Chapter Six, I will discuss another feature of soul identity-the possession of a particular color aura.

Most of my subjects report the first person they see in the spirit world is their personal guide.

However, after any life we can be met by a soulmate.

A soulmate is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, platonic relationships, comfort, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, compatibility and trust.

-Wikipedia

Guides and soulmates are not the same.

If a former relative or close friend appears to the incoming soul, their regular guide might  be absent from the scene. I find that usually guides are somewhere in close proximity, monitoring the incomer’s arrival in their own way.

The soul in my next case has just come through the spiritual gateway and is met by an advanced entity who obviously has had close connections with the subject over a prolonged series of past lives. Although this soulmate entity is not my client’s primary guide, he is there to welcome and provide loving encouragement for her.

Case 6 – Meetup with long-time friends

Dr. N: What do you see around you?

S: It’s as if … I’m drifting along on … pure white sand … which is shifting around me … and I’m under a giant beach umbrella-with brightly colored panels-all vaporized, but banded together, too …

Dr. N: Is anyone here to meet you?

S: (pause) I … thought I was alone … but … (a long hesitation) in the distance … uh … light … moving fast towards me … oh, my gosh!

Dr. N: What is it?

S: (excitedly) Uncle Charlie! (loudly) Uncle Charlie, I’m over here!

Dr. N: Why does this particular person come to meet you first?

S: (in a preoccupied far-off voice) Uncle Charlie, I’ve missed you so much.

Dr. N: (I repeat my question)

S: Because, of all my relatives, I loved him more than anybody. He died when I was a child and I never got over it. (on a Nebraska farm in this subject’s most immediate past life)

Nebraska farm house.
Nebraska farm house.

Dr. N: How do you know it’s Uncle Charlie? Does he have features you recognize?

S: (subject is squirming with excitement in her chair) Sure, sure-just as I remember him-jolly, kind, lovable-he is next to me. (chuckles)

Dr. N: What is so funny?

S: Uncle Charlie is just as fat as he used to be.

Dr. N: And what does he do next?

S: He is smiling and holding out his hand to me

Dr. N: Does this mean he has a body of some sort with hands?

S: (laughs) Well, yes and no. I’m floating around and so is he. It’s … in my mind … he is showing all of himself to me … and what I am most aware of … is his hand stretched out to me.

Comment 29
The appearance by a given consciousness is actually a compromise.

One one hand, it is the residual memories that you might have of an individual, and on the other hand it is greatly influenced by the default image associated with the other consciousness.

Dr. N: Why is he holding out his hand to you in a materialized way? S: (pause) To … comfort me … to lead me … further into the light.

Dr. N: And what do you do?

S: I’m going with him and we are thinking about the good times we spent together playing in the hay on the farm.

Dr. N: And he is letting you see all this in your mind so you will know who he is?

S: Yes … as I knew him in my last life … so I won’t be afraid. He knows I am still a little shocked over my death. (subject had died suddenly in an automobile accident)

Automobile accident.
Automobile accident.

Dr. N: Then, right after death, no matter how many deaths we may have experienced in other lives, it is possible to be a little fearful until we get used to the spirit world again?

S: It’s not really fear-that’s wrong-more like I’m apprehensive, maybe. It varies for me each time. The car crash caught me unprepared. I’m still a little mixed up.

Dr. N: All right, let’s go forward a bit more. What is Uncle Charlie doing now? S: He is taking me to the … place I should go …

Dr.  N:  On  the  count  of  three,  let’s  go  there.  One-two-three!  Tell  me  what  is happening.

S: (long pause) There… are … other people around … and they look… friendly… as I approach … they seem to want me to join them…

Dr. N: Continue to move towards them. Do you get the impression they might be waiting for you?

S: (recognition) Yes! In fact, I realize I have been with them before (pause) No, don’t go!

Dr. N: What’s happening now?

S: (very upset) Uncle Charlie is leaving me. Why is he going away?

Dr. N: (I stop the  dialogue  to use standard calming techniques in these circumstances, and then we continue.) Look deeply with your inner mind. You must realize why Uncle Charlie is leaving you at this point?

S: (more relaxed but with regret) Yes … he stays in a … different place than I do … he just came to meet me .. to bring me here.

Comment 30
Sometimes that is the only role that a friend might have. To help take you to where you need to be and where you are wanted and missed..

Dr. N: I think I understand. Uncle Charlie’s job was to be the first person to meet you after your death and see you were okay. I’d like to know if you feel better now, and more at home.

S: Yes, I do. That’s why Uncle Charlie has left me with the others.

A curious phenomenon about the spirit world is that important people in our lives are always able to greet us, even though they may already be living another life in a new body. This will be explained in Chapter Six. In Chapter Ten, I will examine the ability of souls to divide their essence so they can be in more than one body at a time on Earth.

Comment 31
Consciousness can split and spend percentages in multiple world-lines, and in various places in the “Heavenly realms”. One should not get too “hot and bothered” about it. We are consciousness and that is facilitated by quanta.

Usually at this juncture in a soul’s passage, the carry-on luggage of Earth’s physical and mental burdens are diminishing for two reasons. First, the evidence of a carefully directed order and harmony in the spirit world has brought back the remembrance of what we left behind before we chose life in physical form. Secondly, there is the overwhelming impact of seeing people we thought we would never meet again after they died on Earth.

Here is another example.

Case 7 – Reunions with loved ones.

Dr. N: Now that you have had the chance to adjust to your surroundings in the spirit world, tell me what effect this place has on you.

S: It’s so … warm and comforting. I’m relieved to be away from Earth. I just want to stay here always. There is no tension, or worries, only a sense of well-being. I’m just floating … how beautiful…

Dr. N: As you continue to float along, what is your next major impression as you pass the spiritual gateway?

S: (pause) Familiarity.

Dr. N: What is familiar?

S: (after some hesitation) Uh mm… people … friends … are here, I think.

Dr. N: Do you see these people as familiar people on Earth?

S: I … have a sensation of their presence … people I knew

Dr. N: All right, keep moving along. What do you see next?

S: Lights… soft… kind of cloudy-like.

Dr. N: As you are moving, does this light continue to look the same?

S: No, they are growing … blobs of energy … and I know they are people!

Dr. N: Are you moving toward them, or are they coming toward you?

S: We are drifting toward each other, but I am going slower than they are because … I’m uncertain what to do

Dr. N: Just relax and continue floating while reporting back to me everything you see.

S: (pause) Now I’m seeing half-formed human shapes-from the waist up only. Their outlines are transparent, too … I can see through them.

Dr. N: Do you see any sort of features to these shapes?

S: (anxiously) Eyes!

Dr. N: You see just eyes?

S: … There is only a trace of a mouth-it’s nothing. (alarmed) The eyes are all around me now… coming closer …

Dr. N: Does each entity have two eyes?

S: That’s right.

Dr. N: Do these eyes have the appearance of human eyes with an iris and pupil?

S: No … different … they are … larger … black orbs … radiating light… towards me … thought … (then with a relieved sigh) oh!

Dr. N: Go on.

S: I’m starting to recognize them-they are sending images into my mind-thoughts about themselves and … the shapes are changing into people!

Dr. N: People with physical human features?

S: Yes. Oh … look! It’s him!

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: (begins to laugh and cry at the same time) I think it’s … yes it’s Larry-he is in front of everybody else-he is the first one I really see … Larry, Larry!

Dr. N: (after giving my subject a chance to recover a little) The soul entity of Larry is in front of an assortment of people you know?

S: Yes, now I know the ones I want most to see are in front… some of my other friends are in the back.

Dr. N: Can you see them all clearly?

S: No, the ones in back are … hazy … far off… but, I have the sensation of their presence. Larry is in front … coming up to me Larry!

Comment 32
Soul and consciousness works together with other souls. It’s sort of like how and internet connection makes a “handshake” with a host. The images you see are a mix of what you know and what the other entity wants you to see, with automatic defaults at all levels..

Dr. N: Larry is the husband from your last life you told me about earlier?

S: (subject rushes on) Yes-we had such a wonderful life together–Gunther was so strong-everyone was against our marriage in his family-Jean deserted from the navy to save me from the bad life I was living in Marseilles – always wanting me

This subject is so excited her past lives are tumbling one on top of the other. Larry, Gunther, and Jean were all former husbands, but the same soulmate. I was glad we had a chance to review earlier who these people were in sessions before this interval of recall in the spirit world. Besides Larry, her recent American husband, Jean was a French sailor in the nineteenth century and Gunther was the son of German aristocrats living in the eighteenth century.

Dr. N: What are the two of you doing right now?

S: Embracing.

Dr. N: If a third party were to look at the two of you embracing at this moment, what would they see?

S: (no answer)

Dr. N: (the subject is so engrossed in the scene with her soulmate there are tears streaming down her face. I wait a moment and then try again.) What would you and Larry look like to someone watching you in the spirit world right now?

S: They would see… two masses of bright light whirling around each other, I guess … (subject begins to settle down and I help wipe the tears off her face with a tissue)

Dr. N: And what does this signify?

S: We are hugging … expressing love … connecting … it makes us happy …

Dr. N: After you meet your soulmate, what happens next?

S: (subject tightly grips the recliner arms) Oh-they are all here-I only sensed them before. Now more are coming closer to me.

Dr. N: And this happens after your husband comes near you?

S: Yes … Mother! She is coming over to me … I’ve missed her so much… oh, Mom… (subject begins to cry again)

Dr. N: All right …

S: Oh, please don’t ask me any questions now-I want to enjoy this (subject appears to be in silent conversation with her mother of the last life)

Dr. N: (I wait for a minute) Now, I know you are enjoying this meeting, but I need you to help me know what is going on.

S: (in a faraway voice) We … we are just holding each other … it’s so good to be with her again

Dr. N: How do you manage to hold each other with no bodies?

S: (with a sigh of exasperation at me) We envelop each other in light, of course.

Dr. N: Tell me what that is like for spirits?

S: Like being wrapped in a bright-light blanket of love.

Dr. N: I see, then ….

S: (subject  interrupts with a high pitched laugh of  recognition) Tim!…  it’s my brother-he died so young (a drowning accident at age fourteen in her last life). It’s so wonderful to see him here. (subject waves her arm) And there is my best girl friend Wilma-from next door-we are laughing together over boys like we did while sitting up in her attic.

Dr. N: (after subject mentions her aunt and a couple of other friends) What do you think determines the sequence of how all these people come here to greet you?

S: (pause) Why, how much we all mean to each other-what else?

Dr. N: And with some, you have lived many lives, while with others perhaps only one or two?

S: Yes … I have been with my husband the most.

Dr. N: Do you see your guide around anywhere?

S: He is here. I see him floating off to the side. He knows some of my friends, too … Dr. N: Why do you call your guide a “him?”

We can contact our guardian angels, and our soul support group through prayer and intention. While I have addressed using intention to navigate our world lines, we can also use it to ask our friends, relatives and angels to help us. If we do the prayers properly they will actually help us. It's nothing to laugh or scoff about. We live in a universe of thought, and clear directed thoughts are messages that will go to their intended recipient.
We can contact our guardian angels, and our soul support group through prayer and intention. While I have addressed using intention to navigate our world lines, we can also use it to ask our friends, relatives and angels to help us. If we do the prayers properly they will actually help us. It’s nothing to laugh or scoff about. We live in a universe of thought, and clear directed thoughts are messages that will go to their intended recipient.

S: We all show what we want of ourselves. He always relates to me with a masculine nature. It’s right and very natural.

Dr. N: And does he watch over you in all your lives?

Important advice
As I have stated previously in my SHTF posts, it is our relationships that make our life worthwhile. Use this time in your day to day lives to be the best friend that you can be.

S: Sure, and after death too … here, and he is always my protector.

Our reception committee is planned in advance for us as we enter the spirit world. This case demonstrates how uplifting familiar faces can be to the incoming younger soul.

I find there are a different number of entities waiting in greeting parties after each life.

Although the meeting format varies, depending on a soul’s special needs, I have learned there is nothing haphazard about our spiritual associates knowing exactly when we are due and where to meet us upon our arrival in the spirit world.

Frequently, an entity who is significant to us will be waiting a little in front of the others who want  to be  on hand as we  come  through the gateway.  

The size of welcoming parties not only changes for everyone after each life, but is drastically reduced  to  almost  nothing  for  more  advanced  souls  where  spiritual  comfort becomes less necessary. Case 9, at the end of this chapter, is an example of this type of spiritual passage.

Cases 6 and 7 both represent one of the three ways newly arrived souls are received back into the spirit world. These two souls were met  shortly after death by a principal entity, followed by others of decreasing influence. Case 7  recognized people more quickly than Case 6. When we meet such spirits in a gathering right after our death, we find they have been spouses parents, grandparents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, and dear friends in our past lives. I have witnessed some gut- wrenching emotional scenes with my clients at this stage of their passage.

The emotional meetings which take place between souls at this interval in a spiritual passage are only a prelude to our eventual placement within a specific group of entities at our own maturity level.

These meetings provide another emotional high for a subject in superconscious recall. Spiritual organizational arrangements, involving how groups form and are cross-matched with other entities, will be described in subsequent chapters.

For the present, it is important we understand welcoming entities may not be part of our own particular learning group in the spirit world. This is because all the people who are close to us in our lives are not on the same developmental level.

Simply because they choose to meet us right after death out of love and kindness does not mean they will all be part of our spiritual learning group when we arrive at the final destination of this journey.

For instance, in Case 6, Uncle Charlie was clearly a more advanced soul than my subject and may even have been serving in the capacity of a spiritual guide. It was evident to me that one of the primary tasks of Uncle Charlie’s soul was to help Case 6 as a child in the life just ended, and his responsibility continued right after my subject’s death.

With Case 7, the important first contact was Larry, a true soulmate on the same level as this subject. Notice also in Case 7, that my subject’s spiritual guide was not conspicuous among her former relatives and friends. However, as the scene unfolded, there were indications of a spiritual guide orchestrating the whole meeting process while remaining in the background.

I see this in many cases.

The second manner in which we are met right after death involves a quiet, meaningful encounter with one’s spiritual guide where no one else is revealed in the immediate vicinity, as in Case 5.

Case 8 further illustrates this sort of meeting.

What type of after-death meeting we do experience appears to involve the particular style of our spiritual guide along with requisites of our individual character. I find the duration of this first meeting with our guides does vary after each life depending upon the circumstances of that life.

Case 8 shows the very close relationships people have with their spiritual guides.

Many guides have strange sounding names, while others are rather conventional. I find it interesting that the old-fashioned religious term of having a “guardian angel” is now used metaphysically to denote an empathetic spirit.

A Catholic version of a Guardian Angel.
A Catholic version of a Guardian Angel.

To be honest, this is a term I once denigrated as being foolishly loaded with wishful thinking and representing an out-dated mythology at odds with the modern world. I don’t have that belief anymore about guardian angels.

Comment 33
There are all sorts of non-physical beings. Many of which we know, deep down inside us. They can appear to us in many forms, but the form will always be the one that is most comforting to us.

I am repeatedly told that the soul itself is androgynous, and yet, in the same breath, clients declare sex is not an unimportant factor.

In the movie "Contact", an extraterrestrial took the comforting shape of the astronauts' father to put her at ease and comfort her. In the non-physical reality, our friends and angles will take on the forms that we find most appealing and meaningful to us.
In the movie “Contact”, an extraterrestrial took the comforting shape of the astronauts’ father to put her at ease and comfort her. In the non-physical reality, our friends and angles will take on the forms that we find most appealing and meaningful to us.

I have learned all souls can and do assume male and female mental impressions toward other entities as a form of identity preference. Cases 6 and 7 show the importance of the newly arrived soul in seeing familiar “faces”  identified by gender.

This is also true of the next case. Another reason why I selected Case 8 is to indicate how and why souls choose to visually appear in human form to others in the spirit world.

Case 8 – Spirits in human form

Dr. N: You have just started to actually leave the Earth’s astral plane now, and are moving further and further into the spirit world. I want you to tell me what you feel.

S: The silence … so peaceful …

Dr. N: Is anyone coming to meet you?

S: Yes, it’s my friend Rachel. She is always here for me when I die.

Dr. N: Is Rachel a soulmate who has been with you in other lives, or is she someone who always remains here?

S: (with some indignation) She doesn’t always stay here. No, she is with me a lot-in my mind-when I need her. She is my own guardian (said with possessive pride).

Note: The attributes of guides as differentiated from soulmates and other supportive entities will be examined in Chapter Eight.

Spirits can take the form of humans or angels as they deem necessary.
Spirits can take the form of humans or angels as they deem necessary.

Dr. N: Why do you call this entity a “she”? Aren’t spirits supposed to be sexless?

S: That’s right-in a literal way, because we are capable of both attributes. Rachel wants to show herself to me as a woman for the visual knowing and it is a mental thing as well with her.

Dr.  N:  Are  you  locked  into  male  or  female  attributes  during  your  spiritual existence?

S: No. As souls there are periods in our existence when we are more inclined toward one gender than another. Eventually, this natural preference evens out.

Dr. N: Would you describe how Rachel’s soul actually looks to you at this moment? S: (quietly) A youngish woman … as I remember her best … small, with delicate features … a determined expression on her face … so much knowledge and love.

Dr. N: Then you have known Rachel on Earth?

S: (responding with nostalgia) Once, long ago, she was close to me in life … now she is my guardian.

Dr. N: And what do you feel when you look at her?

S: A calmness … tranquility … love …

Dr. N: Do you and Rachel actually look at each other with eyes in a human way?

S: (hesitates) Sort of … but different. You see the mind behind what we take to be eyes, because that is what we relate to on Earth. Of course, we can do the same thing as humans on Earth, too …

Comment 34
Those creatures in spirit perceive the quanta around them by the same senses that they had when they were living on earth. For a human, the dominant sense is visual, for a dog it would be through scents..

Dr. N: What can you do on Earth with your eyes that can also be done in the spirit world?

S: When you look into a certain person’s eyes on the ground-even people you have just met-and see a light you have known before well, that tells you something about them. As a human you don’t know why-but your soul remembers.

Note: I have heard about the light of spiritual identity being reflected in the human eyes of a soulmate expressed in a variety of ways from many clients. As for myself, I have knowingly experienced this instant recognition only once in my life at the moment I first saw my own wife. The effect is startling, and a bit eerie as well.

Dr. N: Are you saying that sometimes on Earth when two people look at each other, they may feel they have known one another before?

S: Yes, it’s deja vu.

Dr. N: Let’s go back to Rachel in the spirit world. If your guardian did not project an image of herself in human form to you, would you have known her anyway?

S: Well, naturally we can always identify each other by the mind. But, it’s nicer this way. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s a … social thing … seeing a familiar face puts you at ease.

Dr. N: Seeing human features of people you knew in past lives is a good thing then, particularly in the readjustment period right after leaving Earth?

S: Yeah, otherwise you feel a little lost at first … lonesome … and maybe confused, too … seeing people as they were helps me get used to things here faster when I first come back, and seeing Rachel is always a big boost.

Dr. N: Does Rachel present herself to you in human form right after each death on Earth as a way of getting you readjusted to the spirit world?

S: (eagerly) Oh, yes-she does! And she gives me security. I feel better when I see others I have known before too …

Dr. N: And do you speak to these people?

S: No one speaks, we communicate by the mind.

Dr. N: Telepathically?

S: Yes.

Comment 35
Most of the extraterrestrials that I have been exposed to utilize quantum technologies, and also have a far better understanding of the non-physical worlds than we do. Thus, many of them communicate telepathically.

Dr. N: Is it possible for souls to have private conversations which cannot be telepathically picked up by others?

S: (pause) … for intimacy-yes.

Dr. N: How is this done?

S: By touch-it’s called touching communication.

Note: When two spirits come so close to each other they are conjoined, my subjects say they can send private thoughts by touch which passes between them as “electrical sound impulses.” In most instances, subjects in hypnosis do not wish to talk to me about these personal confidences.

Dr. N: Could you clarify for me how human features can be projected by you as a soul?

S: From … my mass of energy… I just think of the features I want … but I can’t tell you what gives me the ability to do this.

Dr. N: Well, then, can you tell me why you and the other souls project certain features at different times?

S: (long pause) It depends on where you are in your movements around here … when you see another… and your state of mind then.

Dr. N: That’s what I want to get at. Tell me more about recognition.

S: You see, recognition depends on a person’s … feelings when you meet them here. They will show you what they want you to see of themselves and what they think you want to see. It also depends on the circumstances of your meeting with them.

Dr. N: Can you be more specific? What different circumstances can cause energy forms to materialize in a certain way toward other spirits?

S: It is the difference between your being on their turf or your turf. They may choose to show you one set of features in one place, while in another you might see something else.

Note: Spiritual “territory” will be explained as we proceed further into the spirit world.

Dr. N: Are you telling me that a soul may show you one face at the gateway to the spirit world and another image later in a different situation?

S: That’s right. Dr. N: Why?

S: Like I was telling you, a lot of how we present ourselves to each other depends on what we are feeling right then … what relationship we have with a certain person and where we are.

Dr. N: Please tell me if I understand all this correctly. The identity souls project to each other depends on timing and location in the Spirit world as well as mood, and maybe psychological states of mind when they meet?

S: Sure, and it works both ways … it’s interconnecting.

Dr. N: Then, how can we know the true character of a soul’s consciousness with all these changes in each other’s image?

S: (laughs) The image you project never hides who you really are from the rest of us. Anyway, it’s not the same kind of emotion we know on Earth. Here it is more … abstract. Why we project certain features and thoughts … is based on a … confirmation of ideas.

Dr. N: Ideas? Do you mean your sentiments at the time?

S: Yes … sort of… because these human features were part of our physical lives in other places when we discovered things … and developed ideas … it is all a … continuum for us to use here.

Dr. N: Well, if in each of our past lives we have a different face, which one do we assume between lives?

S: We mix it up. You assume those features which the person you see will most recognize as you, depending on what you want to communicate.

Comment 36
This action and behavior is automatic and natural. It is much the way that we humans use facial expressions and body language when talking to others. There just isn’t any conscious control over our actions, we just behave that way.

Dr. N: What about communication without projecting features?

S: Sure, we do that-it’s normal-but I mentally associate with people more quickly with features.

Dr. N: Do you favor projecting a certain set of facial features?

S: Hmm … I like the face with the mustache … having a rock-hard jaw…

Dr. N: You mean when you were Jeff Tanner, the cowpuncher from Texas in the life we discussed earlier?

S: (laughs) That’s it-and I have had faces like Jeff’s in other lives, too.

Dr. N: But, why Jeff? Was it just because he was you in your last life?

S: No, I felt good as Jeff. It was a happy, uncomplicated life. Damn, I looked great! My face resembled those billboard smoking ads you used to see along the highway. (chuckling) I enjoy showing off my handle-bar mustache as Jeff.

A Marlboro man billboard.
A Marlboro man billboard.

Dr. N: But that was only one life. People not associated with you in that life may not recognize you here.

S: Oh, they would get it was me soon enough. I could change to something else, but I like myself as Jeff the best right now.

Dr. N: So, this goes back to what you were saying about all of us really only having one identity, regardless of the number of facial features we might project as souls?

S: Yeah, you see everyone as they truly are. Some only want their best side to show because of what you might think of them-they don’t fully appreciate that it is what you are striving for which is important, not how you appear. We get a lot of laughs about how spirits think they should look, even taking faces they never had on Earth, and that’s okay.

Comment 37
Vanity persists in the non-physical worlds.

Dr. N: Are we talking about the more immature souls, then?

S: Yes, usually. They can get stuck … we don’t judge … in the end they are going to be all right.

Dr. N: I think of the spirit world as a place of supreme all-knowing intelligent consciousness and you make it appear that souls have moods and vanity as though they were back on Earth?

S: (burst of laughter) People are people no matter how they look on their physical worlds.

Dr. N: Oh, do you see souls who have gone to planets other than Earth?

S: (pause) Once in a while …

Dr. N: What features do souls from other planets besides Earth show you?

S: (evasively) I … kind of stick with my own people, but we can assume any features we want for communication …

Note: Gaining information from the subjects I have had who are able to recall leading physical past lives in non-human form on other worlds is always challenging. Recollection of these experiences are usually limited to older, more advanced souls, as we will see later.
Comment 38
This can be confusing. Each species has it’s own “region” within a universe. This region is also treated as a “universe”. Thus, it can be very confusing.

For now, and apologies to any loose statements that I have made in the past, we can consider the “universe” outside or next to the physical universe to be segregated into sub-universe or regions that each favor a certain species. It’s a spawning process and the lack of proper terminology can hamper our study of this.

This is how the different universes connect together. That being said, a human or a dog, or a cat, or a Mantid can visit all of them if they desire. But the universe of preference is our "home" universe. We go to our "home" universe (human universe for humans) via a space known as the non-physical universe. And of course, we enter the non-physical universe through a "bridge" known as the "tunnel of light".
This is how the different universes connect together. That being said, a human or a dog, or a cat, or a Mantid can visit all of them if they desire. But the universe of preference is our “home” universe. We go to our “home” universe (human universe for humans) via a space known as the non-physical universe. And of course, we enter the non-physical universe through a “bridge” known as the “tunnel of light”.

Dr. N: Is this ability to transmit features to each other as souls a gift the creator provided for us based upon spiritual need?

S: How should I know-I’m not God!

The concept of souls having fallibility comes as a surprise to some people. The statements of Case 8 and all my other clients indicate most of us are still far from perfect beings in the spirit world. The essential purpose of reincarnation is self- improvement. The psychological ramifications of our development, both in and out of the spirit world, is the foundation of my work.

We have seen the importance of meeting other entities while entering the spirit world. Besides uniting with our guides and other familiar beings, I have mentioned a third form of reentry after death. This is the rather disconcerting manner in which a soul is met by no one.

Comment 39
For whatever it is worth, it is not all that bad. You arrive in Heaven, in the same way that you put on your favorite piece of clothing. It just fits naturally, and you don’t need, nor want anyone to see you. You just go about your business, and that’s it..

Although it is an uncommon occurrence for most of my clients, I still feel a little sorry for those subjects who describe how they are pulled by unseen forces all alone to their final destinations, where contact is finally made with others. This would be akin to landing in a foreign country where you have been before, but without any baggage handlers or a tourist information desk to assist you with directions. I suppose what bothers me the most about this type of entry is the apparent lack of any soul acclimation.

My own conceptions of what it must be like to be alone at the spiritual gateway and beyond is not shared by those souls who utilize the option of going solo. Actually, people in this category are experienced travelers. As older, mature souls, they seem to require no initial support system. They know right where they are going after death. I suspect the process is accelerated for them as well, because they manage to more rapidly wind up where they belong than those who stop to meet others.

Case 9 is a client who has had a great number of lives, spanning thousands of years. About eight lives before his current one, people finally stopped meeting him at the spiritual gate.

Case 9 – Arriving alone in Heaven.

Dr. N: What happens to you at the moment of death?

S: I feel a great sense of release and I move out fast.

Dr.  N: How would you characterize your departure from Earth into the spirit world?

S: I shoot up like a column of light and I’m on my way.

Dr. N: Has it always been this fast for you?

S: No, only after my last series of lives.

Dr. N: Why?

S: I know the way, I don’t need to see anybody-I’m in a hurry.

Dr. N: And it doesn’t bother you that you are not met by anyone?

S: (laughs) There was a time when it was good, but I don’t require that sort of thing anymore.

Dr.  N:  Whose  decision  was  it  to  allow  you  to  enter  the  spirit  world  without assistance?

S: (pause and then with a shrug) It was … a mutual decision … between my teacher and me … when I knew I could handle things by myself.

Dr. N: And you don’t feel rather lost or lonely right now?

S: Are you kidding? I don’t need my hand held anymore. I know where I’m going and I’m anxious to get there. I’m being pulled along by a magnet and I just enjoy the ride.

Dr. N: Explain to me how this pulling process works which will take you to your destination?

S: I am riding on a wave … a beam of light.

Dr. N: Is this beam electromagnetic, or what?

S: Well … it’s similar to the bands of a radio with someone turning the dial and finding the right frequency for me.

Comment 40
Quanta behaves similarly to that of electronic wave patterns, with frequency, harmonics and amplitude.

Dr. N: Are you saying you are being guided by an invisible force without much voluntary control and that you can’t speed things up as you did right after death?

S: Yes. I must go with the wave bands of light … the waves have direction and I’m flowing with it. It’s easy. They do it all for you.

Dr. N: Who does it for you?

S: The ones in control … I don’t really know.

Dr. N: Then you are not in control. You don’t have the responsibility of finding your own destination.

S: (pause) My mind is in tune with the movement … I flow with the resonance …

Dr. N: Resonance? You hear sounds?

S: Yes, the wave beam … vibrates … I’m locked into this, too.

Dr. N: Let’s go back to your statement about the radio. Is your spiritual travel influenced by vibrational frequencies such as high, medium, and low resonance quality?

S: (laughing) That’s not bad-yes, and I’m on a line, like a homing beacon of sound and light… and it’s part of my own tonal pattern-my frequency.

Dr.  N:  I’m  not  sure  I  understand  how  light  and  vibration  combine  to  set  up directional bands.

S: Think of a monster tuning fork inside a flashing strobe light.

Dr. N: Oh, then there is energy here?

S: We have energy-within an energy field. So, it isn’t just the lines we travel on … we generate energy ourselves … we can use these forces depending on our experience.

Comment 41
Quanta can be treated as an energy, or a light, or a carrier wave, or a homing beacon. There is an enormous science behind the manipulation of quanta.

Dr. N: Then your maturity level does give you some element of control in the rate and direction of travel.

S: Yes, but not right here. Later, when I am settled I can move around much more on my own. Now, I’m being pulled and I’m supposed to go with it.

Dr. N: Okay, stay with this and describe to me what happens next.

S: (short pause) I’m moving alone … being homed into my proper space… going where I belong.

In hypnosis, the analytical conscious mind works in conjunction with the unconscious mind to receive and answer messages directed to our deep-seated memories. The subject in Case 9 is an electrical engineer and thus he utilized some technical descriptions to express his spiritual sensations. This client’s predisposition to explain his thoughts on soul travel in technical terms was encouraged, but not dictated, by my suggestions. All subjects bring their own segments of knowledge to bear on answering my questions about the spirit world. This case used physical laws familiar to him to describe motion, whereas another person might have said souls move in this tract within a vacuum.

Comment 42
In all instances, the person describing their experiences utilize the terminology of their human experiences to describes their adventures in the non-physical worlds..

Before continuing with the passage of souls into the spirit world, I want to discuss those entities who either have not made it this far after physical death, or will be diverted from the normal travel route.

The Displaced Soul

THERE are souls who have been so severely damaged they are detached from the mainstream of souls going back to a spiritual home base. Compared to all returning entities, the number of these abnormal souls is not large. However, what has happened to them on Earth is significant because of the serious effect they have on other incarnated souls.

There are two types of displaced souls:

  • Those who do not accept the fact their physical body is dead and fight returning to the spirit world for reasons of personal anguish, (ghosts) and…
  • Those souls who have been subverted by, or had  complicity with, criminal abnormalities in a human body.

In the first instance, displacement is of the soul’s own choosing.

While in the second case, spiritual guides deliberately remove these souls from further association with other entities for an indeterminate period.

In both situations, the guides of these souls are intimately concerned with rehabilitation.

But because the circumstances are quite different between each type of displaced soul, I will treat them separately.

Ghosts

The first type we call ghosts. These spirits refuse to go home after physical death and often have unpleasant influences on those of us who would like to finish out our own human lives in peace.

These displaced souls are sometimes falsely called “demonic spirits” because they are accused of invading the minds of people with harmful intent.

The subject of negative Spirits has produced serious investigations in the field of parapsychology. Unfortunately, this area of spirituality has also attracted a fringe element of the unscrupulous associated with the occult, who prey on the emotions of susceptible people.

Ghosts can sometimes be photographed if the conditions are right.
Ghosts can sometimes be photographed if the conditions are right.

The troubled spirit is an immature entity with unfinished business in a past life on Earth.

They may have no relation to the living person who is disrupted by them.

It is true that some people are convenient and receptive conduits for negative spirits who wish to express their querulous nature. This means that someone who is in a deep meditative state of consciousness might occasionally pick up annoying signal patterns from a discarnated being whose communications can range from the frivolous to provocative. These unsettled entities are not spiritual guides.  

Real guides are healers and don’t intrude with acrimonious messages.

More  often  than  not,  these  uncommon  haunted  spirits  are  tied  to a  particular geographic location.

On November 19, 1995, Wem Town Hall in Shropshire, England burned to the ground. Many spectators gathered to watch the old building, built in 1905, as it was being consumed by the flames. Tony O'Rahilly, a local resident, was one of those onlookers and took photos of the spectacle with a 200mm telephoto lens from across the street. One of those photos shows what looks like a small, partially transparent girl standing in the doorway. Nether O'Rahilly nor any of the other onlookers or firefighters recalled seeing the girl there.
On November 19, 1995, Wem Town Hall in Shropshire, England burned to the ground. Many spectators gathered to watch the old building, built in 1905, as it was being consumed by the flames. Tony O’Rahilly, a local resident, was one of those onlookers and took photos of the spectacle with a 200mm telephoto lens from across the street. One of those photos shows what looks like a small, partially transparent girl standing in the doorway. Nether O’Rahilly nor any of the other onlookers or firefighters recalled seeing the girl there.

Researchers who have specialized in the phenomena of ghosts indicate those disturbed entities are caught in a “no-man’s land” between the lower astral planes of Earth and the spirit world.

From my own research, I don’t believe these souls are lost in space, nor are they demonic. They choose to remain within the Earth plane after physical death for a time by their own volition due to a high level of  discontent.  In my opinion, they are damaged souls because they evidence confusion, despair, and even hostility to such an extent they want their guides to stay away from them.

We do know a negative, displaced entity can be reached and handled by various means, such as exorcism, to get them to stop interfering with human beings. Possessing spirits can be persuaded to leave and eventually make a proper transition into the spirit world.

Comment 43
All over the world, throughout history, are tales of demons, ghosts and sprites. Also along with these stories are tales of how people “exorcised” these beings away from them. It is only recently, in the “new”, “progressive”, “modern” and “scientific” age of Newtonian science of the 1930’s that people started to treat the unseen as mere ignorance and superstition. They are not, and they should not be treated that way..

If we have a spirit world governed by order, with guides who care about us, how can maladaptive souls (who exert negative energy upon incarnated beings) be allowed to exist?

One explanation is that we still have free will, even in death.

Another is that since  we  endure so many  upheavals in our  physical universe, then spiritual irregularities and deviations from the normal exodus of souls ought to be anticipated as well.

Discarnate, unhappy spirits who trap themselves are possibly part of a grand design.

When they are ready, these souls will be taken by the hand away from Earth’s astral plane and guided to their proper place in the spirit world. 

The Evil Soul.

I turn now to the far more prevalent second type of disturbed soul. These are souls who have been involved with evil acts.

We should first speculate if a soul can be considered culpable or guilt-free when it occupied the offending criminal brain? Is the soul mind or human ego responsible, or are they the same?

Occasionally, a client will say to me, “I feel possessed by an inner force which tells me to do bad things.”

There are mentally ill people who feel driven by opposing forces of good and evil over which they believe they have no control.

After working for years with the superconscious minds of people under hypnosis, I have come to the conclusion that the five-sensory human can negatively act upon a soul’s psyche.

We express our eternal self through dominant biological needs and the pressures of environmental stimuli which are temporary to the incarnated soul. Although there is no hidden, sinister self within our human form, some souls are not fully assimilated. People not in harmony with their bodies feel detached from themselves in life.

This  condition  does  not  excuse  souls  from  doing  their  utmost  to prevent evil involvement on Earth. We see this in human conscience. It is important we distinguish between what is exerting a negative force on our mind and what is not.

Hearing an inner voice which may suggest self-destruction to ourselves or someone else is not a demonic spiritual entity, an alien presence, nor a malevolent renegade guide. Negative forces emanate from ourself.

The destructive impulses of emotional  disorders,  if  left  untreated, inhibit soul development. Those of us who have experienced unresolved personal trauma in our lives carry the seeds of our own destruction. This anguish affects our soul in such a way that it seems we are not whole. For instance, excessive craving and addictive behavior, which is the outgrowth of personal pain, inhibits the expression of a healthy soul and may even hold a soul in bondage to its host body.

Does the extent of contemporary violence mean that we have more souls “going wrong” today than in the past?

If nothing else, our over-population and mind- altering drug culture should support this conclusion. On the positive side, Earth’s international level of consciousness toward human suffering appears to be rising. I’ve been told that in every era of Earth’s bloody history there has always been a significant number of souls unable to resist and successfully counter human cruelty. Certain souls, whose hosts have a genetic disposition to abnormal brain chemistry, are particularly at risk in a violent environment.

We see how children can be so damaged by physical and emotional family abuse that, as adults, they commit premeditated acts of atrocity without feelings of remorse. Since souls are not created perfect, their nature can be contaminated during the development of such a life form.

If our transgressions are especially serious we call them evil.

My subjects say to me no soul is inherently evil, although it may acquire this label in human life. Pathological evil in humans is characterized by feelings of personal impotence and weakness which is stimulated by helpless victims.

Although souls who are involved with truly evil acts should generally be considered at a  low  level  of  development, soul immaturity does not automatically  invite malevolent behavior from a damaged human personality.

The evolution of souls involves a transition from imperfection to perfection based upon overcoming many difficult body assignments during their task-oriented lives.

Souls may also have a predisposition for selecting environments where they consistently don’t work well, or are subverted.

Thus, souls may have their identity damaged by poor life choices.

However, all souls are held accountable for their conduct in the bodies they occupy. We will see in the next chapter how souls receive an initial review of their past life with guides before moving on to join their friends.

But what happens to souls who have, through their bodies, caused extreme suffering to another?

If a soul is not capable of ameliorating the most violent human urges in its host body, how is it held accountable in afterlife? This brings up the issue of being sent to heaven or hell for good and bad deeds because accountability has long been a part of our religious traditions.

On the wall of my office hangs an Egyptian painting, “The Judgment Scene,” as represented in the Book of the Dead, which is a mythological ritual of death over 7,000 years old.

Egyptian painting, “The Judgment Scene,” as represented in the Book of the Dead.
Egyptian painting, “The Judgment Scene,” as represented in the Book of the Dead.

The ancient Egyptians had an obsession with death and the world beyond the grave because, in their cosmic pantheon, death explained life.  The picture shows a newly deceased man arriving in a place located between the land of the living and the kingdom of the dead.

He stands by a set of scales about to be judged for his past deeds on Earth.

The master of ceremonies is the god Anubis, who carefully weighs the man’s heart on one pan of the scale against the ostrich feather of truth on the opposite side.

The heart, not the head, represented the embodiment of a person’s soul-conscience to the Egyptians.

It is a tense moment.

A crocodile-headed monster is crouched nearby with his mouth open, ready to devour the heart if the man’s wrongs outweigh the good he did in life. Failure at the scales would end the existence of this soul.

I get quite a few comments from my clients about this picture.

A metaphysically oriented person would insist no one is denied entrance into the kingdom of afterlife, regardless of how unfavorably balanced the scales might be toward past conduct.

Is this belief true? Are all souls given the opportunity to transmute back into the spirit world the same way, irrespective of their association with the bodies they occupied?

To answer this question, I should begin by mentioning that a large segment of society believes all souls do not go to the same place. More moderate theology no longer  stresses  the  idea  of  hellfire  and  brimstone  for  sinners.  However,  many religious sects indicate a spiritual coexistence of two mental states of good and evil.

For the “bad” soul there are ancient philosophical pronouncements denoting a separation from the God-Essence as a means of punishment after death.

The Tibetan Book of the Dead, a source of religious belief thousands of years older than the Bible, describes the state of consciousness between lives (the Bardo) as a time when “the evil we have perpetrated projects us into spiritual separation.”

If the peoples of the East believed in a special spiritual location for evil doers, was this idea similar to the concept of purgatory in the Western world?

From its earliest beginnings, Christian doctrine defined purgatory as a transitory state of temporary banishment for sins of a minor nature against humanity. The Christian purgatory is supposed to be a place of atonement, isolation, and suffering.

Christian purgatory.
Christian purgatory.

When all negative karma is removed, these souls are eventually allowed into heaven. On the other hand, souls committing major (deadly) sins are condemned to hell forever.

Comment 44
I have very little experience in these “sorting” matters as described. I do believe that they exist. I do believe that Doctor Newton has correctly identified and discussed these matters, but my role in MAJestic did not deal with these issues and thus I have nothing to add to this dialog…

Does hell exist to permanently separate good souls from bad ones? All my case work with the spirits of my subjects has convinced me there is no residence of terrible suffering for souls, except on Earth. I am told all souls go to one spirit world after death where everyone is treated with patience and love.

However,  I have learned that certain souls  do undergo separation in the spirit world.

This happens at the time of their orientation with guides.

They are not activated along the same travel routes as other souls. Those of my subjects who have been impeded by evil report that souls whose influence was too weak to turn aside a human impulse to harm others will go into seclusion upon reentering the spirit world. These souls don’t appear to mix with other entities in the conventional manner for quite a while.

I have also noticed that those beginner souls who are habitually associated with intensely negative human conduct in their first series of lives must endure individual spiritual isolation.

Ultimately, they are placed together in their own group to intensify learning under close supervision.

This is not punishment, but rather a kind of purgatory for the restructuring of self-awareness with these souls.

Because wrongdoing takes so many forms on Earth, spiritual instruction and the type of isolation used is varied for each soul. The nature of these variations apparently is evaluated during orientation at the end of each life.

Relative time of seclusion and reindoctrination is not consistent either.

For instance, I have had reports about maladjusted spirits who have returned back to Earth directly after a period of seclusion in order to expunge themselves as soon as possible by a good incarnated performance.

Here is an example, as told to me by a soul who was acquainted with one of these spirits.

Case 10 – The “second chance ” at redemption.

Dr. N: Do souls bear responsibility for their involvement with flawed human beings who injure others in life?

S: Yes, those who have wronged others savagely in a life-I knew one of those souls.

Dr. N: What do you know about this entity? What happened after this soul returned to the spirit world following that life?

S: He … had hurt a girl … terribly … and did not rejoin our group. There was extensive private study for him because he did so poorly while in that body.

Dr. N: What was the extent of his punishment?

S: Punishment is … a wrong interpretation … it’s regeneration. You have to recognize this is a matter for your teacher. The teachers are more strict with those who have been involved with cruelty.

Dr. N: What does “more strict” mean to you in the spirit world?

S: Well, my friend didn’t go back with us … his friends … after this sad life where he hurt this girl.

Dr. N: Did he come through the same spiritual gateway as yourself when he died?

S: Yes, but he did not meet with anybody … he went directly to a place where he was alone with the teacher.

Dr. N: And then what happened to him?

S: After awhile … not long … he returned to Earth again as a woman … where people were cruel … physically abusive … it was a deliberate choice … my friend needed to experience that …

Comment 45
Always a fit punishment for those that have used and abused us. I live to believe that this is true, and I actually do believe it to be the case. Firstly because it is so easy to do. In the MWI you get to pick the world-line to experience that kind of terror and pain. And the selection would be such that you would really learn humility and the consequences of your actions. I also like to believe that all those people who commit unkind actions, in the name of “business”, or for “profit”, or for other non-overt actions will experience the results of their lust and greed…

Dr. N: Do you think this soul blamed the human brain of his former host body for hurting the girl?

S: No, he took what he had done … back into himself … he blamed his own lack of skill to overcome the human failings. He asked to become an abused woman himself in the next life to gain understanding… to appreciate the damage he had done to the girl.

Dr. N: If this friend of yours did not gain understanding and continued involving himself with humans who committed wrongful acts, could he be destroyed as a soul by someone in the spirit world?

S: (long pause) You can’t destroy energy exactly … but it can be reworked… negativity which is unmanageable … in many lives … can be readjusted.

Dr. N: How?

S: (vaguely) … Not by destruction … remodeling …

Case 10 did not respond further to this line of questioning, and other subjects who know  something   about   these   damaged   souls   are  rather sparse with their information. Later, we will learn a bit more about the formation and restoration of intelligent energy.

Most errant souls are able to solve their own problems of contamination. The price we pay for our misdeeds and the rewards received for good conduct revolve around the laws of karma. Perpetrators of harm to others will do penance by setting themselves up as future victims in a karmic cycle of justice. The Bhagavad Gita, another early Eastern scripture which has stood the test of thousands of years, has a passage which says, “souls of evil influence must redeem their virtue.”

No study of life after death would have any meaning without addressing how karma relates to causality and justice for all souls. Karma by itself does not denote good or bad deeds. Rather it is the result of one’s positive and negative actions in life. The statement, “there are no accidents in our lives,” does not mean karma by itself impels. What it does is propel us forward by teaching lessons. Our future destiny is influenced by a past from which we cannot escape, especially when we injure others.

The key to growth is understanding we are given the ability to make mid-course corrections in our life and having the courage to make necessary changes when what we are doing is not working for us. By conquering fear and taking risks, our karmic pattern adjusts to the effects of new choices. At the end of every life, rather than having a monster waiting to devour our souls, we serve as our most severe critic in front of teacher-guides.

This is why karma is both just and merciful. With the help of our spiritual counselors and peers we decide on the proper mode of justice for our conduct.

Some people who believe in reincarnation also think if negative souls do not learn their lessons within a reasonable span of lives, they will be eliminated and replaced by more willing souls.

My subjects deny this premise.

There is no set path of self-discovery designed for all souls. As one subject told me, “souls are assigned to Earth for the duration of the war.”

This means souls are given the time and opportunity to make changes for growth. Souls who continue to display negative attitudes through their human hosts must overcome these difficulties by continually making an effort to change. From what I have seen, no negative karma remains attached to a soul who is willing to work during their many lives on this planet.

It is an open question whether a soul should be held entirely at fault for humanity’s irrational, unsocialized, and destructive acts.

Souls must learn to cope in different ways with each new human being assigned to them. The permanent identity of a soul stamps the human mind with a distinctive character which is individual to that soul.

However, I find there is a strange dual nature between the soul mind and human brain.

I will discuss this concept further in later chapters, after the reader learns more about the existence of souls in the spirit world…

This is the first part of a multiple part series. To go to the next part, please click HERE.

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A detailed look into the topography of Heaven; The Destiny of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton. (Part 3)

This is part three of a three part HTML version of the book by Michael Newton titled “Destiny of Souls”. The first part can be found HERE.

Important Note
This post contains the complete reprint of the non-fiction work by Dr. Michael Newton titled “Destiny of Souls”. This HTML version of the book was transcribed from a MS Word version of a PDF file that was obtained from an EPUB file format. Thus the paragraphs tend to have odd breaks. I have also not included the very few figures that were part of the book. Aside from these issues, the book should be easy enough to read without problem. Please enjoy. Please also take note that this is the third part of a three part series.

Destiny of Souls (Part 3 of 3)

Community Dynamics

Soulmates

Between the first and second council meetings is a period of renewal for the soul. As ethereal beings, our growth actually began in the mental realm of the spirit world with other souls before any of us incarnated. So while our internal being is uniquely individual, a vital part of spiritual life between incarnations is devoted to empathetic relationships with other souls. Thus, our development as souls becomes a collective one. Part of the expression of this collectivity is the association we have with these souls in a material reality, such as Earth. During reincarnation, the closeness souls feel for each other in a mental setting is severely tested by karmic challenges in our host bodies. This interruption of a blissful mental existence is one means by which spiritual masters expand our consciousness.

I have listened to many intriguing past life love stories of soulmates who come across time and space to meet each other in life once again. Here are a few examples:

  • Where love was tormented; in a Stone Age culture by a lustful clan chief who took my client’s mate on a regular basis and then gave her back.
  • Where love was deprived; from a woman who was a slave in ancient Rome serving meals to the gladiators, one of whom she loved. This captured fighter told my client he would love her forever the night before he was killed in the arena.
  • Where love was cruel; to a stable hand flogged to death in a castle dungeon during the Middle Ages by a nobleman who caught his daughter and my client in their secret meeting place.
  • Where love was heroic; when a Polynesian bridegroom drowned after saving his mate of a few hours—my client—after their canoe was struck by a sudden storm three centuries ago.
  • Where love was deadly; when my client, a German husband in eighteenth-century Europe, stabbed his wife in a fit of jealous rage over her alleged affair. Falsely accused by local gossips, she died proclaiming her innocence, saying she loved only him.
  • Where love was unforgiving; by a returning Civil War veteran whose lonely wife, my client, had married his brother a year after the veteran was officially declared dead.

All the couples listed above are happily married to each other today. Their past trials in each life prepared them for the next and strengthened their bond as soulmates. Past life age regression produces interesting information about coupling, but placing these clients between their lives provides them with far more perspective on these relationships.

There are many tests wrapped in the package of love. Mixed into those lives where we have had a long and happy life with a soulmate are those lives where we have destroyed the relationship or been devastated by the actions of our soulmate toward us. In the difficult lives with soulmates something stood in the way of an acceptance of love. Being with soulmates can bring joy and pain, but we learn from both. Always, there are karmic reasons behind the serious events involving relation- ships in our lives.

I had a client, called Valerie, who lived the life of a beautiful woman in China two centuries ago. In that life she rejected her primary soul- mate, the man she most cared about, because he argued with her and refused to feed her vanity while others did so. “Besides,” Valerie told me in trance, “he was so ungainly and rough-looking I was embarrassed to be seen with him because of what others might think. Out of pride, spite and feelings that I was being taken for granted, I married a handsome man who catered to my whims. I lost the happiness that could have been mine.”

In her next life, in nineteenth-century America, Valerie was the daughter of a Cherokee Indian chief who ordered her to marry the son of another chief as part of a treaty arrangement. This man repulsed her physically and made her life miserable after she assented to her father’s wishes. The warrior she loved in her own tribe was the rejected soul- mate in her China life. Upon returning to the spirit world after her death as an Indian woman, Valerie told me:

My love and I could have run away together. Aside from the great danger of this act, something inside told me I had to endure what my father had set in motion. I see now that it was a test. We have the capacity to severely hurt the person who loves us and also ourselves in the bargain. My life as a Cherokee woman was a reminder of my pride and vanity as a Chinese woman.

Being with the “wrong” person for a period in your life does not mean that time was wasted. The relationship was probably intended in advance. In fact, you might see this soul again in the spirit world in a different light. This was true of the man my subject was forced to marry in her Indian life. His soul belonged to a neighboring group to Valerie’s own. The soul of both men Valerie loved in her past two lives is again united with her in the twentieth century as her husband. I should add that Linda, who is Valerie’s best girlfriend today and a member of her own soul group, was the eventual mate of the warrior she loved in the Cherokee Indian life. After our session, Valerie grinned while telling me, “Now I know why I have always been a little uneasy seeing Linda around my husband.”

Before I go further, it would be a good idea to consider some ramifications involved in the magical experience of meeting a soulmate. When I first sit down with a client and we establish a rapport, I will ask about prior and current relationships that have had significance in their life.

In this way I acquire a feel for the cast of characters who exist in the play of their current life. Since I am going to be sitting in the front row as this play unfolds during hypnosis, I want a theater program.

Once in a deep trance state, many soul connections will become clear. People in my client’s cast may be lovers, devoted friends and relatives, mentors or associates. Our relationships with people take many forms in life and usually involve souls from other groups as well as our own. Usually, clients have a strong desire to identify these soul connections in their current life, although most already have a good idea who they are.

In a broad sense, love is endearment, which can take many forms in life. There is always a mental connection of one sort or another with a soulmate, regardless of the role they play. We connect with people on many levels for a multitude of karmic lessons in every life. When friendship catches fire it turns to love, but without abiding friendship deep love cannot thrive. This is quite different from infatuation, which exists on a superficial level where we have those nagging doubts about whether the connection has any real meaning. Without trust, intimacy suffers and love cannot grow. Love is the acceptance of all the imperfections of our partners. True love makes you better than you would be without that person in your life.

People often equate love with happiness. Yet happiness is a state of mind that must develop within you and not be dependent upon someone else. The most healthy kind of love is one where you already feel good about yourself and so extending your love to someone else is totally unselfish. Love takes hard work and continual maintenance. I have had numerous divorced subjects who learn that their first loves were primary soulmates. Things might have worked out if they both had tried harder.

On the other hand, there may be reasons why we might not meet our primary soulmate until later in life. Soulmates will from time to time separate for a life or two and not appear at all. “My soulmate and I were becoming too dependent upon each other, we needed to grow a while on our own” is a statement I often hear when soulmates are apart. Every era on Earth is different as to the sort of attachment and experience we will have with a soulmate. However, each life with them builds upon former lives.

We learn valuable lessons from broken relationships. The important thing is to move on in life. Some clients may tell me before their session that true love seems to elude them. After the session they usually understand the reasons behind this situation. If the right love for you does not come along, liberate yourself with the understanding that you may be here to learn other lessons. We mistakenly assume people who choose to live alone are lonely when actually they have rich lives that are calm, reflective and productive. Connecting with someone for whom you have no feelings just for the sake of not being alone is more lonely than being by yourself. As the song says, “Falling in love with love is falling for make-believe.” This kind of love is a fantasy because it’s driven by an addiction to have love at any price. If your soulmate is supposed to appear they will come into your life, often when you least expect it.

Over many years of exposure to souls in the spirit world I have developed a means of classifying soulmates. I find the position of souls within one of three categories bears upon their relationship to us in the drama of life. Our guides and beings who come from spiritual areas far from our own arc not included in these three divisions.

Primary Soulmates

A primary, or principal soulmate is frequently in our life as a closely bonded partner. This partnership may be our spouse, brother or sister, a best friend, or occasionally a parent. No other soul is more important to us than a primary soulmate and when my subjects describe lives with these souls as their mates most will say their existence is enriched beyond measure. One of the greatest motivations for souls to incarnate is the opportunity for expression in physical form. This is certainly an attraction for primary soulmates. They may change genders from lite to life together if they are more advanced souls. The average soul usually chooses one gender over another about 75 percent of the time. A primary soulmate should not be confused with the use of the term primary cluster group where many souls interact with each other as companions. People use the term “true soulmate” to define their primary soulmate, which is fine as long as this does not imply that all other soul companions are something less than true. The disagreements  people in my field have about such terms are often more symbolic than literal, but I take issue with another concept related to primary soul- mates that bothers me.

I have been questioned on road tours about how my descriptions about primary soulmates and statements of soul duality relate to the theory of twin souls. My answer is, they don’t. I have discussed how we are able to divide our soul energy to live parallel lives, although most souls don’t wish to accelerate learning in this way. Also, I have stated this capacity to divide allows us to leave part of our energy behind in the spirit world as an exact duplicate while we incarnate. Almost all souls engage in this practice, which represents soul duality. My findings of primary soulmate relationships and the capacity for souls to divide have no correlation with the twin soul or twin flame theory. My truths are mine alone but to be blunt, I have never found a single piece of evidence in my research to support the concept of twin souls.

As I understand the theory of twin souls, you and your twin were created at the same moment out of one energy egg and then separated, not to be reunited with your twin—your true soulmate—until the end of your respective karmic incarnations. I remember clients, such as case 26, who said no two souls are alike at the moment of conception. Each energy particle is unique in its own right and created as a single entity. What is so illogical to me about the twin soul theory is why would we have a primary soulmate with whom we could not work out our karmic lessons with before reaching a perfected state? Primary, or true, soulmates exist to help one another achieve goals; they are not twins of ourselves.

Companion Soulmates

Our primary soulmate is our eternal partner but we have other souls in our primary cluster group who can be called soulmates. Essentially, they are our soul companions. These souls have differences in character and a variety of talents which complement each other, as my case histories illustrate. Within this cluster group there is usually an inner circle of souls who are especially close to us, and they play important support roles in our lives and we do the same thing for them. This number varies but the average client has from three to five souls in their inner circle.

Although the companion souls in a cluster group started together, they do have different rates of development. This has as much to do with drive and motivation as talent. Each soul does possess certain strengths that their companions can draw upon during group incarnations. As the group gets smaller, many go off into different specializations but they do not lose contact with each other.

Affiliated Souls

This classification of souls pertains to members of secondary groups outside our own primary cluster but located in the same general spiritual vicinity. As 1 mentioned in chapter 5 under figure 1, secondary groups around our own primary group can total up to 1,000 souls or more. Many of these groups work in classrooms near us. There are certain affiliated souls in other groups who are selected to work with us whom we come to know over many lives, while others may only cross our path briefly. Quite often our parents come from one of these nearby cluster groups.

In terms of social interaction in the spirit world, as well as contact during their physical incarnations, souls of one cluster group may have little or no association with many of the souls in a secondary group. In the larger context all souls in a secondary group are affiliated in one

way or another but they are not considered soulmates by my clients. Although they are not really companion souls, they do form a large pool of people available for casting calls by our directors in the life to come. A soul affiliate might have a specific characteristic that is exactly what  is needed to bring a karmic lesson into your life. They are very likely to incarnate as people who carry strong positive or negative energy into their association with you. These decisions depend upon advance agreements between all parties and their respective teachers as to the benefits and disadvantages of certain character roles. The role can be very brief. The reader may recall the bus stop incident related by the subject in case 39. The assistance given to the woman in that case was more likely spontaneous, and I feel this subject was a nonaffiliated soul. 1 will cite an example of a brief positive contact reported to me by a subject who met a clearly defined affiliated soul:

I was walking alone on a beach, totally devastated after being fired from my job. A man appeared and we struck up a conversation. I did not know him and was never to see him again in that life. But that afternoon he came up to me with ease and we talked. I felt myself unloading my problems on this stranger. He calmed me down and gave me greater perspective of my job situation. After about an hour he was gone. Now I see he was an acquaintance in the spirit world from another group. It was no accident we bumped into each other that day. He was sent to me. However, it is with soulmates that we have our most profound contacts.

While considering this book, I was asked by people to be sure and give them one detailed case of a love story between primary soulmates. Being a romantic myself, this request was irresistible.

Case 46

There was an urgency to Maureen’s voice when she called me for an appointment. This was in the days before I had long waiting lists of over a year. Maureen lived close to my office in California and wondered if she might see me with a male friend who was on his way from New York to meet her for the first time. I asked her about this friend she had never met and the following story unfolded.

Three months before, on a computer website, a group of some twenty-five people interested in life after death formed what is known in computer parlance as a “chat room.” Conversations are initiated online in this way for people with similar interests. All this had to be explained to me because I have little knowledge of computers. Maureen said that she and a man named Dale found they were so closely attuned in their discussions about the topic of soulmates they felt connected in   a strange way. She added that it was uncanny how Dale mirrored her thoughts. They decided to set up their own private chat room for further computer conversations.

Maureen and Dale learned that they were born only a few months apart fifty years ago in an area around San Francisco. They talked about their unsuccessful marriages and a mutual feeling of unexplained sadness about seeking something neither had ever found that would open their hearts. Their conversations mostly centered around life after death and Dale mentioned reading my work. Soon, the two decided to meet each other in California and see me for a combined regression session at the same time.

I agreed to an appointment date that turned out to be the day after they first met. They arrived at my office starry-eyed and I remarked that they were already in a trance state and didn’t need me. The moment they saw each other there was instant recognition. Maureen said, “The way we smiled at each other—the expression in our eyes— the sound of our laughter together—the connecting vibrations as we shook hands—created a euphoria that was so strong we were oblivious to everything going on around us.”

I will relate this case from the standpoint of Maureen, since she was my initial contact. During intake, I learned that there had been times in her life when she had a feeling of deja vu when she heard music from the 1920s or saw dancers do the Charleston wearing flapper dresses from that era. Maureen also told me that since childhood she had been bothered by a recurring nightmare of sudden death.

It is my custom to take subjects into the spirit world after death from their last life so they will not miss the natural wonders of normal spirit world entry. The advantages of this hypnosis technique are many, including learning if any disrupting body imprints from the last life have been carried forward into the client’s current physical body. To speed up this process by taking subjects directly into the spirit world, say from their mother’s womb, causes them to arrive disoriented. It would be like taking someone into the back of a house and asking them to describe the front. This accelerated procedure for spirit world entry would also cause them to circumvent a variety of orientation stations. These stops might be vital if the death preceding this entry was sudden and traumatic. By not skipping over death scenes, the client is actually better protected from painful physical memories.

Upon my direction to move to the most significant scene in her past life, Maureen took me to the events leading up to her death. This is often a signal of trouble ahead and past life facilitators must be pre- pared to deal with death scenes that can be horrific. What follows is a condensed version of Maureen’s story.

Dr. N: Are you a man or woman?

S: A girl, really.

Dr. N: What is your name?

S: Samantha. Sam for short.

Dr. N: Where are you and what are you doing at this moment?

S: I’m at my bedroom dressing table getting ready to go to a party.

Dr. N: What is the party all about?

S: (pause, and then light laughter) It’s… for me, today is my eighteenth birthday and my parents are giving me a coming-out party.

Dr. N: Well, happy birthday, Sam. What is the date today?

S: (after a brief hesitation) July 26, 1923.

Dr. N: Since you are at your dressing table, I would like you to look in your mirror and describe to me what you see.

S: I’m blond, with my hair up high tonight. I’m wearing a white silk gown. It’s my first real grown-up party dress. I’m going to put on my new white high-heeled shoes.

Dr. N: You sound smashing.

S: (with a knowing smile) Rick better think so.

Dr. N: Who is Rick?

S: (now distracted and flushed) Rick is … my guy … my date for tonight. I’ve got to finish my makeup, he will be here soon.

Dr. N: Listen, Sam, I’m sure you can talk to me while finishing your makeup because I don’t want to slow you down. Tell me, are you serious about Rick?

S: (flushes again) Uh-huh … but I don’t want to appear too eager. I’m playing hard to get. Rick thinks he’s the cat’s meow, but I know he wants me.

Dr. N: I can see this is an important party. I suppose that he will be honking soon for you to run out to his car?

S: (annoyed) Absolutely not! Oh, he’d like that, all right, but he will ring the doorbell in a proper fashion and the maid will let him in and make him wait downstairs.

Dr. N: So the party is some distance from your house?

S: Not too far—it’s in a posh mansion in downtown San Francisco.

Dr. N: Okay, Sam, now move forward in time to the party downtown and explain to me what is going on.

S: (bubbling) I’m having a wonderful time! Rick looks gorgeous, of course. My parents and their friends are telling me how grown-up I look. There is music, dancing… a lot of my friends are congratulating me … and (my subject’s face grows dark for a fleeting moment) there is a lot of drinking my parents don’t know about.

Dr. N: Does this trouble you?

S: (fighting off a new set of feelings by  quickly running one hand through her hair and returning to the moment) Oh … drinking is always a part of these affairs—it makes us gay and carefree. I’m drinking too … Rick and some of his friends snuck in the liquor.

Dr. N: Move forward now to the next significant event this evening and explain what is taking place.

S: (subject’s face softens and her voice is more halting) Rick and I are dancing … he is pressed so close to me … we … are on fire … he whispers in my ear that we must get away from the party to be alone for a while.

Dr. N: And how does this make you feel, Samantha?

S: Excited … but something seems to be holding me back … I overcome it… I’m willful. I assume it’s a feeling of my parents’ disapproval… yet, I sense it’s something more. I shake it off in favor of the excitement of the moment.

Dr. N: Stay with this emotion. What happens next?

S: We leave by a side entrance to avoid being seen and go to Rick’s car. It’s a beautiful new red roadster convertible. It’s a marvelous night and the top is down.

Dr. N: Then what do you and Rick do, Sam?

S: We get in the car. Rick takes the pins out of my hair so it will blow free. He gives me a deep kiss. Rick wants to show off… we roar out of a long driveway into the street.

Dr. N: Can you describe the location of the road and the direction you take?

S: (now growing very nervous) We are going south down the Pacific Coast Road out of San Francisco.

Dr. N: What is the ride like for you, Sam?

S: (for one final fleeting moment the subject is free of her premonitions) I feel so alive. It’s a warm night and the wind in my hair blows the strands all over my face. Rick has one arm around me. He squeezes me and says I am the most beautiful girl in the world. We both know we’re in love.

Dr. N: (I notice my subject’s hands now start to shake and her body grows more rigid; I take her hand because I suspect what is coming) Now, Samantha, I want you to understand that as you continue to talk to me I will be with you every step of the way so I can move you quickly through anything that may happen. You know this, don’t you?

S: (faintly) Yes …

Dr. N: Move to the time when things begin to change on this drive with Rick and describe the action.

S: (subject’s entire body now starts to shake) Rick has been drinking too much and the road is getting more curvy. The turns are sharper and Rick only has one hand on the wheel. We are near a hilly section … close to the ocean … there is a cliff… the car is all over the road, (now shouting) RICK, SLOW DOWN!

Dr. N: Does he?

S: (crying now) OH, GOD, NO. HE WON’T! HE IS LAUGHING AND LOOKING AT ME AND NOT THE ROAD.

Dr. N: Quickly now, Sam—keep going.

S: (with a sob) We miss the next curve—the car is in space—we are crashing into the ocean … I’m dying … the water … so cold … can’t breathe … Oh, Rick … Rick …

We stop while I begin rapid desensitization of this traumatic memory while at the same time bringing Samantha’s soul out of her physical body. I remind her she has been through physical death many times before and she will be all right. Samantha explains that she is reluctant

to go because her young life was only starting. She didn’t want to leave Rick but the pulling sensation away from the ocean was “too insistent.”

When I began my research on the soul, I assumed that when two people such as Samantha and Rick died together they would also enter the spirit world together. I have found this not to be true in death scenes, with one exception. Small children who are killed with those who love them rise with that person. I will elaborate on this further in chapter 9 under souls of the young. Even primary soulmates killed at the same moment will normally rise up by separate routes on their own vibrational lines. I felt that this loss of companionship was a little sad until it was made clear to me that souls are met by their guides and friends from the spirit world at the appropriate time and place. Each soul requires their own rate of ascension, which includes orientation stops and energy rejuvenation, even if they are returning to the same soul group. This was true for Rick and Samantha.

Dr. N: Do you see Rick anywhere?

S: No, I’m trying to resist the pulling which wants me to turn around and face upwards. I want to continue to face the ocean … I want to help Rick.

Dr. N: Does the force eventually turn you around in the proper direction away from the Pacific Ocean?

S: (subject is now quiet and resigned, but mournful as well) Yes, I am now far above the Earth.

Dr. N: (this is a question I usually ask people) Do you want to say- goodbye to your parents before going further?

S: Oh … no … not right now … later I will… now I just want to go.

Dr. N: I understand. Tell me, what do you see next, Samantha?

S:  The eye  of  a  tunnel…  opening  and  closing  …  coordinating  its movement with my movement. I pass through and feel much lighter. It’s so bright now. Someone in a robe is coming toward me.

In Dale’s session, we learned he was Rick and his memories corroborated those of Maureen. While Samantha apparently lived a few seconds after the crash and rose out of the ocean, Rick’s soul bailed out while the car was still in the air. When I related this story to a Dallas audience a lady loudly scolded, “Isn’t that just like a man!” I told her that when the mind knows there is no chance of surviving imminent devastation to the body, souls may leave a moment before actual death. In this way the soul emerges with their energy more intact.

After the sessions with Dale and Maureen were completed, I met with these primary soulmates for a review of what we had learned. Maureen explained that whenever she drove down Highway 1, south of San Francisco, she would inexplicably get very nervous and apprehensive at a certain section on the coast road. Now she knew why. I hoped my deprogramming of her death scene in 1923 would also clear up the recurring nightmares of sudden death. A month later Maureen wrote and confirmed this nightmare was finally gone.

The wonders of synchronicity became evident in this case when Dale told me that one of the reasons he left the area where he was born was because he felt uncomfortable driving around San Francisco. You  would think that the time we spend in the spirit world between lives should eliminate all residual effects of our past life experiences. In most cases it does but, as I have said, some people do carry physical and emotional body imprints from one life to the next. This is especially true if that imprint bears upon a particular karmic lesson in the life to come.

Why were these primary soulmates separated in their current lives for fifty years? To understand this we must start with the dynamics of their cluster group. Dale and Maureen come from a level I soul group. In varying degrees, these twelve souls are intense fighters and risk takers. Their guide regularly takes them to nearby groups just so they can see how other groups function with more peace and harmony. Dale and Maureen told me these visitations were interesting but they found peaceful souls “sort of boring.” Certainly, there are members of their group who are less restless, but Rick/Dale isn’t one of them. In his cur- rent life he was an Army Ranger who served three tours in Vietnam. “I didn’t expect to come back,” he told me, “and that would have been okay.” Because he likes living on the edge of danger, he left the service after the war because being a peacetime soldier was too dull.

After the car crash in 1923 the group’s senior guide picked up Rick, who spent considerably more time in debriefing and orientation than did Samantha. When he did return to the group, Rick was very chagrined. In a tender scene of energy caressing, Rick told his primary soul-mate how sorry he was for cutting off her young life. It was not clear from the session just how much they both knew about the possibility of the crash in advance. They have been lovers in numerous past lives, many involving turmoil. Although Dale and Maureen incarnated at the same time in this life and in the same place as their life in the 1920s, they were not destined to meet while young. The same sensory experience and emotional energy from this geographical  location simply were part of the conditions for meeting much later in their current lives.

These soulmates both knew going into their current life that conditions would not be right for their meeting until many years had passed. Dale especially needed to feel the frustration of years of longing for the right woman to come along. He is not a careless, irresponsible man today. Samantha/Maurcen also required the maturity she did not yet possess in her relationship with Rick in the 1920s. Neither Dale nor Maureen take life for granted at this stage of their conjunction. They have both been through considerable heartache without each other. My work with this couple ended with both essentially making the same declaration. Maureen said, “We are completing our healing by a clear respect for  the sanctity of life and importance of forgiveness. Now that we both know the meaning of loss, we are going to treasure the time we have left together in this life.”

Before closing this section on soulmates, I should add that many soulmates have a preparation class just before their next incarnation. A feature of this dress rehearsal with our guides is a final review of important issues in the life to come. One aspect of this prep class might also include two soulmates going off alone and sending visual images to each other of what they will look like in their new human bodies and under what circumstances they are going to meet.

In journey of Souls I wrote a chapter citing examples of this sort of preparation for embarkation. Soulmates don’t always get together just before departure. Then too, depending upon the karma involved, sometimes one soul knows more than the other about their future meeting and what that person will look like. Here is a short example of a soulmate discussing meeting his future wife:

I was permitted to see my wife in the screening room for  the next life. She was an attractive aerobics instructor who   I would meet in a gym. I studied her body and facial features carefully because I didn't want to mess up our meeting, as I had done in my prior life. The scent of her body bathed in sweat was embedded in my mind ... her gestures . . . her smile . . . and most of all her eyes. The moment I saw her in this life it was like two magnets pulling together.

Linkages Between Spiritual and Human Families

As a rule, members of the same soul group do not return in their next incarnations as members of the same genetic human family. This means, contrary to American Indian tradition, a grandfather’s soul would typically not return to the body of his grandson. I have emphasized the opposition souls have for genetic reincarnation in chapter 4 under soul division and again in chapter 5 with DNA. It is limiting and even redundant for souls who wish to learn fresh lessons to return to bodies having the same heredity, ethnicity, cultural environment, and perhaps the same geographic setting as they had in a former life. By incarnating in different families around the globe in each life, souls are able to take advantage of the great variety of human body choices. This variety is what gives depth to our incarnations on Earth.

In unusual cases, our guides may be indulgent with souls who have strong feelings about unfinished karmic business within a particular family and wish to return to the same family. These souls may be given another crack at addressing a serious wrong done to them, or to correct harm they have caused another in the family. They could return as chil- dren of a new generation, but within the same lifetime of those people who were involved with the karmic events requiring their attention. I want to stress these occurrences of genetic reincarnation for karmic purposes are rare. It is far more likely the soul would return to another family with peripheral associations to the family of their former life to redress a serious wrong. Nevertheless, this too would be a very unconventional decision, especially in cases of personal injury to the soul, because it smacks of revenge.

Although souls typically do not incarnate in the same hereditary family they had in past lives, members of the same soul group most definitely choose new families where they can be together. Members of soul groups tend to be associated in each life by blood ties and geo- graphic proximity. What sort of roles do they choose? I’m sure readers of this book could sit down and draw up a chart showing significant members of their family, friends, lovers and even acquaintances to see who might be the most likely candidates for their own soul family.

In chapter 5, figure 7,1 charted the color auras of a soul family in their current life. Figure 10 is a diagram showing how a group of souls incarnated into human families in order to stay connected to one another over the past three centuries. My central subject in this diagram is Ruth. Please note that from one century to the next, the family heredity is completely different despite the genealogical overtones of my chart. Figure 10 is an abbreviated version of Ruth’s spiritual friends in human bodies. There are six souls listed from her own cluster group and two from an affiliated group to be found in each century.

This webbed diagram illustrates primary, companion and affiliated soulmates who have incarnated into bodies related to the lives of the subject, Ruth, over the past three centuries. Each generational line outward from the center represents the same soul in different bodies.
This webbed diagram illustrates primary, companion and affiliated soulmates who have incarnated into bodies related to the lives of the subject, Ruth, over the past three centuries. Each generational line outward from the center represents the same soul in different bodies.

This webbed diagram illustrates primary, companion and affiliated soulmates who have incarnated into bodies related to the lives of the subject, Ruth, over the past three centuries. Each generational line outward from the center represents the same soul in different bodies.

Ruth appears in the center of the diagram and each of the connecting lines from the center outward represents the same soul assuming different family roles relating to Ruth from the twentieth century back to the eighteenth century. We can see that Ruth’s primary soulmate in this life is her husband. In Ruth’s last life, this soul was her best friend, and in the life before, her wife when she was a male in the eighteenth century. Ruth’s primary soulmate has a halo color tinted with protective yellow while Ruth’s own halo is a mixture of white and blue tints, indicating clarity and love of learning. These primary soulmates have mated on a fairly regular basis for some 7,000 years since their first life together.

Besides the companion souls in Ruth’s soul group, I have also shown two affiliated souls from a nearby group. These souls are my subject’s current father and mother. The roles they played in the nineteenth century were her grandmother and grandfather respectively. In the eighteenth century, these same two souls were Ruth’s aunt and uncle. Ruth’s chart represents one typical client. Every soul group has its own subtle variations of human family preferences. 1 had a client the same week I saw Ruth who is extremely close to her mother. The mother’s soul was a member of that client’s soul group and was her sister in the life before.

Grandparents often have a great influence in our early lives as non- judgmental confidants. I often find that a favorite grandparent in this life was a sibling or best friend in a former life. The social dynamics of intimate human contact are so powerful that in most of my cases the roles souls play in our lives and we in theirs directly bear on a group’s karmic lessons. When we are hurt by someone close to us in life, or caused them hurt resulting in alienation and separation, it is because they volunteered to teach us lessons of some sort while learning lessons themselves. These lessons better prepare both parties for future relationships, as case 47 will show.

I should also point out that peripheral roles in our lives by hundreds of affiliated souls in nearby groups may go on for generations. Because of space, I did not list all these souls on Ruth’s past life chart in figure 10. An example of one important affiliated soul not included here is a soul called Zenda, who was Ruth’s favorite teacher in the sixth grade. We found that in the last century, Zenda was a supportive next-door neighbor. In the eighteenth century Zenda was the owner of a business that employed this subject. The web design of figure 10 is appropriate when we consider all the interrelationships of people whose own lives are woven into our own.

The psychological profiles of primary, companion and affiliated souls in a client’s current and past lives is very instructive when detailed in a genealogical-type chart. In each of the three past centuries we found another leading actor in Ruth’s lives who was from an affiliated soul group. There was not space for her in figure 10 either. This soul,  known as Ortier, assumed roles involving jealous, unemotional and manipulative people. She was sent to test Ruth’s trusting nature so she would learn to recover more quickly from the hurt and deal with it in a healthy manner. While this same individual would also demonstrate good qualities in human temperament, the negatives were very constant. In Ruth’s current life, Ortier is her mother-in-law. In the life before, this soul played the role of a close friend who betrayed her. There is evidence the karmic cycles with Ortier assuming roles as a protagonist will end soon for Ruth.

Ruth is a warm, passionate and tender person. Her primary soul- mate has aspects of these qualities but is also tenacious, brutally frank and decisive. Many other souls in figure 10 are rather reserved and quiet. They also have character similarities of perfectionism and stub- bornness.

One soul in the group is sloppy, easygoing and more complacent than the rest. He is my client’s brother, Andy, in her current life. This soul volunteered to be Ruth’s husband in the last century as a change of pace for her. During that life, Ruth’s primary soulmate chose the role of a male friend. They were so drawn to each other they had an affair that almost destroyed Ruth’s marriage with Andy. She finally realized in this past life that Andy, an uncustomary mate to be sure, was a person who opened her mind in a relaxed way to a more optimistic existence where she would learn to appreciate each day and see more humor in life to complement her naturally warm nature. Although not a great love match, Ruth found tolerance and playfulness with Andy as her husband in the nineteenth century. Meanwhile, her primary soulmate was coping with a new challenge of being married to someone else whose character was much more confrontative than Ruth’s.

I don’t wish to leave the impression that not being married to your primary soulmate is a formula for discontent. As a matter of fact, I have had clients who have deliberately alternated mates in a series of lives with three or four souls from their inner circle to meet certain challenges. Although the souls of Ruth and Andy tried this for the first time in the nineteenth century, the results were mostly positive.

Reuniting with Souls Who Have Hurt Us

Now that we have an idea of the roles different soulmates can play in our lives, I want to discuss a specific aspect of these associations that is of interest to people. I am often asked what it is like to see someone in our soul group right after a life where they have hurt us in some way.

The philosopher Heidegger said, “No one else can love for you or feel your pain.” This statement may be true on Earth, but not in the spirit world. Souls are capable of getting into the minds of their friends and feeling just what they feel. They do this for reasons of empathy, a desire for understanding and to evaluate the disruptive behavior of each other in the last life.

In case 47,1 have chosen a man who had a rough start in his last life with an abusive, tyrannical father who was never satisfied with anything he did. For simplification, I will use the Earth names of these players with my subject being Ray and his father as Carl. Ray was a troubled boy who grew up lacking self-worth and his entire adult life was spent trying to conquer these negative feelings. Ray hid his sensitivity from others by building protective walls around himself. What happened when father and son met again in the spirit world is the sub- stance of this case.

We are going to sit in on what Ray called “a motivational critiquing session” with Carl. The opening scene begins innocently enough with the usual greetings extended to an arriving soul by members of a cluster group. It might be helpful to refer back to figure 3 on page 143 where I have diagrammed the soul group as they would appear on the upper half of a clock. I employ my “clock technique” with incoming souls to help me determine soul position as my hypnosis subjects identify members of their cluster group.

Case 47

Dr. N: As you draw closer to these souls, how are they arranged in front of you?

S: Mmm … sort of a half circle with me coming into the middle.

Dr. N: I want you to imagine that their positions conform to the face of a clock. You are in the center, where the hands of the clock are located. The person directly in front of you would be at 12 o’clock. The one on your left is at 9 o’clock and the one on your right at 3 o’clock. Do you understand?

S: Yes, but my guide Ix-Ax is behind me right now.

Dr. N: That’s usual at this first reunion, Ray. We will consider him to be between 7 and 5 o’clock. Now tell me, from what direction on the face of our clock does the first person come forward to greet you?

S: To my far left—at 9 o’clock.

Note: The first person to come forward and greet us after a life is always a soul of significance.

Dr. N: That’s fine. Does this soul appear as a male or female to you, or is the soul genderless?

S: (tenderly) It’s my wife, Marian.

Dr. N: And what does she do right now?

S: Cups my face in her hands … she gives me a soft, gentle kiss and then hugs my head.

Each spirit has their own style of greeting for the incoming soul. After Marian, Ray’s grandmother wraps her energy completely around him lovingly, as a cloak. Then, his daughter Ann comes forward. Part of her energy is still on Earth because her current incarnation is not yet complete. Despite this reduction in energy mass, Ann clasps Ray in an exuberant rocking motion while laughing at his unsettled demeanor.

As we progressed around the clock, I noticed that my subject grew more uneasy. I suspected an important member of the group was not yet in Ray’s line of sight. As we neared the end of the circle of souls, the mood began to change when Ray encountered what I call “the hunkering- down syndrome,” which is caused by one soul hiding behind another. Sometimes the act is playful, rather like hide-and-seek, but not in this case.

Dr. N: Is that everybody?

S: (twisting uncomfortably in my office chair) No … I see a shadow behind my Aunt Bess.

Dr. N: (after calming and reassurance) Ray, tell me exactly what happens next.

S: I see a flash of light now. (with recognition) Oh … it’s my father…

Carl.  He is hiding behind the rest.  He wants to be last.  He is avoiding me. He is embarrassed at the lightness of the moment—all the hugging, laughing and excitement going on. My father doesn’t feel like participating in this right now with me. (darkly) Neither do I.

Note: A little further on in the session I make the transition back to the soul who was Carl.

Dr. N: I want you to move forward to the time when you talk to Carl. Try to give me the details of just how your conversation with him unfolds.

S: We soon get to this… the critiquing of what took place and why … talking about our attitudes and judgments. Marian and Ann are there, and Carl is still chagrined. He starts by saying, “I was too severe with you as your father. I know what we planned got out of hand. That life—it just got away from me …”

Dr. N: What does this admission mean to you, Ray?

S: (with a sense of revelation) Carl’s soul is not like the alcoholic, abusive man who was my father … oh, I see some similarities … but his innate goodness was shut down. He was not able to control the obsessions of this body.

Dr. N: Forgive me, Ray, but aren’t you making excuses for his performance? I mean, Carl had lessons to learn too, didn’t he?

S: Okay, he volunteered to join with a body prone to emotional out- bursts. Besides the plan of making things deliberately hard for me, he wanted to see if he could better moderate a body prone to violence. Carl’s previous life was one of excesses. He admits this last life we had together did not work out well. Carl did not do the right thing by me or himself.

Dr. N: (pressing) You still don’t think Carl is excusing what he did to you as your father because of his body type?

S: No, you can’t get away with that here. Carl is explaining that he failed me in many ways this time around, but he learned from the life and he asks me if I did too. (pause)

Dr. N: Please continue with this, Ray.

S: (a deep sigh) 1 can see all his anger is gone and this is strange to me now because I haven’t yet gotten used to his real self… but it won’t take long.

Dr. N: As you consider all this, Ray, what negative inclinations does the soul of Carl have which carry into his incarnations?

S: He knows it is the desire to control events and people around him. His past life as my father fed into those tendencies. Both of us have trouble in life with confrontation. This is why we work so well with Ann and Marian. They seem to diffuse life’s frustrations so much easier than we do.

Dr. N: Let’s return to the circumstances which led to your need to be under the control of a stern father who was supposed to make things deliberately hard. Even if Carl had not gone overboard in his assignment, I don’t understand why you volunteered to be his son.

S: (laughs) For that you would have to know our guide, Ix-Ax. He uses humor rather than being overly preachy. He doesn’t push us hard as an authority figure because Carl and I react badly to a firm hand. Ix- Ax nudges us while letting us believe all the ideas we get come from our own perceptions, (pauses) Ix-Ax allows me to think I am getting away with something and then he tweaks my conscience. He is a coach, not a director.

Dr. N: Well, I’m glad to get that information about Ix-Ax, but how does all this relate to you and Carl and this past life of a damaged relationship between you?

S: (patiently) In my life before the last one with Carl I was an orphan and got into some bad habits. I lost my real identity in that body. It was a wake-up call.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: I had no directional support as a kid. My mother had died. Being alone as a kid can make or break you. The trouble was… as I grew stronger and more self-reliant, I had little concern for others. I created a life of taking and giving back little. I felt people owed me.

Dr. N: Look, Ray, do you have to go to such extremes? How about having a loving father in the life you planned with Carl to compensate for the one before as an orphan?

S: (shrugs) Too easy. After my life as an orphan, Ix-Ax asked me, “I suppose now you are ready for a life of being pampered by indulgent parents?” I said to him, “Say, that doesn’t sound bad at all.” Then he added, “Shall we also arrange for you to be an only child of wealthy parents?” We had some fun with this scenario for a while with Carl entering into the discussion with a few quips about wanting plenty of money as my rich father in order to play the horses. He loves horses.

Dr. N: So how did you and Carl finally come around to making the decision to have a stressful life together?

S: Ix-Ax knows us so well. I am too far along for a soft-soap approach to life. In the end we asked him for assignments together in a difficult environment.

Dr. N: Didn’t things go from bad to worse for you as far as loneliness and alienation in your last two lives? I’m wondering if you and Carl learned anything from having such a poor relationship as father and son.

S: (pause, while rubbing his hands together in thought) Yes and no. It’s true I let my alienation in both these past lives serve as an lack of real progress but at least I had a father in my last life who didn’t leave. I did better with Carl’s abuse than total abandonment in my life before Carl, when I was an orphan.

Dr. N: That’s not much of an endorsement. Was the soul of Carl your father in your life as an orphan?

S:No.

Dr. N: What was your primary lesson in the last two lives?

S: To keep my identity, no matter what the adversity. This will make me a stronger soul.

Dr. N: I’m sure it will, Ray. But I should think you might consider slowing down now and then and take easier lives as a change of pace. Would it be so bad to catch your breath and build a stronger foundation for identity retention in future bodies?

S: (clearly upset with this suggestion) No! 1 told you I can do this and Ix-Ax knows  it,  too.  My  strength  is  perseverance  in  fighting adversity. My life with Carl as my father was a recovery  test from the previous life as an orphan and it was not a failure for me. (forcefully) I learned plenty for the next life and 1 tell Carl this to make him feel better.

Dr. N: How do the two of you bring all this to some sort of resolution in the spirit world?

S: (in a softer, more contemplative tone) When we are alone we agree to exchange the energy of our thoughts and all the memories of that life together.

Dr. N: Is this the full mind exchange I have heard about?

S: Yes, every particle of my identity as Carl’s son in that life is transferred to Carl while he projects all his memories as my father to me. It’s very subjective—and that’s good. In my group we call this passing the cup of sorrows.

Dr. N: And is each perspective totally honest? S: There can be no deception here.

Dr. N: Does this exchange last long?

S: No, the transfer is brief but complete. Then we know all the trials and burdens, pain and anger—the drives—from the other’s perspective because it is like actually being inside their old body. We become the other person.

Dr. N: Does this mind exchange bring forgiveness?

S: It is so much more than that. It is an indescribable melding of two minds. We can both experience the circumstances which led the other to make certain choices. I feel Carl’s lack of fulfillment and he feels mine. Once the exchange is made, it cuts so deep forgiveness toward another isn’t necessary. You forgive yourself and then we heal each other. Understanding is absolute. We will try again in a different life until we get it right.

After some initial awkwardness in the spirit world following their last lives together, Ray and Carl were relaxed and happy once again in their soul group. This does not mean that Carl’s conduct was quickly exonerated in the spirit world. During his life review and evaluation, before he saw Ray, Carl was keenly aware of the excessive pain and hurt he had wrought upon Ray. There are two forces at work here. The first is the potential subversion of the soul’s full character by the biophysical attributes of a host body, along with the effects of specific environmental influences. The second factor is the role they were each assigned to play out in the stream of karmic causation.

Each life is a piece of fabric which makes up the whole tapestry of our existence. If a family member or friend is harsh and uncompromising,  or perhaps weak and emotionally distant toward us in life, we are only seeing an external portion of the entire true character of that soul. Role assignments in life all have purpose. If you grew up with a particularly difficult parent, as Ray did with Carl, ask yourself this question: What did I learn at the hands of this person that has given me wisdom I would not possess if he or she had never been in my life?

Ray has had his difficulties in his current life with chemical dependency and obsessive behavior. Yet, at age 45, he is drawing on his inner resources and turning things around, from what Ray has told me, get- ting in touch with his true soul identity in our session together has been very helpful. The soul of Carl is now my client’s older brother, who was not easy on Ray when they were growing up. Many of the same relationship patterns are being played out today as in the past. Even so, these two souls have been far more engaged with each other as brothers than they were as father and son.

By not burying unpleasant memories in this life, Ray’s soul lives in a mentally healthier body. This time around the soul of Ann, a principal player, is Ray’s mother rather than a daughter. She provides a  different generational dimension to his current life. Gershen Kaufman has written that “shame is a kind of soul murder.” One of Ray’s issues is the handling of shame. Shame brings a numbness to our minds because it ushers in feelings of nonacceptance, of being no good and having no validity. It may be so overpowering as to preclude any soul progress in a human mind that has shut down. However, Ray is an unusually determined soul who, as we have seen, won’t give up these hard lives for an occasional rest. He grows stronger by building on each hard life.

Case 47 illustrates that there are souls who continually ask for body types that challenge their weakness of soul character. Both Ray and Carl are souls who easily fall into addictive habits with certain types of body chemistry. Why do they continue to ask for these bodies? They do it for practice. Any obsessive mood-altering behavior is a fix and Ray is determined to conquer this before moving on. I know this soul is making progress. After two failed marriages, Ray told me he has met the woman of his dreams, but he had to be clean of drugs and alcohol to appreciate her. We learned his wife-to-be is the soul of Marian.

A final word about the hunkering-down syndrome, where a returning soul might not initially see a group member clearly. When this happens to someone sitting in my office it may be that the soul who is hiding from a client’s conscious awareness is going to have a profound future impact. I recall a young widow who came to see me while still grieving over the recent loss of her husband. We had reviewed all the members of her soul group, including the soul of her departed husband. He embraced her in an emotional scene where he told her to stay strong and everything would turn out all right. Then she said, “Ah, there is  one more. A dark figure, bending down behind the others. Oh—it’s the soul of my future husband. I’m sure of this—but we haven’t met yet in this life. I’m not supposed to know who he is right now because it would spoil the spontaneity of our meeting.”

Interaction Between Soul Groups

I have said that almost all the younger soul groups remain in their own study areas. Particularly with the level I and lis, their designated spaces are sacrosanct with self-imposed boundaries between classrooms. The underlying basis for these conventions is that all souls have respect for the privacy of the work going on in other study areas. Spiritual class- rooms are not like earthly models where we need excuse slips for absences. Souls are free to avoid study engagements with their own classmates at any time. If a soul wants solitude, or to be involved in some private work which they feel is beneficial to them away from their companions, they are free to do so as long as this activity does not interfere with the work of another group.

I find that souls are not forced to study and some take long periods of rest. Even so, most souls 1 talk to feel left out if they are not with their classmates in some ongoing project. It is the excitement of mastering certain skills that drives them. Thus, most souls don’t wish to get involved in the middle of projects by other groups. I find that no two groups in a vicinity are at exactly the same level in all departments of study. So regardless of your developmental level, it is not all that easy to visit another classroom and gain something from a lesson in progress.

Visits between soul group members are selective and designed for specific reasons. Since such visitations are by invitations emanating from teacher-guides, they are the exception rather than the rule in the spirit world. There are groups who consort with sojourners while oth- ers don’t appear to see souls from other groups at all, except when they are away from their study areas. When souls arrive near the end of their level II training, they begin to push very hard. It is during this time when my subjects most frequently talk about the opportunity of visiting other cluster groups. The client in my next case had the following to say about one of his visits. Dr. N: Why did you want to visit this nearby soul group?

S: I come from a less serious group than many. I like to visit with this cluster because they are slightly ahead of my own. It helps my game

of life to be around better players. Most of them arc about ready to move up into independent study and they are very determined. I tell them a few jokes about my group to loosen them up and they give me practical ideas.

Dr. N: Do you visit with them often?

S: No, we know how busy everyone is and I respect that. I don’t like to interrupt them too much. Dr. N: Tell me about your last visit and what took place.

S: (pause) They were in the middle of a heated discussion. One of  their members, called Orick, was going over a dream sequence he had from an incarnation that recently ended. Orick thought they might like to know about this incident.

Dr. N: An incident involving a dream by Orick when he was last in human form on Earth?

S: That’s right. Someone out of incarnation in his group had sent Orick information while he was asleep that his human mind misinterpreted.

Dr. N: Well, was that the fault of the sender—this discarnate—or Orick?

S: You must understand the group I am visiting are pros at this sort of thing. They don’t like mistakes. They are a very serious bunch.

Dr. N: Please go on. What did you learn from the retelling of this incident by Orick about his dream?

S: The morning after his dream on Earth, Orick said he went into deep meditation to try and sort out the message he had received during the night. I guess it was too muddled in his human mind to make much sense. Orick was lightly chiding his friend—the one who sent the message—that he ought to perfect his message-sending through dreams.

Dr. N: What did the sender of the dream say to Orick?

S: He said in an offhanded way, “No, you just translated the infor- mation I sent you in an imperfect fashion and then  you acted wrongly on your own misinformation.”

Dr. N: And what did the group you were visiting conclude from this discussion between Orick and his friend?

S: I think everyone decided that even though two souls are very close the imperfect aspects of the receiving human brain can screw up any transmission. The safe thing for a soul in the spirit world to do is transmit more than once and not rely on one medium, such as the dream state. Also, to keep the messages short and very clear.

Dr. N: So, this was a productive visit for you? You learned some- thing?

S: I always do. Mostly I keep quiet and listen with this particular group. The discussion about transmitting spiritual messages was useful to me and I took what I learned from this visit back to my group for study.

Those groups who are uncomfortable with ordinary visitors may welcome an advanced specialist or high-profile soul unique to their experience. I presented an example of this sort of visitation under colors of visitors in groups in chapter 5. Yet even the clannish groups seem to enjoy socializing out of their study areas. I have already reviewed the community areas where large numbers of primary groups meet to engage in conversation with each other. To many souls this practice is considered recreation.

Because many souls do become restless at times with their formal work, instructor souls often arrange for gatherings at the community centers to hear guest speakers. The visiting speakers at these functions give souls a break from their regular teachers, which allows for different perspectives with topics of general interest to the soul groups. These messages could center around how to appreciate others, the benefits of kind acts, loyalty and integrity, and how to be generous with the gifts each of us possesses. I know the expressions of all these moral sentiments doesn’t sound much like recreation, but the speakers spice things up with personal anecdotes and many allegories where they draw parallels to their earthly experiences. There are also other subtle conversations here between masters of their craft and members of an audience  of souls that my subjects are unable to translate for me. I have a quote which gives the flavor of such a gathering:

Our training is helped by the roving guest speakers. They are different in approach and character from my own  guide, and that’s helpful. There is one woman called Sha- lakin whom I adore. She comes to our center once in a while and I never miss her. Her particular skill is the ability to  take any problem and quickly boil it down to the heart of the matter. She can take a complex idea and get through to me so quickly I somehow know I am going to respond much more effectively the next time it confronts me in life. She tells us to listen to people we don’t particularly like on  Earth because we can learn something from everyone.

Recreational Activities in the Spirit World

Leisure Time

This section is dedicated to all those who are afraid that life between lives involves only work and no play. The term R & R, rest and recreation, is quite appropriate in the spirit world and I have listened to the statements from hundreds of clients about what they do outside of their training areas. After physical death our spirit continues to carry all the fond memories of earthly life. The poignancy of tasting food and drink, touching human bodies, the smell, sights and sounds of walking the deserts, climbing mountains and swimming in the seas of Earth remain with the soul. An eternal mind can reminisce about the motor movements and sensory pleasures of a human vessel and all the feelings it generated. Thus, it is natural souls would want to maintain these planetary memories by re-creating their former bodies in the spirit world. After all, it was here (in the spirit world) where the conceptual design and eventual energy models for physical organisms began In this section, I will also discuss soul travel to Earth between lives as a part of R & R. Chapter 8 will deal with souls who travel to worlds other than Earth. These soul trips could be construed as “working vacations” for exploration and study, or they could be devoted exclusively to leisure time. The allocation of study versus leisure time on physical and mental worlds away from the soul’s home is flexible, depending upon the primary purpose of the trip and the mood of the soul. Since I am devoting this section to soul recreation, my case examples involving trips to Earth and other activities in the spirit world will be confined to soul entertainment.

Recess Breaks

My subjects differentiate between the shorter breaks from soul study and those involving more recreation time. This is an example from a male client relating a typical intermission from class work:

There are ten people in my group and we separate from each other during the short breaks. I like to wander about, away from our enclosure. 1 might go down the hall and out into an open area where people from many other groups  are milling around and talking. What I like about these casual rest periods is the spontaneity. We can easily meet someone who we might like to be paired up with in some way in a future life. It isn’t that we talk shop at these breaks as much as the exposure of just meeting and getting to  know other sorts of souls. Of course, there is always the fun of bumping into someone from a past life who we haven’t seen in a while and comparing notes.

Another subject had this to say about lesson breaks with members of her group who are inclined to choose female bodies:

We go to a space surrounded by a lush garden of flowers. It has a beautiful pool with vibrating, restorative, liquid energy. It is shallow so we can wade rather than actually swim. We float around as water nymphs and tell each other funny stories about our lives.

In those groups where souls are not yet fully androgynous I do hear about gender-oriented recreational activities. This does not surprise me. As I have said before, the younger souls are inclined toward one gender when they incarnate on Earth. One subject said to me, “During our picnics at the breaks, my women friends and I flirt with some of the male-oriented souls from other groups close by us. We threaten to become their wives in the next life if they don’t behave.”

Quiet Solitude as R&R

Because the work activities of soul groups is demanding, there are souls who prefer settings of solitude during their off time. We all know people who prefer to be alone rather than socialize. Many of us become so distracted by the hectic roles we play in life, it is difficult to learn who we really are. Under case 22 in chapter 4,1 referred to souls of solitude, who require a lengthy period of adjustment alone after particularly hard lives. These souls are not usually the monastically-oriented beings who require steady doses of solitude throughout their existence. Certainly, most souls rejuvenate well with some solitude. Yet I have encountered certain souls who seem to require regular periods of seclusion mixed with group class time. I consider many souls of this type to be ascetics. I feel the appeal of periods of quiet time represents a form of mental contemplation similar to that experienced from abbeys to ashrams on Earth where we focus on spiritual principles. A client made the following symbolic statement:

I am called the Wreathweaver by my group. I like to be by myself so I can see myself. Within my quiet time, I construct circular bands of energy—weaving them together as a tapestry of my lives and that of my six closest friends. I display the diversity of our life experiences by weaving different materials—attributes of energy— which represent the trappings of people and events. To execute this properly I must have total concentration.

My subjects say that the desire for time alone in the spirit world comes from an intense need to dwell within the sacred confines of pure thought to try and touch the Source from which they sprang. Many say they have profound moments of success but it is intense work. I have found that some of these ascetic souls have trouble participating in group activities and will shun recreation periods because they prefer contemplation. Despite their detachment during training, down the line these souls are capable of making great contributions in their specialty areas.

Going to Earth for R&R

There are souls who come to Earth as invisible beings between lives so they can re-experience former physical environments. The only problem with this is they must return to chronological time, which means these souls are caught up with change since they were last here. In chapter 3, the soul in case 17 described returning to Earth on a vacation trip and running into other discarnates, some of whom were disruptive. This factor, plus not wanting to dilute old, original memories, can dissuade souls from coming back to Earth between lives. There are souls who find this sort of nostalgic trip to be unrewarding and even frustrating out of a physical body. This situation does not apply to those souls who come back to comfort and aid loved ones and are not motivated by a desire for recreation.

From what I have observed, it is change that seems to have the biggest impact on the vacationing soul. Many won’t return to Earth for recreation between lives because of the day-to-day modernization of the communities they once occupied. In dimensions away from ground zero on Earth, images of places and the people who once lived here are frozen in a timeless vacuum that never vanishes from existence. The patterns of energy particles representing moments in human history can be retrieved at will by souls who are out of absolute physical time.

Nonetheless, there are souls who still want to come back for planetary visits, despite the negatives. My next case is one of those souls who enjoys roaming around his old haunts on Earth. Out of a multitude of possible case selections, I chose the next case for personal reasons. The area described is where I grew up. Case 49 and I participated in the same activity, which even overlapped in time during the last few years of his life, ending in 1948. As I consider this case, I wonder if I will be imitating this soul’s spiritual recreation myself in the twenty-first century?

Case 49

Dr. N: What do you find most enjoyable as a recreational activity between lives?

S: I like to come to Earth.

Dr. N: Where do you go?

S: I loved the beaches of southern California in my last life. So I return to sit on the sand in the sun, walk the beach among the seagulls, and be in the surf. My passion are the waves—the feeling of movement and the crashing foam.

Dr. N: How can you fully experience all this at the beach without a physical body?

S: I take just enough energy with me for the experience but not  enough to be seen.

Dr. N: I have been told that on many recreation jaunts a soul might take 100 percent of their energy. What do you do?

S: We don’t do this on Earth because it would not be fair to scare people. I bring no more than 5 percent, usually a bit less.

Dr. N: Are you capable of riding waves?

S: (laughing) Absolutely, why do you think I come? I also soar with the birds and play with dolphins.

Dr. N: If you were a spirit sitting on the beach enjoying the sun and I walked past you, what would I see?

S: Nothing, I am transparent.

Dr. N: Would that mean if I were strolling along the beach would I just walk through you in your space without sensing your presence?

S:  Well…  a  few  people might  sense  something  but they would probably dismiss this as a figment of their imagination.

Dr. N: Could you go to other physical worlds to experience what you have described?

S: Yes, but I loved this area and I have been here in more than one life. That is why I return. For me the sea is part of my soul. I could go to other water worlds, or create all this in the spirit world, but for me this would not be quite the same thing.

Dr. N: Where are your other favorite spots to play based upon your former lives on Earth?

S: Around the Mediterranean and Aegean Seas.

Creation of Earthly Settlements

The Apaches believe that “wisdom sits in places.” Since it is possible to create any reality in the spirit world, it is not unusual that some souls wish to spend their off periods in the houses where they lived on Earth. Frequently, these souls prefer to suspend the timeline where they lived in a former life and not expose themselves to huge increases in population and alterations of their old neighborhoods. This is like freezing moments in past time, which souls who wish to spend their recreation time in the spirit world can do.

These souls may want to mentally construct an exact duplication of familiar settings around where they used to live, such as the surrounding countryside, parks and streets, and any structures which remind them of their old hometowns. They only have to conjure up these places from memory and use directed energy beams for the images to appear. To fully implement these projects created out of pure energy, the assistance of others may be required. Once in place, they will disintegrate only when the soul loses interest.

The bodies souls had during the time when they lived in certain locations are also re-created by them whenever they are in residence. Souls may wish to add their old pets to these scenes, which I will explain more about in the section on animals. I must say that many of the souls who appreciate this sort of recreation are fun-loving and humorous. They might ask their past life friends to come and socialize with them at re-created geographic locations of mutual interest. Soul-mates have priority here, as the next quote clearly indicates:

My wife Erika and I loved the small house we built in the Bavarian Alps. We wanted it again after death and so we built it with the help of our energy teacher. He thought it was good practice for us. The model was in my mind and he saw it perfectly before we began the energy transmissions. Additional touches of the exterior came from our friends Hans and Elfie, who lived near our house in Germany and are with us now. The interior furnishings Erika and I did without help. I created my old library and my wife set up her kitchen just as it was. It is wonderful to be alone again with her in this way.

People are curious if souls can have intimate physical relations with their re-created bodies. If good sex originates in the mind, then the pure soul has all the benefits without the physical inhibitors. No self-pretense is possible in the spirit world. From what I can gather, there is a loss of full tactile sensation by not being within a dense physical body having a nervous system. At any rate, in the spiritual re-creation of a human body, the lack of full sensory sensation is more than made up for by the erotic power of two minds that are completely joined.

Love is a desire for full unification with the object of that love. Spirits have the capability between lives of expressing love even more intimately than on Earth. Even so, some souls are still motivated by establishing the scenes of former lives where their love blossomed. Re- creating these scenes is meaningful to partners. After all, a major incentive for many souls to reincarnate is the pleasures of physical expression in biological form.

Animal Souls

I remember delivering a speech in downtown New York City and during the question and answer period a woman in the front row issued me the following challenge: “Do you believe cats have souls?” I responded with, “Are you a cat owner?” While the woman hesitated for a moment, a friend sitting next to her smiled and held up four fingers. Of all the animal lovers in the world who are interested in this question, I have to be most careful of those owning cats. I told the woman in Manhattan that since I have never hypnotized a cat, I can’t personally attest to cats having souls. This did not make her happy until I added that some of my clients declare they do see animals in the spirit world between their lives.

The world’s religions have long debated whether animals possess souls. Eastern religions, such as Judaism, say animal’s souls are equal to those of humans. In Judaism there are different levels of the soul, with the lowest being animals and the highest humans. Muslims hold that animals do have spirits, but those souls are not immortal because ani- mals cannot rationally choose between heaven and hell. The Christian religions reserve the eternal soul only for righteous human beings.

Pet owners who interact with their animals project much of their own spiritual energy toward these creatures, which is reciprocated in different ways depending upon the type of animal and its personality. Do these traits represent a soul? We know that animals think, but we are not sure of the degree of that thought. Dogs are protective, cats are resourceful and dolphins have complex speech patterns. Does any sort of rational thought, or the lack of it, establish a criteria for animals having souls?

Anyone who has pets will tell you that animals have individual personalities, feelings and even a sense of the needs of their owners. We know animals provide comfort during our bereavement and physical illnesses. Pets have the capacity to lift our spirits and foster healing while providing us with love and companionship without reservations.

For those people who think that animals are mere sentient beings who only have instinctual sensations, I would say that if animals have thought perceptions then they have individualized energy at some level.

My subjects report that every animal has its own particular classification of intelligent energy and human souls don’t move up and down the ladder from one form to another. These energy particles range from complex life forms, as in the case of chimps, to the simple structures. Despite the repudiation of transmigration by my subjects, perhaps all organic and inorganic matter projects vibrational energy on Earth and probably relates to one another in a purposeful way.

I have been told by clients who have had connections with a variety of animals in the spirit world that all of them do indeed have some sort of soul energy. They are not like human souls and also differ from one another. After death, the energy from these animals reportedly “exists in different spheres from that of the human soul.” To the person in trance, spheres are spaces, each having their own specific patterns and functions. I have had a number of informative reports about animal souls in the spirit world. My next case is a good example from a subject whose name is Kimoye.

Case 50

Dr. N: Kimoye, what do you like to do for recreation?

S: Frankly, 1 am a rather quiet, unsocial soul and I enjoy doing two things. I garden and play with animals during the time I am away from my group.

Dr. N: Do you actually grow things in the spirit world?

S: Creating living things from energy is one of our important exercises here.

Dr. N: Tell me about playing with the animals.

S: I have a dog and cat as well as a horse. These are my pets from the last life.

Dr. N: Do they just appear when you want them?

S: No, I must call for them as they don’t normally live in our spaces here. I can’t go to their place. An Animal Caretaker brings them to me. We call them trackers.

Dr. N: Meaning the tracker has to find your pet and not one created out of energy, as you might do with a plant in your garden?

S: Absolutely.

Dr. N: Do animals have souls, Kimoye?

S: Yes, of course they do, but in many varieties.

Dr. N: What is the difference between animal and human souls?

S: The souls of all living things have different… properties. Animal souls have smaller particles of energy … less volume and are not as complex and multifaceted as the human soul.

Dr. N: What other differences do you know about between the souls of humans and that of animals?

S: The main difference, other than size and capacity, is that animal souls are not ego-driven. They are not overwhelmed by identity issues as we are. They also accept and blend with their environment rather than fighting to control it like human beings, (stops and then adds) We can learn from them.

Dr. N: You said that animal souls had their own domain in the spirit world. How then are you able to associate with them even with the help of a Caretaker Soul?

S: (perplexed with me) They have sensory energy on Earth like us … we share their physical existence … so why not the mental… ?

Dr. N: Well, Kimoye, you did say they have a different arrangement of properties than our intelligent energy.

S: So do my plants, but I am not denied their company if I wish it.

Dr. N: You mentioned that you play with your dog. Can plant energy become dog energy?

S: No, because each form of life does have its own assortment of energy—this energy does not cross the line into another physical form on the same planet.

Dr. N: Does this mean a cat won’t transmigrate into a higher form of life and a human being will not become a lower form, say in the body of a cat, in a future life?

S: Yes, that’s right. Energy is created and assigned to certain physical and mental forms.

Dr. N: Why is that, do you think?

S: (laughs at me) I don’t know about the grand design here, except that mixing soul types is not expedient.

Dr. N: Tell me, Kimoye, do you see the animal souls of your pets in groups such as that of your own soul group?

S: Like I said, I don’t go to their places. They have no need to call for us to come to them. I can’t tell you about these areas except to say the Animal Caretaker told me there is a general division of land, air and water groups.

Dr. N: Are any connected with each other in the spirit world?

S: It is our understanding that whales, dolphins and seals are together—crows and hawks—horses and zebras—that sort of thing. Animals have  their own connections with community  bonding  by general species that we are not supposed to understand—at least I don’t.

Dr. N: Well… ?

S: (breaks in) I guess if we needed to know we would be told.

Dr. N: Okay, now let’s go back to your original statement about playing with your pets during recreation time. Could you have a wild animal such as a wolf?

S: Only if the wolf was domesticated.

Dr. N: Can you explain this to me, Kimoye?

S: (subject frowns in concentration) The associations with animals need to be productive in certain settings for us to be motivated to work with certain life forms. My dog on Earth can be with me within my spiritual property where I built my house and garden because it is natural for him to be here. He belongs with me because we were bonded playmates. Our mutual love and respect for each other on Earth is being renewed because it is good. There is beauty in this for both of us—this must be why it is permitted.

Dr. N: Could you differentiate between the soul of a domesticated animal on Earth and one that was wild?

S: I think so. As I said, animal souls are much less complicated than human souls. The domesticated ones are able to extend love and affection to humans, which we need. The wild animal souls are not as focused in this area and don’t understand us very much at all. Most cannot be constrained—and shouldn’t be, just because we share the same environment.

Dr. N: Do you think there is more need for freedom with the wild animal?

S: Maybe, but the souls of all living things—especially us— require freedom of expression. With the domesticated animal soul, they are more willing to give up some freedom to bond with humans in exchange for love, affection and protection. There is a symmetry in having pets.

Dr. N: Kimoye, you make this sound as if domesticated animals are on Earth to serve humans.

S: It is a mutual benefit exchange, like I told you. Those of us who love animals on Earth believe we can communicate with our pets in small ways. When we return to the spirit world and see our pets again—each of us in a pure soul state—this becomes more evident.

Dr. N: Does everyone in the spirit world feel as you do about animal souls?

S: Many do not have my love for animals. I have friends here who have no wish to interact with animal energy, even some who connected with animals on Earth. They have other activities during their recreation time, (stops and then adds) This is their loss.

Animal Caretaker Souls appear to be specialists in the spirit world. It is not a popular specialty among my clients but their work is much appreciated by pet lovers. These caretakers are not considered to be zookeepers. I once asked a subject who was knowledgeable of the skills this specialty required about my old basset hound, Socrates, a much- loved family pet for fifteen years. My question was that if my soul mind could create a house and a physical body for myself between lives, could I conjure up my dog? I was told the following:

You could do this if you were advanced enough in the creation of energy. But even if you had this ability, your dog would not be quite as real as a professional could do for you. An Animal Caretaker Soul has the skill to track and find the spark of soul energy which did not die with  Socrates and reconstruct your dog exactly as you knew him on Earth. Your pet will know you and be able to play with you whenever you wish and then he will go.

Apparently, Animal Caretaker specialists associated with Earth are souls who are skilled at finding and reconstructing the essence of certain lower forms of life. I think of them as creator souls who seem to have the desire and ability to maintain these forms of life for us in the spirit world because of their own love for the creatures of our planet. There can be past life karmic aspects to our associations with animals on Earth and this could be another reason why we have Animal Caretaker Souls. I have a client who is an intense animal rights activist has been devoted to the alleviation of animal suffering in all her past lives since a life in Austria in the early sixteenth century. As a young Austrian boy in that life, my client’s family was engaged in the slaughtering of cows and pigs for market, which traumatized him. Today this client calls all animals “my children.” During her life, and between lives, she spends her free time with them. She also melds with their energy in a place called the Space of Transformation, used to increase her perception of their consciousness. Kimoye essentially told me the same thing when she said in her session, “I enter this chamber,which has a field of programmed animal energy that allows me to feel what they feel. This gives me insight about animals on Earth.” For both these clients this activity represents learning as much as recreation.

The Space of Transformation

During their long apprenticeship of training, souls are able to study and practice many arts. One of these areas of instruction, which I wrote about in Journey of Souls, is a sphere of soul transformation. Many souls, both young and old, can learn much from entering this enclosure between lives. The young are introduced to certain arts here that might interest them, while the older souls can hone their existing skills further. When I describe this space to people, I use an analogy of the holodeck  on a spacecraft in the Star Trek television series. While there are similarities in the concept, the Space of Transformation goes much further than being a room of simulations.

The Space of Transformation is not limited to permitting souls to get inside the energy of animals. Here the soul can become any animate or inanimate object familiar to them. In order to capture the essence of all living and even nonliving things on Earth, souls are able to meld with multiple substances. This would include fire, gas and liquids. They may also become totally amorphous in order to meld with a feeling or emo- tion to become one with that state.

I have listed the Space of Transformation under recreation because the average soul begins to use this space for the sheer enjoyment of energy shape shifting. However, many souls I have worked with prefer to engage in these exercises in actual physical settings on other worlds. This will be covered in the next chapter. As I mentioned, all these activities have the potential to go far beyond recreation for most souls. The next short case is an illustration of how the Space of Transformation tempers and strengthens the soul mind in a process of mental annealing.

Case 51

Dr. N: Why have you come to the Space of Transformation?

S: There are periods when I am away from my soul group and I wish to experience what this room has to offer. I enter the energy screens here to absorb my energy into the strata of compassion. I am drawn to this energy stream … it is part of my soul.

Dr. N: Please explain this stream of energy to me.

S: They are specific belts of purified energy. I blend with the one of compassion.

Dr. N: Who creates this particular belt for you in this space?

S: I don’t know. I enter and mentally concentrate on what I want and it is provided for me. As I practice, the more potent this energy gets, and the more benefit I receive.

Dr. N: I don’t see why it is necessary for you to come to this place to experience compassion when you can get that from going to Earth.

S: Yes, but you must understand that when I go to Earth and devote my energy to the healing of others, my energy loses much of its integrity by the end of my life. This is because 1 am inexperienced as a full-fledged healer.

Dr, N: Well, if you are here for that sort of rejuvenation, why don’t you give me a more precise example of what you do in the Space of Transformation.

S: (takes a deep breath) I can identify pain, but in order to diffuse it in the human body  I assimilate it. This eventually makes me ineffective. I become a sponge rather than a mirror of light. Here I can practice my art.

S: I learn to manipulate my energy rather than absorb pain. The energy belt of compassion is like a liquid pool where I can swim and become part of the emotion in an experience which is so subjective I cannot describe it to you. It assists me in working on calmness within a sea of adversity. It is wondrous… it is… alive.

Listening to stories about the Space of Transformation gives me the impression the experience is euphoric. Whether these psychic pools of concentrated energy, which appear to transform souls for a time, are real or simulated from my frame of reference is moot. This is because while my clients see the spirit world as ultimate reality, they call this space one of altered reality. There is one constant criterion that helps me differentiate these concepts in my mind. Working models of reality which are temporary and will eventually die are illusory. The eternal world of the soul that analyzes and evaluates this process appears to my subjects as a permanent state of consciousness. The Space of Trans- formation is a creation for spiritual development.

Dancing, Music and Games

There are still people in the world living in remote settings who engage in spiritual dancing and singing that is important to their cultural life. Many years ago, I was privileged to watch and participate one night in the singing and dancing of a tribe of Lahu natives. These were Burmese hill people living deep in the mountains along the Burma-Thai border. I was with a small group of Westerners who were the first outsiders to be taken to see this particular isolated tribe. The trek was difficult, taking us through jungles and across mountain ranges. The experience was mystical.

When my subjects describe the way they express their inner being in the spirit world through dance movements combined with music, I think of the Lahu people. The Lahu are animists, who believe that all natural phenomena have souls and manifest a personal spiritual force. Many societies had these beliefs in ancient times, long before the rise of major religions. My clients explain that when groups of souls engage in this form of recreation there are elements of ritualism and a celebration of a sacred Source. As with both ancient and modern cultures on Earth, souls find this form of expression to be a means of heightening intensity. These movements evoke soul memories of their origins on Earth, other worlds and the spirit world itself.

Dancing and singing in unison brings a feeling of oneness with all thought. When my subjects describe the effects of this form of soul recreation, it is as if they feel suspended in the memory of spiritual bliss. They talk about how the sounds and rhythms of harps, lyres and chimes are an expression of their nature as a soul. The accounts of some clients remind me of my visit to the Lahu tribe when they speak of drums, flutes and dancing in a circle around a fire. One of these subjects had this to say:

We engage in the ring dance, moving in graceful, free- flowing harmony around firelight accompanied by the humming of lilting melodies. Our energy whirls in circular, changing cadences as a shift in wind of moods. For us this is an offering of the intense relationships we have for each other born from a thousand lifetimes together. We come to participate in dance and song as an affirmation of our bonds and to resonate a collective wisdom.

Another subject reported the following about dance movements in the spirit world. Initially, the object was apparently speed, then the dance changed to something else:

We start moving in a circle and then the pace accelerates faster and faster. We gather all this force, pushing it in front of us, until we look like a whirlwind with no space between. Now, the dance is gone—replaced by a cascading turbulence, which is a joining of our souls. As we slow down, the effects of unraveling energy are useful in observing our separation. At the end of this dance we have experienced the intricate differences between our vibrational energy patterns.

Some souls have described the scene above as “the tumbleweed game.” This indicates to me there is only a fine line between spiritual dancing and games, all of which have their individual interpretations. Here is another example: When we dance we change our normal pear-shaped,elongated energy to that of a curved crescent which looks like a first-quarter moon. We move toward each other from two or four directions, depending upon the number of participants. By shitting our shapes from concave to convex—back and forth—to match the soul opposite us, we can blend—spoon fashion—and separate with great speed. We stretch out and intertwine our energy while swaying in and out like a mating dance.

Soul dancing may also become a form of acrobatics as indicated by the next statement from a client:

My group especially enjoys acrobatics. We do not perform gymnastics in human form, as some of the others do. We retain our oval, or elongated shapes of pure energy. We set up an energy field resembling a kind of trampoline to be used for tumbling in relays. It includes a dance form which is too hard to describe, but it's all done with a great deal of laughter and fun. This movement during recreation draws us closer together.

I have noticed that these activities may be combined with comedy skits. Souls who engage in these forms of entertainment love to poke fun at each other. Yet I don’t hear much about souls acting in full-scale plays as pure recreation. This is because the more serious aspect of role- playing, although not lacking in humor, is so often employed during  past life reviews. This is enough theater for most souls.

Other recreational activities, such as art and composition, are pursued quietly and individually. The practice of music and sculpture may be pursued alone or collectively. Sculpting energy to design structural objects and the creation of small life forms is not really considered recreational. They represent an integral part of task-oriented classroom instruction although, as we have seen, these activities can be overlapped with leisure time. Music is in a special category all its own as far as almost universal soul appeal. Unlike Earth, where so many of us are unable to learn to play a musical instrument or sing, as souls we seem to be able to engage in these activities effortlessly. Melodic sounds are  often heard throughout the spirit world by my subjects in spaces that are not recreational. Within the context of R & R, music is enjoyed by souls directly or interwoven into subtle frameworks for drama, dancing and even games.

From my research, I have come to believe that more than any other medium, music uplifts the soul with ranges of notes far beyond what we know on Earth. There seems to be no limit to the sounds used in the creation of music in the spirit world. People in deep hypnosis explainbthat musical thought is the language of souls. The composition and transmission of harmonic resonance appears to relate to the formation and presentation of spiritual language. Far beyond musical communication, I’m told spiritual harmonics are the building blocks of energy creation and soul unification.

Many souls enjoy singing in the spirit world but it took me years to find a soul who is a Musical Director. My next case is a subject who has had a multitude of past lives where he was connected to music in one form or another. In his last life he was an Italian opera singer in the 1930s.

Case 52 Dr. N: What is your major recreational activity in the spirit world? S: To create music. Dr. N: You mean with musical instruments?

S: Oh, there is always that—you can pull any instrument out of thin air and play it. But, for me, there is nothing more satisfying than creating a choir. The voice is the most beautiful of musical instruments.

Dr. N: Look, you don’t have the vocal chords of an opera star any longer, so… ?

S: (laughs at me) Has it been that long since you were a spirit? No human body is needed. In fact, the sounds we create are lighter and of much greater range than those on Earth.

Dr. N: Can everyone sing the high and low notes?

S: (with enthusiasm) Of course they can. We all have the ability to be sopranos and baritones at the same time. My people can hit high and low notes and everyone is always on pitch—they just need a director.

Dr. N: Could you describe what you do?

S: (quietly, without boastfulness) 1 am a Musical Director of souls. A singing conductor—it is my passion—my skill—my pleasure to give to others.

Dr. N: Are you better at this than other souls because of your musical talent in your past life as an opera singer?

S: Oh, I suppose that one follows the other, but not everyone is as focused on music as I am. Some souls in musical groups may not be paying attention to the entire score, (smiles) Because of the musical range possessed by souls, they need a director to keep all these virtuosos on track. After all, this is recreation for them. They want to have fun as well as produce beautiful music.

Dr. N: So, you enjoy working with choirs rather than an orchestra?

S: Yes, but we mix it up to make the singing come together. When spirits apply   themselves to instruments and voice sounds,   it’s wonderful. It’s not stray notes. The harmonic meshing of musical energy reverberates throughout the spirit world with indescribable sounds.

Dr. N: Then all this is vastly different from working with a choir on Earth? S: There are similarities, but here you have so much talent because every soul has the capability for perfection of musical sound. There is high motivation. Souls love this form of recreation, especially if they wanted to be able to sing on Earth but sounded like frogs.

Dr. N: Do you bring souls from groups other than your own to be in this heavenly choir?

S: Yes, but lots of groups like to sing opposite each other and see who can be the most innovative.

Dr. N: If you were to look into the deeper motivations for souls, can you help me understand why music is so important for them in the spirit world?

S:  It  takes  you  to  new  mental  levels  …  moving  your  energy  … communicating in unison with large numbers of other souls.

Dr. N: How large a choral group do you direct?

S: I am partial to small groups of around twenty, although there are hundreds of souls from many groups who are available for me to direct.

Dr. N: Large groups must be a great challenge for you?

S: (taking a deep breath) Their range is staggering… vibrations pouring out in many directions … everyone hitting incredibly high and low notes without warning while I am struggling with their cues … and yet it’s all pure rapture.

I will finish this section on recreation with a list of the most popular games souls play in the spirit world. One of my reasons for presenting the lighter side of soul socialization is to exemplify the differences between group study time and that of recreation. I have previously dis- cussed the clannishness and rather insular attitudes of some soul groups. I do not wish my readers to assume this is a representation of the “outsider-insider” mentality that we so often see in cultural groups on Earth. There is no jealousy, mistrust or prejudice between spirit groups. While the younger souls are conditioned to be centered on their own training groups, this does not mean these souls see themselves as being all that different from other groups. Xenophobia does not exist in the spirit world. The information I have about how spirits from many groups play games together is one way I have of demonstrating the nature of soul behavior.

Nevertheless, at my lectures, I do feel the necessity of being cautious  in offering too many details about spiritual games. There are people  who believe matters of life after death are far too serious for such frivolities. A few have even commented that my speaking about recreation detracts from the rest of what I have to say about soul life. Despite these criticisms, I consider it more important that the public is aware the afterlife is not so dreadfully serious that souls cannot have fun.

The spiritual games I have encountered are never strictly enforced by monitors nor directed by team captains. In fact, the “rules” are loosely interpreted. There are elements of playful competition but without the emotional aggression one sees in sports on Earth. Spiritual games are not played with the objective that somebody wins while others lose. Games are vigorous and carefree at the same time. Our guides encourage game participation as a means of practicing energy movement, dexterity and group thought transmission. On the other hand, I have had subjects whose groups do not participate in games in the spirit world. Their separateness is always respected. This is especially true with the more advanced souls who are so engaged in other forms of energy training that game playing would be a detraction.

There is a remarkable consistency to game descriptions by subjects in hypnosis. While we can take the memory of a game with us to the spirit world, it is my belief that certain games with origins in the afterlife are brought to Earth and modified from unconscious memory for use in a physical body. The reader can be the judge of the most likely game origins from the following quotes. I will start my list of a few popular games with what appears to be a form of tag:

We chase around, trying to catch each other by flowing fast in straight lines and then maintaining that speed when turning sharply. The more maneuverable spirits are able to double back, stop and start again quickly without getting caught.

Simple interpretations of tag and other games may be combined with music and dancing. In these versions, especially with the young, souls will chase each other into areas that have been defined as personal playgrounds:

I love the meadows with trees to climb and tall grass where we can roll around chasing after each other and playing leapfrog. We can also shape shift into objects to make our games more interesting.

There is a game I hear quite a bit about which reminds me of a kind of dodgeball, where large numbers of souls line up opposite each other and throw bolts of energy. One can also recognize elements of keep- away and volleyball in the descriptions of this game called bolt-banging, which requires quick position adjustments and dexterity:

In our game of bolt-banging, we line up in two long lines opposite each other. We create balls of energy and throw them high ewer an imaginary line or fire them in straight or low trajectories at the opposing players. We must stay in a confined area to exchange bolts without slowing our momentum. At first it's easy to get out of the way while making your own bolts at the same time. Then the tempo increases and our play area looks like a hailstorm. When our bolts are flying around, they can be dodged, or caught and thrown back. The object is not to be inadvertently hit by a bolt. A player who is zapped is not out—he just tries harder to be more agile. We feel the complexities of each soul carried in the bolts which hit us.

Another high-velocity game is something akin to red rover, or per- haps bumper cars, where souls line up opposite each other in a square. Instead of sending one player over at a time to try and break through a chain of arms, as in red rover, these souls rush at each other en masse. One subject said, “This is a game of collision, where we bounce off one another in a chain reaction of whirling energy.” The object seems to be the creation of a high volume of concentrated energy. Another client who plays this game told me:

The energy flow from all of us is pooled so that each player receives a heightened awareness from all the other souls.  It's an exhilarating game. There is a magnification of all our energy which is unified. Eventually, when the energy charge lessens, we all settle down and engage in a kind of folk dance.

There are many subtle games that my subjects have difficulty in describing to me. One I have heard about from a number of people, however, has the name of gemball. The game is a little like marbles and lawn bowling combined with the symbolism of gemstones, which I reviewed in chapter 6. From case 53, it can be seen how displaying colored energy objects, as embodiments of personal character, need not be limited to our appearances at the Council of Elders.

Case 53

Dr. N: Do all groups have some interest in playing games?

S: Not at all. My group is fun-loving and we don’t like to be tied down in classrooms too much. Some of the others find us a bit wild and undisciplined. There are four souls in our group who are not so playful so we cherry pick from other groups to make up our teams.

Dr. N: Is it true that souls can bring all the games they enjoyed on Earth to the spirit world?

S: (hesitates) Well, yes… but you don’t see them all…

Dr. N: Why not? Give me some examples of games you don’t see.

S: I don’t  see golf because it is too self-centered, you are mostly playing against yourself. Tennis is a little better but I don’t see that either because only two people play and that is limiting.

Dr. N: Does this mean football is popular in the spirit world?

S: Mmm … not really. We don’t play games with stars like quarter- backs and team captains. Football is too uneven a game, with wide variations in positions. Soccer would be better. It’s hard to explain. We enjoy group games with lots of souls where everyone has an equal position and is engaged in the same way … in their movements.

Dr. N: I enjoy swimming, so I suppose you wouldn’t see that either?

S: (laughing) Then you’d be wrong. If you didn’t want to go to Earth for this as a spirit you could create a semblance of water here—or a golf course—whatever you require to bring back happy memories. But if you want other souls to participate with you in games of sport, then that’s more of a collective matter.

Dr. N: So, you see a difference between individual and group recreational activity?

S: Yes, I do.

Dr. N: All right, then tell me about a game which is not like the sports games we have been talking about, one perhaps which is not so robust and carefree even though it might still be considered as recreation.

S: (wistfully) Oh … that’s easy, it’s the gemball game. Many souls come to a space where we sit in a great circle. Then each of us creates an energy ball the size of a tennis ball, which looks like a crystalline gemstone.

Dr. N: Do the balls have any particular meaning?

S: Of course, the energy colors represent individual expression. Dr. N: Okay, what happens next in this game?

S: Each person holds their ball until someone says, “GO!” Then, we all gently push our balls to the center of the ring.

Dr. N: Do they all bang against each other, as in marbles?

S: I guess… in a way. The gemballs carom off each other with radiating colors splashing in all directions … but they don’t quite stop … we keep them moving.

Dr.  N:  I’m  not  sure  I  understand  …  (subject  breaks  in  and continues)

S: Finally, one comes to you. During each series of play, a   corresponding  player  will  receive  my  ball  if  there  is  a  magnetic attraction.

Dr. N: What if you don’t receive a ball from another player?

S: It happens quite often. We play rounds with large groups of different players—eventually a ball will roll into my lap.

Dr. N: Do two players have to receive a ball from each other?

S: No, gemball is not a programmed game. Anything can happen. Dr. N: What does receiving a ball from someone else mean?

S: This tells you that you might be linked to the owner in some fashion. Gemball is an intimate game of expectation and trust because you never know where your ball is going or what you will receive back.

Dr. N: After you receive a ball, then what do you do?

S: (laughs) You pick up the ball that comes to you in the palms of your hands. The gemball gives you the means to learn about the private aspects of a soul which could relate to you in a special way. I have made many future life decisions to be with certain people based upon this game.

During my early research, I had no idea of the many ramifications of spiritual games. They all have their own distinctions that give pleasure. As I became knowledgeable with spiritual recreation, my subjects felt more comfortable in providing me with details about their favorite pas- times. I learned that certain games appeal to the particular character of the souls who play them. Eventually, 1 realized some games could esca- late into training exercises and that individual souls from many groups gravitated to this activity. One game stands out in my mind in this respect.

I find the hide-and-seek game to have significant implications for future traveler souls whom I will be discussing in the next chapter. The execution of this game offers a variety ol proficiency levels in teaching spatial frames of reference to interested souls. 1 began to take notice of this particular game after 1 heard about the appearance of coaches when the game became more complex. My clients call them the Game- keepers. These are the specialist trainers who will expose those adventuresome beings who show talent to trips into different dimensions.

Here is a quote from a highly advanced soul who wishes to specialize as a traveler:

Hide-and-seek in the spirit world begins as an exercise between light and darkness. With the younger souls we charge up our energy from a distance and then wink it out when the kids come in our direction. We block and then open up our telepathic energy at the same time to mix up the visual and mental signals. In the beginning we create doorways of light within structured columns of energy which are employed as shadowed panels which may be arranged in parallel or horizontal lines. Later we make them random geometric patterns. Most young ones have a terrible time learning to detect and find us as we dart between the doorways, but they have fun because at this stage they still consider this playing a game.
Some become so good we can't trick them anymore. In time these souls—those that want to continue— become trainees and are ready to be ushered into our playground of interdimensional zones, which are divided by energy barriers and vibrational pulse rates. This is tough because the trainees must learn to adapt to different wave configurations which exist within each dimension and  match their energy quickly to pass through. We lose many souls at this point who don't wish to continue. The work is like being in a hall of mirrors. The souls like me, who refuse to quit because we love the work, must now master the mental dimensions without structure or form. They exist as vacuums between the physical dimensions. Part of me still considers this training as recreation. It is so captivating I can't wait to get back home and engage in this exercise again with my friends.

Four General Types of Souls

Before moving on to a discussion of the more advanced souls in the next chapter, 1 should list the major types of souls 1 have encountered within the community of spiritual life. There must be many more than these four categories of souls, however, I am limited by the memories of my clients concerning other possible soul types in the spirit world.

  • Souls who are either unable or unwilling to function individually. These souls usually work within collectives and never seem to leave the spirit world. Even so, I am told all souls are given the opportunity to experiment with existing in both physical and mental universes.
  • Souls who do not wish to incarnate in physical form. Also, they may not possess the requisite properties of light energy to engage in this activity. They seem to work only in mental worlds and appear to move easily between different dimensions. Most of their talents are beyond the comprehension of my clients.
  • Souls who incarnate only on physical worlds. I sense that some have the capability for training in mental spheres between lives, but are not inclined to do so. They are not attracted to interdi-mensional travel, even during recreation. Quite a number of my clients are in this category.
  • Souls who have both the ability and desire to function in all types of physical and mental environments. This does not necessarily give them more enlightenment than other soul types. Yet, their wide range of practical experience and capabilities position them for many specialization opportunities involving varied assignments of responsibility.

The Advancing Soul

Graduation

There comes that time in a soul’s existence when it is ready to move away from its primary soul group. My next case comes from a soul who recently attained level III after thousands of years of incarnating on Earth. This subject became very excited by the images in her mind of this recent event in the spirit world. The symbolic descriptions involving analogies to educational settings by now are very familiar to the reader. In her current life she is a teacher of children with learning disabilities.

Case 54

Dr. N: You seem very blissful about appearing in front of your council.

S: Yes, I have scrubbed off the last of my body armor.

Dr. N: Body armor?

S: Yes, my protective armor—to avoid being hurt. It took me centuries to learn              to trust and be open with people inclined to hurt me as an outgrowth of their own anger. This was my last major hurdle.

Dr. N: Why was this so difficult for you?

S: I identified too much with my emotions rather than my spiritual strength. This created self-doubt in my relations with others whom I perceived to be stronger and more knowledgeable than myself—but they were not.

Dr. N: If this last major hurdle involved self-identity, how do you see yourself at present?

S: Finally, I used a rope of flowers to swing over the abyss of pain and hurt. I no longer give away too much of my energy unnecessarily, (pause) Physical and mental hardship has to do with self-definition. In the last 1,000 years, I have improved upon maintaining my identity in each life … under adverse circumstances, and to honor myself as a human being who could not be superseded by others. I no longer need body armor to achieve this.

Dr. N: What does your council say to you about your positive actions involving self-definition?

S: They are satisfied that I have passed this difficult test—that I did not let the adverse circumstances of these many lives dictate my vision of myself—who I really am. They are very pleased that I have reached a higher level of my potential through patience and diligence.

Dr. N: Why do you think you had to go through so much in your lives on Earth?

S: How can I teach others unless I have gone through fire myself to become strong?

Dr. N: Well… (subject interrupts me with something which has appeared in her mind as a result of my last question)

S: Oh … they have a surprise for me. Oh, I’m so HAPPY!

Note: At this moment my subject breaks down with tears of joy and anticipation of the scene unfolding in her mind. I pull out my trusty box of tissues and we continue.

Dr. N: Move forward and tell me what the surprise is all about.

S: (bubbling) It’s graduation time! We are gathering in the temple. Aru, my guide, is here along with the chairman of my council. Master teachers and students are assembling from everywhere.

Dr. N: Can you break this down a little for me? How many teachers and students do you see?

S:  (hurriedly)  Ah  …  some  twelve  teachers  and  …  maybe  forty students.

Dr. N: Are some of the students from your own primary group?

S: (pause) There are three of us. Students have been brought from other groups who are ready. I don’t know most of them.

Dr. N: I notice some hesitation on your part. Where are the others of your own group?

S: (with regret) They are not yet ready.

Dr. N: What is the core color of all these students around you?

S: Bright, solid yellow. Oh, you have no idea how long it has taken us to arrive here.

Dr. N: Perhaps I do. Why don’t you describe the proceedings for me?

S: (takes a deep breath) Everyone is in a festive mood, like a coming-out party. We all line up and float in … and I’m going to sit up front. Aru is smiling proudly at me. A few words are spoken by the masters who acknowledge how hard we have worked. Then our names are called.

Dr. N: Individually?

S: Yes… I hear my name, “Iri”… I float forward to receive a scroll with my name printed on the front.

Dr. N: What else do these scrolls have on them?

S: (modestly) It’s rather private … about those achievements which took me the longest… and how I overcame them.

Dr. N: So, in a way, this is more than a diploma. It’s a testimonial record of your work.

S: (softly) Yes.

Dr. N: Is everyone wearing cap and gowns?

S: (quickly) No! (then smiling) Oh … I see … you are teasing me.

Dr. N: Well, maybe a little. Tell me, Iri, what takes place after the ceremonies?

S: We gather around to talk about our new assignments and I have the opportunity to meet with some of the souls who are in my specialty area. We will meet again in new classes that will make the best use of our abilities.

Dr. N: What will be your first assignment, Iri?

S: I will be nurturing the youngest souls. It’s as if we will be raising flowers from the  seedlings.  You feed them with tenderness and understanding.

Dr. N: And where do you think these newer souls come from?

S: (pause) From the divine egg—the womb of creation—spun out like silken thread … and then taken to the nursery mothers … and then to us. It’s very exciting. The responsibility will be so challenging.

Movement to the Intermediate Levels

When I work with a subject who is transitioning into a level III group, there may be some initial confusion as to why they see themselves leaving and returning to their primary cluster group on a regular basis. During hypnosis, not everyone is able to see a scene in their mind and then quickly integrate this frame into the entire movie of their spiritual life. The task of a facilitator is to proceed slowly and let the scene unfold naturally. A client who had not yet graduated from his group but had begun the process of pulling away told me, “I am starting to feel a little cut off from my family. There are new souls around mc that I have not worked with before.”

The integrity of a soul’s original cluster group remains intact in a timeless way. Regardless of who is graduating, they never lose their bond to old companions. Primary cluster groups began their existence together and remain closely associated through hundreds of incarna- tions. I have had souls who were with their primary groups for some 50,000 years before they were ready to move on to the intermediate levels, while a much smaller percentage have achieved this state of development within 5,000 years. Once reaching level III, I find that souls begin to rise much more rapidly into the advanced levels. Souls develop at different rates while displaying a variety of talents along the way. I notice that when souls start to spend less time in recreation and socializing they are working harder and becoming more focused on perfecting certain skills that will contribute to the forces of cosmic consciousness.

With the attaining of level III there is a change in soul behavior. These souls have now begun to expand their vistas away from their primary groups. The advancing souls don’t disregard all they have known before, it’s just that they are now so engrossed in their training it has become an all-consuming goal. These souls are fascinated by what they can do and want to become even more proficient. By the time they approach a level IV range of development, the transition is complete.

In the course of their transition, recent level Ills soon recognize that they are no longer limited to one classroom. Their old friends are aware of what is going on, but it seems to be mutually understood that not too many questions should be asked about these absences. I refer readers back to the experience of the soul Lavani in case 32. The transition is a slow one, in keeping with the practice of infinite care that is so evident in all spiritual training. The assignments to new specialty groups are formed with other like-minded souls based upon a number of considerations. The three principal elements I am most aware of for soul specialty selection are talent, past performance and personal desire. I would expect needs of the spirit world to be another important element, but this information is denied me.

I suppose it could be said that when a soul is elevated into the inter- mediate levels of training they are being initiated into a guild of sorts. However, I would not equate this with the historic craft guilds of the Middle Ages, which were called Mystery Schools of training. These were exclusive and rather secret organizations for members only. Although there are elements of privacy accorded to souls selected for specialized training, it is by no means elitist. Aspiring new arrivals are always welcomed to groups of specialists.

These assemblages of more specialized souls are rather loosely knit at first. I have defined them as independent study groups. The training begins slowly on a periodic basis with different specialized teachers. This allows for an evaluation period for souls by their trainers. Souls who are testing the waters may leave these specialty groups while other promising candidates can be added. This practice is in opposition to the formation of long-term primary soul groups. The instruction becomes more intense as these new groups demonstrate they can handle assignments. In these early stages, while souls are being weaned from their original groups, they still retain their regular guides and attend primary group functions. Independent study has a greater emphasis on self-direction by the soul in their tasks, which becomes even more pronounced as they develop into level IV and V proficiency.

A number of soul specializations have been listed in preceding chap- ters. In order of presentation, they have been described as the Dream- masters, Redeemers of Lost Souls, Keepers of Neutrality, Restoration Masters, Incubator Mothers, Archivist Souls, Animal Caretaker Souls, Musical Directors, and Gamekeepers. There seems to be an overlapping of certain specialties. For instance, Gamekeepers who train others in travel may also be Explorer Souls for new sites useful in R & R and the more serious planetary aspects of energy training. In this chapter, I will cite further examples of soul specialties. I am sure readers will recognize what specialty area might fit their own inclinations.

There does not appear to be a certain path that would ultimately lead souls to a seat on a council. The Elders seem to come from a back- ground of many specializations. I think most people feel the teacher- guides probably have an inside track to such positions. Of course, it is natural guides would appear to the average client to be the premier profession. Yet I know this perception is colored by the fact that while all my subjects have guides, many have little contact with advanced souls in other specialties. I can only imagine what other specializations souls are offered that no subject is able to describe.

When I discuss the topic of specialty areas during my lectures, a lot of people say they thought all souls were being groomed to be teacher- guides. I had the same idea in the early phases of my research. Event ally, I learned that while teaching is a leading specialty in the spirit world, this does not mean that most souls make great teachers. Because teaching is so vital to souls, I will begin with a category of this field I haven’t covered before.

Specializations

Nursery Teachers

In Journey of Souls I discussed the activities of junior and senior teaching guides, and my subjects have documented the activities of their guides in this book. However, not much information has been offered about advanced souls who are brand-new teachers in training. They are called the Nursery Teachers, or caretakers of children, because the young souls they work with have not yet begun their incarnations.

Following case 26 in chapter 5,1 quoted the recent memories of a very young soul on Earth who explained that once a new soul is created they are not immediately thrown into a physical incarnation. Earth is such a difficult school for training it is best that many new souls are allowed time in adjusting to planetary life as discarnates. This is illustrated by the following report from a subject:

I remember when I was a very young soul and came to Earth for the first time with a couple of friends. As spirits we floated around to check our capacity and adaptability to this place while accompanied by our teacher. We were shown how to collect the magnetic vibrations of this planet and blend them with our own. We needed to feel what it would take for us to be in physical form here.

It is my belief a large majority of my clients are inclined toward teacher training to be guides. This is because they venerate their own guides, who have such a strong influence on their current development, and wish to emulate them. Of course, a soul’s current aspirations and eventual specialization assignments may not coincide. Teachers must be good communicators. Yet a skilled communicator who is able to motivate, for example, might not have the ability to work with a soul mind trying to integrate with many human egos in all their host bodies.

Nursery Teachers who work with very young souls may not choose to become guides for the general population of souls for many reasons. Working with the child soul is challenging because many young souls do not seem to be able to move on with their reincarnations and will require remedial studies. Case 28 told us something about the spiritual setting of teachers and the elementary souls, which 1 will expand upon in case 55.

I have to keep on my toes with advanced clients, and questioning  them about soul colors in their descriptions of settings is a big help. The man in case 55 is entering a level IV proficiency and had just finished telling me about the variety of yellow-blue lights in his own specialty group composed of three souls. I was ready to move on to something else when I thought of one more question, which opened up a whole new line of inquiry.

Case 55

Dr. N: Is that all the colors you see in this vicinity?

S: No, there are eleven kids—white lights—bunched together off to the left of us. Their energy is smaller, with a shorter energy pattern, and rather scattered. The young ones are very exuberant.

Note: At this point my subject became very excited when he recognized one of these souls as his child today. I let him enjoy this moment and then we continued.

Dr. N: Do you see any differences in light intensity from these eleven souls?

S: Not much. The very innocent and timid kids have dim lights. We don’t have one of those right now.

Dr. N: What relationship do you have with these eleven souls?

S: I’m being assisted in their training by two colleagues whom I haven’t known for very long because they come from other groups.

Dr. N: Did the three of you have a common background on Earth to prepare you for this initial teaching assignment?

S: Well, we were teachers, holy men, healers … that kind of thing in our past lives. One must have sensitivity and great patience tor this sort of work, (stops, then adds as an afterthought) You know, teachers can learn from students.

Dr. N: I’m sure that’s true. Why don’t you give me a sense of where you and these children are right now in the spirit world.

S: We are sent to neutral areas for training because it would be too inhibiting for these kids to be near the regular teaching classrooms.

Dr. N: What’s going on at the moment?

S: (laughs) They are whizzing about in all directions, more interested in pulling pranks on each other than learning anything. Things will change when they start to incarnate.

My next quote is a condensation from the case of a woman who is working with souls that have just begun to incarnate:

I have my hands full right now with seven goof-offs. They like being playboys and playgirls during their incarnations. They just want to stay as children and not take life seriously. They are overly fond of earthly pleasures and don’t want to deal with the hard stuff. Their major interest is looking beautiful in the next life. Ulant, my senior guide, has left them with me and I don’t see him very much. I’ll admit my style is extremely lenient. I use lots of gentleness and love. Some of the other teachers say I spoil them outrageously. I know of teachers who express a lot of frustration and become stern with their young students, especially those with potential. The council is interested in my teaching methods. They want to test my theories of permissiveness rather than giving this class a mental spanking. My concept of teaching is that once these child souls do start to develop, the leap they will take into maturity will be more rapid because they won’t have had their self-confidence shaken by too many hard lessons and setbacks too soon.

Ethicists

For a long time I considered the instruction of ethics to be part of all teaching rather than a specialty by itself. The next case is that of a twenty-six-year-old man from Detroit, a level V, whose spiritual name is Andarado. Initially, I tried to dissuade him from coming to see me. I normally do not take clients under the age of thirty. This is because 1 don’t think the average young person has passed that many major forks in the road of life. Their amnesia blocks may be too firmly in place. There is also the increased possibility of obstructions by their spirit guides during hypnosis who might feel it is too early for their student to see certain karmic pathways. Andarado was an exception and I’m glad he overruled my concerns.

This client had sent me a letter stating, “I am anxious to experience my immortal identity because I have long felt I know things and have skills beyond what I should for my age.” I hear these declarations from many young people and, more often than not, their stage of develop- ment is not what they imagined after a session with me. This was not true with this client. When 1 met Andarado, I was struck by his inten- sity, alertness and self-containment, which I found unusual for someone his age.

As his session progressed, I found that Andarado first came to Earth during the rise of Babylon, which I thought was rather late in Earth time for a blue light. He told me his incarnations began on a dark, quiet world with intelligent, although unemotional, life forms who were   dying as a race. This was a world devoted to reason and logic. Eventu- ally, Andarado asked for a transfer to a brighter world where he could incarnate into a more sensitive being. He was given Earth.

While reviewing his past experiences in a spiritual classroom, I learned of Andarado’s interest in how planetary magnetic energy  affects intelligent behavior on certain worlds. His latest assignment was creating brain tissue for a small feline creature. Andarado explained,  “I set up a lattice of energy to screen and study patterns of behavior responses. I have to be careful not to hook up a 12-volt battery into a 6- volt system.” I assumed he was studying to be a Master of Design. I was in for a surprise.

Case 56

Dr. N: Andarado, we have talked about your work in the spirit world with teaching students. You have also explained a little about your energy creation studies with the thought processes of lower forms of life. This leads me to conclude you are preparing to be a specialist in either teaching or design.

S: (laughs) Neither is true. I am training to be an Ethicist.

Dr. N: Oh? How about these two areas of your early studies we have just talked about?

S: They have been offered to me as prerequisites so I will be more effective as an Ethicist. This is my passion, working with the moral codes of intelligent beings.

Dr. N: But isn’t the reviewing of morality, values and the standards of conduct basic to the work of all teaching guides?

S: Yes, but moral principles as they relate to objective values are so essential to human development one can specialize in that field. There is usually an Ethicist on every council.

Dr. N: Why did you spend so much time on another world before coming to Earth?

S: Being versed in the morality of other intelligent societies is good training for any Ethicist.

Dr. N: Okay, Andarado, tell me—how many student souls from Earth did they give you when you began working between lives on your true vocation?

S: Only a couple at first.

Dr. N: 1 suppose they were very young souls?

S: Yes, but then that changed and I now have eighteen middle-level souls.

Dr. N: Why are you allowed to be working with level Ills when you have not finished incarnating on Earth yourself?

S: This is exactly the reason for my current assignment. I’m not experienced enough to be helping the very troubled, less-developed souls. Because I am still unseasoned, they don’t give me the really difficult cases. I can give advice to souls with more maturity because I was in their shoes not so long ago.

 Dr. N: Do you work with your students both in the spirit world and while they are on Earth?

S: (firmly) Not during the periods when they are incarnating on Earth. That is the prerogative of their teaching guides. I work with them only in the spirit world.

Dr. N: How do you see ethics as a test for human society?

S: Primarily because it is so easy for human beings to drift away from moral behavior and to rationalize their actions.

Dr. N: Would you say this is because the average person is pragmatic in believing the end justifies the means in being perceived as individually successful?

S: Yes, and this appears to people to be in opposition to universalism.

Dr. N: Do you see any resolution in the conflict between universalism and rugged individualism in human attitudes?

S: Working for world betterment would eventually do away with intolerance against those who are different from us. The need for personal status and elitism is the conflict because it is equated with happiness.

Dr. N: So you see our dilemma as the conflict between placing a desire for personal happiness and individual goals above the alleviation of suffering among the human population?

S: For many on this planet that is the dilemma of selfishness.

Dr. N: Could you take this a bit further? Are you saying that humans by nature are not a race of egalitarian and charitable people?

S: The average human has this dilemma, although many do not think being self-centered is a problem for them. This is the great test for coming to Earth and why my work is so difficult here. The lesson of Earth, as far as morality and ethics are concerned, is for the soul to be encased in the body of a being whose instincts—whose very nature—cry out for personal survival. The plight of others is secondary.

Dr. N: You do not find a natural good in humans which is linked to the conscience of a soul?

S: Of course, that is a major part of my specialty, to develop this element of goodness so that eventually it will be a natural reaction to difficult circumstances on Earth.

Dr. N: Does the need for self-reliance have to be in opposition to a consideration for others on this planet?

S: Personal ideals and values can result in general happiness for society as a whole, if we become fully engaged with the righteousness of the soul mind as the core power of Self.

Dr. N: What is the most helpful advice you give your students before they come back to Earth?

S: (grins) They are like race horses, so I caution them to be patient and pace themselves. The energy that goes into controlling the human body must be parceled out carefully. They are at the stage of learning the fine balance of ethical behavior. When they live in a physical world as dense as Earth, they must guard against being absorbed by it in order to be effective.

After I finished with this client, I reflected on how many physiologists believe the human sensory system is overdeveloped as an outgrowth of our primitive origins. Aggression and avoidance behavior has been a means of survival for humans since the Stone Age. In our evolutionary process, we have a brain which does not yet have complete control over our bodily responses. Under high emotional stress, we tend to lose rationality. Jung tells us, “The rational and irrational exist side by side and healthy people recognize the workings of both forces within themselves. We should look to our mental neuroses and physical ailments as unconscious value patterns.”

Most of us start off making a lot of dumb mistakes and by the end of our life we become smarter. The idea of coming back in repeated incarnations is that eventually we will get it right early on and lead productive lives from the beginning. In this quest we are often ego- driven and we forget that what is good for us is generally good for other people. Unfortunately the philosopher Kant was right when he said, “If we believe in the immortality of the soul created by a divine

source, this presupposes free will which may not include moral behavior.”

There is a great need for Ethicist Souls. It can be said that there are reasons for the actions of some people turning out badly because of an underdeveloped soul co-existing with a disturbed human brain. Because of these conditions, our free will toward making good choices could be more inhibited. 1 have tried to show that in the spirit world souls do not use this argument as a valid excuse for the lack of control over emotions in a host body.

The solution for all of us to improve is staying with the process of continuing evolution to become better than we are. Our spirit guides were once just like us before they attained their current status. We are given many host bodies and all of them are imperfect. Rather than  being obsessive about a body which will only last one lifetime, concen- trate on the evolution of your soul Self and rely on your spiritual power. As we do this our capability for connecting with others will evolve and eventually cut through the dilemma of moral distinctions that were articulated by the soul Andarado.

Hartmonizer Souls

This specialty represents a broad classification of souls with many sub- groups. Nevertheless, while I access the minds of so many people, I do see an interdependence and connection behind all soul specialties. Souls in the general category of Harmonizers often incarnate as communicators working in a variety of capacities. When they are discarnated beings, I am told they work as restorers of disrupted energy on the face of the Earth. Incarnating Harmonizer Souls might be states- men, prophets, inspirational messengers, negotiators, artists, musicians and writers. Typically, they are souls who balance the energy of planetary events involving human relationships. They may be public or private figures who operate behind the stage of world events. These souls are not healers in the traditional mode of working with individuals because Harmonizers function on a larger scale in attempting to diffuse negative energy.

In my first book, I wrote about the Sages, who are highly advanced souls that are still incarnating on Earth even though it is unnecessary for their own personal development. I am told they are skilled linguists with the ability to phrase words in vibrational tones that deeply touch people. These wise beings are here because it is their mission to help humanity in a direct physical way. They are unobtrusive and may wish for no public attention. Erom what I can gather, they are not large in number. These highly evolved old souls among us are considered to be active observers of events. They report on human trends that they feel require special attention. For this reason, I place them under Harmonizer Souls.

It is evident to my subjects that the Sages are somehow connected to another group of Harmonizer specialists in the spirit world whom they call the Watchers. These beings do not incarnate but receive information from many sources about conditions on Earth and other worlds as well. I have precious little data about them. What I do have comes from a few clients who know of them only through their own training to be Harmonizer Souls. Presumably, a Watcher provides information to other Harmonizers, who will act to moderate the affects of social and physical forces creating havoc on Earth. The case which follows is from a level V called Larian who is in training to be a Harmonizer.

Case 57

Dr. N: Larian, could you explain something about being in the specialty of harmonizing and what you do?

S: I am a raw recruit, but I will try. I am learning about harmonizing Earth’s discordant energy to help people.

Dr. N: Do you mean with the geophysical elements of Earth, such as high winds, fire, earthquakes—that sort of thing?

S: I have friends in that pursuit, but this is not my area of study.

Dr. N: Well all right, then—before we get to your tasks, what are your friends learning?

S: These planetary restorers soften the destructive aftermath of natural physical forces, which cause large amounts of negative energy.

Dr. N: Why don’t the powers that exist in the spirit world just prevent these natural disasters from happening in the first place and save people a lot of grief?

S: (shakes head) Then they wouldn’t be natural catastrophes, which are intended to be part of the conditions of life on Earth. A planetary harmonizer would not interfere with these forces, even if they had the capability—which I don’t think they do.

Dr. N: Then what is their function?

S: Spread the seeds of coherent energy into the disturbed, to neutralize large concentrations of negative energy. They work with polarity and magnetic force to assist in human recovery, (grins) We call them the vacuum cleaners.

Dr. N: Okay, Larian, where does your own work fit into the scheme   of things?

S: I hope to make a contribution with catastrophic events directly created by people.

Dr. N: How many other trainees are in your section?

S: Four.

Dr. N: Do you and your associates plan to stop wars?

S: (perturbed) I don’t think I am getting across to you. Our training is not designed to tamper with the minds of people who cause human suffering.

Dr. N: Why not? Are you saying as a Harmonizer Soul you would not want to intercede in some way with a Hitlerian psychopath bent on destruction?

S: The mind of the psychopath is closed to reason. I am in training to maintain positive energy around calmer heads who can make a difference in world events.

Dr. N: Isn’t that tampering with free will, cause and effect, and the whole issue of natural karmic influences?

S: (pause) The conditions are already in place for the unfolding of cause and effect. We wish to allow for more rational thinking by sending waves of positive energy to the right people. We do not orchestrate resolutions. We offer a quiet atmosphere for dialogue.

Dr. N: You know, Larian, it seems to me you are fence-straddling between tampering and not doing so.

S: Then I am not getting through to you. Maybe if I explain more what I am doing at present you will see the difference. I am learning to adjust my energy beam to diffuse and rearrange the forces of negative human energy generated each day on Earth. It is like opening a dam to provide needed water to make the valley below fertile.

Dr. N: I don’t know if I am convinced yet, but please continue.

S: (patiently) I go to a huge dome to practice with my small group. Arlett is there, she is our instructor—very accomplished— catches our mistakes at once. It is here we practice the art of balancing vibrational  disharmony. Eventually, we hope to smooth out large masses of disruptive energy patterns on Earth.

Dr. N: What happens in the dome?

S: It provides a geometric base for certain oscillations and intervals to simulate erratic waves of human thought from large groups. It is deliberately stirred up for us. We are supposed to smooth it out.

Dr. N: Mmm … to foster expressions of harmonic thought?

S: Yes, thought and communication. We also study vocal tones and analyze their meanings—anything which influences negative thought. We want to help people who wish to help themselves. This is not direct interference.

Dr. N: All right, Larian, but when you become proficient at being a Harmonizer Soul, what power will you possess?

S: We will become senders of recovering energy to combat mass disillusionment. The melody of a Harmonizer whispers through the corridors of Earth of better things to come. We are messengers of hope.

After listening to the explanations of a number of Harmonizer Souls, 1 have come to believe that those spiritual masters who designed this laboratory of chaos we call Earth did not set things in motion and then walk away. There are superior beings who care enough about our survival to watch over us. Frankly, for much of my life I did not believe this could be true. There is a common theme I hear among Harmonizer Souls. They wish to give people the means to help themselves where they can, but they are not the conscience of human beings and they do not interfere with our free will. We were created and sent to Earth to problem-solve within the matrix of an intelligent life form living in a difficult environment which involves suffering but also great beauty and promise. It is this balance we must recognize in our day-to-day reality. There is an old Chinese proverb that states “We count our miseries carefully and accept our blessings without much thought.”

Masters of Design

While this specialization is also multifaceted, to me it represents two major subdivisions of souls. Within a geophysical environment, there are purely structural specialists and those who create living things within these settings. The Master of Design trainees of my limited experience are assigned to work in a physical universe, frequently with uninhabited planets in the process of cooling after being formed out of stars. Those souls who are involved with the creation of life forms are engaged with worlds where new life is evolving.

I will begin by reviewing the activities of the structural souls who are in training to use energy for the designing of planetary geology. I think of them as architect-builders of topography who work with the component parts making up planetary surface features. This would include mountains, bodies of water, atmosphere and climate. Although structural specialists are associated with souls dedicated to landscaping with plants, trees and living creatures, that work is considered to be a separate classification of design. Structurally oriented souls are likely to begin their craft by constructing, in the spirit world, objects they knew in life.

Case 58

Dr. N: How many souls were in your original cluster group?  

S: There were twenty-one … most of us have been split up now.

Dr. N: Does that mean you don’t see much of the original group?

S: (reflectively) No … that’s not it… just that we are scattered around. Most of us don’t work together anymore, (brightening) I do see my old friends at other times.

Dr. N: Did any members of the old group come with you?

S: Three … and two stayed.

Dr. N: How many souls have been assigned to your new group?

S: Eight right now, and we hear one more is coming.

Dr. N: I am curious how this change in your endeavors came about. Can you explain what the transition out of your original group was like for you?

S: (long pause) Well, in the beginning I noticed another guide began dropping in on our study sessions. We learned his name was Baatak. He had been invited by my guide Eirow to observe us for a while.

Dr. N: Did Baatak drop in at random during all phases of your work activities at that time?

S: No, he came only during the structural periods.

Dr. N: And what was the nature of your structural work then?

S: Oh, you know, the use of energy in structural composition. I like to sculpt matter into utilitarian designs.

Dr. N: I sec … well, I’ll come back to that. Tell me, did Baatak participate in your group activities during his visits to the old cluster?

S: No, he was an observer. He watched each of us carefully during the structural periods. Occasionally, he would ask one of us specific questions about how the work we were engaged in was coming along and if we felt an … affinity toward the work.

Dr. N: Give me an idea of your feelings about Baatak at this time and his attitude toward you.

S: I took to him right away. I think he saw that I really enjoyed what we were doing.

Dr. N: Then what happened with you and Baatak?

S: After a while (three more lifetimes), a few of us were invited to go with him for short periods to a new group that was being formed. I remember wanting Hyanth to come … so we could be together.

Dr. N: Is Hyanth someone important to you?

S: Yes, my soulmate.

Dr. N: And did she come with you into your new group?

S: No, Hyanth did not take to this concentrated structural work all that much … and so she went to another group that was being formed.

Dr. N: What did Hyanth object to about your new group?

S: Let me put it this way. I enjoy carving and shaping energy, experimenting with the relationships between planes and geometrical solids as building blocks of matter.

Dr. N: And Hyanth?

S: (with pride) Hyanth is attracted to designing the beautiful aspects of environmental settings suitable for life. She is wonderful with scenery. While I might construct a fitting series of inter- connecting mountains she would be more interested in the plants and trees growing on the mountain.

Dr. N: Let me understand something. Do you just go to a physical world and build a mountain, with someone like Hyanth concentrating on life forms such as the trees?

S: No, we work with physical worlds which are forming and set in motion the geologic forces which will build the mountain. My structural projects don’t have to have life. Also, Hyanth doesn’t create a forest of adult trees on worlds suitable for life. Her people would design the cells which might eventually grow into the trees they want.

Dr. N: Does this mean your group and Hyanth’s are separated?

S: (deep sigh) No, she is working nearby.

Dr. N: What is it like being in a newly formed group?

S: I don’t think I will ever be totally apart from my old bunch. We complemented one another in so many ways. For thousands of years we helped each other in all our lives. Now … well, the mixture of new people is strange. We all feel the same way about our old groups. We come from different backgrounds and experiences, it takes some getting use to.

Dr. N: Would you go so far as to say there is rivalry between the members of your new soul group?

S: (grins) Nooo … not really… we all have the same motives to help each other make a contribution. The teasing and joking in our original groups is mostly gone. Everyone is serious. We each have our own talent, ideas and ways of doing things. We can see that Baatak is in the process of unifying us and we are learning to pay close attention to the abilities of each other. It is an honor to be here, but we still have weaknesses.

Dr. N: What is yours?

S: I am afraid of experimenting with my power. I like working in comfortable situations where I know I can design something perfectly. One of my new friends is just the opposite. He produces some good planetary stuff and then just jumps in and comes up with something wacky like screwing up the atmosphere so no life of any kind can breathe. He gets all tangled up with complex plans that are beyond his capabilities.

Dr.  N:  Can  you  explain  to  me  how you  personally  start  with  a structural design project in class?

S: By first visualizing what I want. I carefully put it together in my mind to get a clear blueprint. With my new group we are learning how to use the proper quality of energy in proper composition to a large scale. With Eirow I worked in parts, while Baatak wants everything to be an interconnecting whole.

Dr. N: So the interrelation of energy elements is important to both the form and balance of your work?

S: Absolutely! Light energy begins the process but there must be a harmony to the design, and it should have practical applications, (bursts out laughing)

Dr. N: Why are you laughing?

S: I was thinking about a construction project with Hyanth. It was in our off time. Hyanth and I were kidding each other about being too self-important. She challenged me to build a small version of the elegant church where we were married in one of our lives. I was a stone cutter in that life, (in Medieval France)

Dr. N: Did you accept her challenge?

S: (still laughing) Yes, on the condition she would help me.

Dr. N: Was that fair? I mean, she is not a specialist in structure.

S: She isn’t. Hyanth agreed to try and reproduce the stained glass windows and sculptures that she had loved. She wanted beauty and I wanted function. What a mess! I started by using flat beams of energy for the walls and was doing fairly well with the connecting arches, but the vaults and dome were a disaster. I called for Baatak and he fixed everything.

Dr. N: (an often-asked question) But this is all an illusion?

S: (laughing) Are you so sure of that? This building will stand for as long as we wish it to be here for us.

Dr. N: And then what? S: It will disappear.

Dr. N: So where are you in your planetary studies?

S: I am involved with creating particles of energy for rock shapes on a full planetary scale.

Dr. N: Is this where most of your attention is directed now?

S: No, mostly I must still experiment alone with many smaller models of topography to learn how to integrate all the elements of matter. So many mistakes happen but I enjoy the training. It’s just very slow.

Who gives souls the power to do what they do with matter? My sub- jects say they have the undeveloped capabilities, which are nurtured by teachers as their immediate source. They believe these masters receive the power they have from something higher. Yet ordinary souls them- selves demonstrate smaller aspects of this greater power. I have spent years debating with myself about creation while trying to incorporate fragments of information about the cosmos from the designer souls. I have come to the conclusion that intelligent energy waves create sub- atomic particles of matter and it is the vibrational frequency of these waves that causes matter to react in desired ways.

Astronomers are mystified by the fact there is some unknown form of energy contributing to the total density of our universe acting against gravity to expand empty space. I have reported that a musical  resonance of intelligent energy waves appears to play a role in cosmology. Many people in my cases explain that harmonics are associated with “rhythmic values of energy notes which have ratios and proportions.” My subjects who arc Structural Souls say these designs relate to the formation of “geometric shapes that float as elastic patterns,” which contribute to the building blocks of a living universe. The geometry of space was exemplified by a client quote on page 135 and in case 44.

The Masters of Design have enormous influence on creation. I’m told they are capable of bridging universes that seem not to have a beginning or end, exacting their purposes among countless environmental settings. Carried to its logical conclusion, this would mean these masters—or grandmasters—would be capable of creating the spinning gas clouds of galactic matter which started the process of stars, planets and eventual life in our universe.

I am certain there is intelligent thought behind the formation of all animate and inanimate objects. This observation comes from souls who use their light energy for conceiving, designing, and then manipulating the molecules and cell structure of living matter which possess the physical properties they want in finished form. In my last case, I  learned that the artistic designer soul of Hyanth formed full-grown  trees in the spirit world to see if the finished product was appropriate, and then worked backward down to the seedlings and finally to the tree cells. This is one process of creating matter for functional use. I also indicated an example of this sort of energy training in case 35, with the creation and alteration of mice.

My next case is another illustration of those souls who work with living organisms. These designer souls are the biologists and botanists of the spirit world and they say that extraterrestrial life exists on billions of planets. I have an extensive file on souls who have incarnated on other worlds and souls who have traveled to a variety of strange worlds for both study and recreation between their lives on Earth.

Case 59

This is a distinctive case concerning a designer soul called Kala. As our session progressed, my subject spoke to me about a recent planetary assignment involving the need to adjust a problem with the ecosystem that was not going to be corrected by evolutionary adaptation. Before this case, I had not expected that souls would return to a planetary site for modifications of an existing environment since that would mean their designs were fallible. It was revealing for me to learn Kala’s experience involved the altering of the molecular chemistry of an existing creature in a controlled experiment.

When clients describe their soul experiences with life on other worlds, I try to learn about the galactic location, the planet’s size, orbit, the distance it lies from its star, atmospheric composition, gravitation and topography. I suppose my background as an amateur astronomer gives me an additional incentive to learn these details. Nonetheless, many clients find it annoying to try and answer astronomy questions they consider distracting and irrelevant. In our physical universe we know of 100 billion galaxies. Each of these silvery islands, separated by vast distances in light years, moves within the dark sea of space and contains countless billions of suns with the likelihood of life-supporting planets. Because my celestial references have little meaning to most subjects in hypnosis, and the worlds they talk about are so far away from Earth’s quadrant in space, I frequently just move on rather than impede the session.

Kala tried to explain to me that her creation design training class went to a planet “nowhere near Earth.” She called this world Jaspear and said it was in a double (binary) star system orbiting a “hot yellow star nearby, with a dull red larger star much farther away.” I was also told Jaspear was a little larger than Earth but had smaller oceans. She added this world was semi-tropical with four moons. After a little encouragement, Kala was willing to discuss her work involving a strange creature that has certain odd similarities to animals on Earth.

The average client with experience on an alien planet has feelings of reluctance about giving me information they consider to be privileged. I have mentioned this fact before in other areas of my spiritual research. Subjects clam up when they feel they should not be revealing knowledge entrusted to them, or that they are not intended to uncover in their current lives. This is particularly true with alien civilizations. It is frustrating for me to hear such statements as, “Neither you nor I are supposed to know about such places.” With Kala, I explained how important it was for both of us to know her capabilities as a soul, rather than my simply being an inquisitive investigator. Another effective hypnosis technique I might use to get around client blocks toward speaking about other worlds is to ask, “Have you known any fascinating alien life forms you care a great deal about?” This approach is irresistible to many souls who travel for work or play.

Dr. N: Kala, I would like to further explore what you have told me about your assignment to Jaspear. I think this would help me understand your specialty. Why don’t you begin with your training class and how the project on Jaspear was presented.

S: The six of us have been assigned to work with some seniors (Design Masters) to deal with this world where runaway vegetation has threatened the food supply of the small land animals.

Dr. N: So, basically the problem on Jaspear involves the ecosystem?

S: Yes, the thick vines … a voracious vine-like bush. It grows so fast it kills those plants needed for the food supply. There is little space left for the land creatures of Jaspear to graze.

Dr. N: And they can’t eat the vines?

S: No, and that’s why we went to Jaspear on this assignment. 

Dr. N: (reacting too quickly) Oh, to rid the planet of these vines?

S: No, they are indigenous to the planet and its soil.

Dr. N: Well, then, what is the assignment?

S: To create a animal which will eat the vines—to control the spreading of this bush which chokes off so much other vegetation.

Dr. N: What animal?

S: (laughing) It is the Rinucula.

Dr. N: How are you going to do that with an animal that is not indigenous to Jaspear?

S: By creating a mutation from an existing small four-footed animal and accelerating its growth.

Dr. N: Kala, you can change the DNA genetic codes of one animal to create another?

S: I could not do this by myself. We have the combined energy of my training class, plus the skillful manipulation of the two seniors who have accompanied us on this field trip.

Dr. N: You use your energy to alter the molecular chemistry of an organism in order to circumvent natural selection?

S: Yes, to radiate the cells of a group of the small animals. We mutate the existing species and make it much larger so it will survive. Since we don’t have the time to wait for natural selection, we will also accelerate growth of the four-legged animal.

Dr. N: Do you accelerate the growth of the mutation so that the Rinucula appears right away, or do you accelerate the size of the creature itself?

S: Both—we want the Rinucula to be big and we want this evolutionary change to take place in one generation.

Dr. N: How many Earth years will this take?

S: (pause) Oh … fifty years or so … to us it seems like a day.

Dr. N: What did you do to the small animal who will becomea Rinucula?

S: We keep the legs and hairy torso—but it all will be larger.

Dr. N: Tell me about the finished product. What does a Rinucula look like?

S: (laughing) A … large curving nose down around the mouth … big lips… huge jaws… massive forehead … walks on four legs with hooves. About the size of a horse.

Dr. N: You said you kept the hair of the original animal? 

S: Yes, it’s all over the Rinucula—long reddish-brown hair.

Dr. N: What about the brain of this animal—is it greater or less than a horse?

S: The Rinucula is smarter than a horse.

Dr. N: He sounds like something out of a Dr. Seuss children’s book.

S: (grins) That’s why it’s so much fun to think about him.

Dr. N: Has the Rinucula made a difference on Jaspear?

S: Yes, because he is many times the size of the original animal, and has other alterations—such as his huge jaw and body strength— he is really eating up the vines. The Rinucula is a docile creature with no natural predators and a voracious eater, like the original animal. That’s what the seniors wanted.

Dr. N: What about his reproduction on this planet? Do the Rinucula multiply quickly?

S: No, they reproduce slowly—that is why we had to create quite a number of Rinuculas after we programmed the desired genetic characteristics.

Dr. N: Do you know how this experiment ended?

S: Jaspear is now a more balanced world of plant eaters. We wanted the other animals to thrive as well. The vines are now under control.

Dr. N: Do you plan eventually to have highly intelligent life on Jaspear—is that what this is all about?

S: (vaguely) Perhaps the seniors do … I have no way of knowing.

Explorers

I consider most people who gain experience in different environments outside the spirit world between lives to be a type of Explorer Soul.  They may be souls whose personal development requires in-depth experience on different worlds or simply recreational travelers. I also have clients who engage in temporary work assignments between lives that involve travel. Explorer Souls in training travel to physical and mental worlds in our universe and even into other dimensions. From the accounts I hear about, I picture a full-fledged Explorer Soul as a highly specialized, non-incarnating being who seeks out suitable training sites for the less-experienced souls and then eventually leads them to these regions. Their work ethic is one of reconnaissance.

When souls who are still incarnating on Earth move from the spirit world to other locations, these trips seem to be from point to point with no stops along the way. My clients say that in their travels to other places they do not perceive the trips to be long or short. This is illustrated by the following two quotes:

From the spirit world to a physical world it is like a door opens and you see the walls, of what appears to be a hall- way, a tube, whirling past on either side. Then another portal-type doorway opens and you are there.

When I pass into another dimension to a mental world I am like a piece of static flowing through a TV screen into magnetic zones structured by pure thought. The voids are composed of large, pulsating fields of energy. I feel the power of this energy more than when I go to a material universe because we must adapt our wave resonance to existing conditions in order to easily pass through. I want to keep my energy tight, so I don’t get lost. These trips are not instantaneous, but almost.

Most of the souls I work with who explore other worlds are led by instructors. Also, I find those subjects who travel interdimensionally are not limited to souls in an advanced state of development. We saw this in the hide-and-seek game. They seem to be adventuresome souls who relish travel, the challenges of different environments, and new forms of self-expression. I have been told of existences where intelligent beings reside within blocks of matter so dense it is described as resembling the composition of silver and lead. Others tell me about realms appearing   as shining glass surfaces amid towers of crystal. There are physical worlds consisting of fire, water, ice or gas where all manner of  intelligent life thrives. These spheres within which Explorer Souls move have light, pastel or dark environments. However, the dark habitats do not bear the sinister connotations that people associate with regions of foreboding.

The Explorer Souls do not emphasize a polarity of light and darkness in their travels as much as other elements. These could include a restless or serene environment, thin or heavy density, physical or mental domains, and conditions lending themselves to what has been described as “purified or coarse intelligence.” Traveler souls who move into different realms of cosmic consciousness must learn to align their  energy with symmetry to local conditions within these demarcations. Explorer guides can take souls on brief visits to higher dimensional levels to raise their consciousness. In the minds of many subjects, these trips don’t last long and this is probably to avoid overwhelming   younger souls.

In the last chapter, under recreational activities in the spirit world, 1 said that soul travel often involves working vacations. These visits are usually to physical worlds for souls from Earth and can last from a few days up to hundreds of years in Earth time. I receive a great deal of information about other worlds from discussions of a client’s R & R periods between lives. My hypnosis subjects are usually more relaxed about giving me details of their recreational travel to other worlds, as demonstrated by the next case.

Case 60

Dr. N: What activity are you most engaged in between lives when you are not reviewing karmic lessons with your soul group?

S: Well… I do take trips … ah … but they are rather personal. I don’t think I should talk about this sort of thing …

Dr. N: I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable with telling me things which you feel you shouldn’t, (pause) Just let me ask if there is some exotic place you travel to between lives which gives you fond memories?

S: (reacts quickly with a broad smile) Oh, yes—to Brooel.

Dr. N: (lowering my voice) Is this a world where you incarnate?

S: No, I remain as a soul because I only go to Brooel to rejuvenate my spirit… and it’s fun to take trips here because it is like Earth with no people.

Dr. N: (in a reassuring tone) I see, so you mostly go for rest and recreation. Why don’t you tell me about the physical aspects of Brooel compared to Earth.

S: It is smaller than Earth and colder because the sun is further away. It has mountains, trees, flowers and fresh water but no oceans.

Dr. N: Who brings you to Brooel?

S: Uh … a Master Navigator by the name of jhumu.

Dr. N: Would this be the same type of soul as an Explorer who is a specialist in travel, or someone like your own guide?

S: Jhumu is an Explorer all right, we call them navigators, (pause) But our guides can come with us too if they want.

Dr. N: I understand completely. Tell me, do you usually go alone or with other members of your soul group?

S: We could come alone but the navigators usually bring a few members of different groups.

Dr. N: What do you think of Jhumu?

S: (more relaxed) Jhumu likes being a tour director for those of us who are taking breaks from our normal activities. He says it gives us perspective.

Dr. N: That sounds interesting. I know you are anxious to explain why Brooel is great fun, so why don’t we begin by my asking you about the animal life on this planet.

S: Ah … no fish, frogs, snakes—no amphibians.

Dr. N: Oh? Why is that, do you think?

S: (pause and a little confused) I don’t know, except those of us who come here want to be involved with a special land animal… who is—. (stops)

Dr. N: (coaxing) An animal you remember?

S: (laughs) Our favorite … the Arder. They are like a small bear with cat features all rolled into one. (wrapping her arms around her sides) The Arder is a wonderful, furry, cuddly, peaceful animal which is really not an animal as we know it.

Dr. N: What does this mean?

S: The Arder is very intelligent and affectionate.

Dr. N: How does their intelligence compare to humans?

S: That’s difficult to say. It is not higher or lower than humans… just different.

Dr. N: What is most different?

S: They have absolutely no need for conflict or competition among their kind. This is why we are brought to this peaceful setting—it gives us hope for a better future on Earth—what Earth could become if we all got our act together.

Dr. N: What do you and your friends do on Brooel?

S: We come and play with these gentle creatures, who seem to have a connection for souls from Earth needing rest. We materialize our energy in a minor way to interact with the Arders.

Dr. N: Can you be more specific about this process?

S: Well… we assume transparent human shapes to hug them. We float into their minds … so unearthly and subtle. After life on a hard physical world such as Earth, they heal us in this setting. The Arder is a soothing creature which motivates us to see what is possible with the human body.

The setting for R & R is as much of a factor on these trips of exploration by souls as the attributes of the alien life forms they find there. While in trance, my subjects have great empathy for the unspoiled planets which are similar to Earth but with no people. They look upon these places as their own special playgrounds. I don’t see nearly as many clients with memories of going to mental worlds. This is natural. We are beings used to bright light and physical dimensions. The following quote is another example of interaction with a life form purely for recreation.

We are taken by the travelers to the place of the Quigleys. They are the size of a muskrat, fat and fluffy with a forehead similar to a bull-nosed dolphin. The Quigley has big, rounded ears and straight-out whiskers. They have the IQ of perhaps a smart dog. They are devoted and happy animals who love us. Their planet is an ancient, mystical land of gently rolling hills and valleys carpeted with flowers and small, delicate trees. It is very bright here and there is an inland body of fresh water. We relax and play in this world of perfect peace.

If we have dreams of being tall giants, very short elfin-appearing beings, or having the bodies of water and air creatures, this could mean these dreams reflect unconscious memories of a prior incarnation on another world. However, it is also just as likely we were associated with this type of entity on R & R visits to some exotic world. Much of our mythology about strange creatures may also stem from these memories. I should add that most people have dreams of being able to fly. This probably relates more to our memories of floating around as a soul in a disembodied state than being a flying creature in a former life.

In order to appreciate the symbiotic relationship between an earthly soul who has had associations with other forms of life, let’s examine the next excerpt from one of my cases who is a hybrid soul. I refer the reader to my comments about hybrids on page 100. In the quote below of a fond memory, my client became very nostalgic. Sometimes a hybrid soul will tell me about being taken by an Explorer Soul between lives to a world similar to that of their first physical incarnations. Between my lives on Earth, I visit a water world called Anturium, which is so restful after a difficult life on land. Anturium has only one land mass, the size of Iceland. I come with a few of my friends who also have an affinity to water. We are brought by an Explorer- guide who is familiar with this region. Here we join the Kratens, who look a little like whales. They are telepathic and a long-lived race who do not mind our coming and mentally connecting with them for a while. Occasionally, they gather at certain locations to telepathically communicate with intelligent aquatic life forms who exist on two other planets (around stars in the galactic vicinity of Anturium). What I love about this place is the unity and harmony of thought with the Kratens which rejuvenates my mind and reminds me of my original planet.

Apparently, the Kratens have the ability to project their minds as beacons of unified thought away from Anturium to other worlds by knowing the points of confluence in the magnetic energy belt around their planet. These vortex areas, similar to the ley lines of Earth discussed in chapter 4, seem to give the Kraten’s telepathic power a boost and serve as conduits to better interstellar communication. From this case and hundreds of others, I have come to the conclusion that every- thing on Earth and in the universe is apparently connected by thought waves to and from the spirit world. This may also be true for other dimensions near us as well. The multiple progression of intelligence with all elements of matter represents a symphony of order and direc- tion based upon a plan of universal consciousness.

In the last chapter, I explained how some recreational games are used as training vehicles for the souls attracted to exploration. The more adept engage in interdimensional travel. One of my Explorer-trainee clients said to me, “I was told that to become an Explorer I would have to experience many realities by beginning my travels to physical worlds, and then escalating to the mental existences and interdimensional travel.” In order to acquaint the reader with interdimensional life, I have chosen the strange case of a client from Japan who told me in deep hypnosis that his soul was originally from another dimension. His spiritual name is Kanno.

Case 61

Kanno is a Japanese scientist who, years ago, came to the U.S. for his advanced education. Today he prefers a life of relative isolation in laboratories. He suffers from a poor immune system, a common complaint among hybrid soul clients. These people are negatively influenced by too-little experience with the human body and too many alien imprints carried over from their former existences. As I have said, it may take the hybrid soul many generations of earthly incarnations before a complete memory cleansing of old body energy patterns will take place.

I began our session in my customary fashion, by regressing Kanno to the time when he was inside his mother’s womb. This is a good place for a spiritual regressionist to start interacting with a client’s soul. While inside his mother, my subject reported that he had trepidations about his coming birth stemming from his one prior life on Earth some 300 years ago in India. I continued the regression to Kanno’s death scene in India and then we crossed into the spirit world. I will pick up the dialogue with Kanno when he meets his guide, Phinus.

Dr. N: What does Phinus say to you?

S: She says, “Welcome back, how did you like the ride?”

Dr. N: And what is your response?

S: Did it have to be so terrible?

Dr. N: Does she agree with your assessment of life in India?

S: Phinus reminds me that I volunteered to have a difficult opening life on Earth because I wanted to receive the full impact of a disruptive planet. I was the poorest of the poor in India and lived in squalor.

Dr. N: Did you want to suffer this much in your initial life?

S: The life was terrible and I didn’t handle it well. When a childless family took my daughter against my will by paying the owner of the shack where I lived, I became so distraught I could not function. (Kanno jerks in his chair and emotionally relives the moments after his last death) WHAT KIND OF A PLANET IS THIS ANYWAY? PEOPLE SELLING CHILDREN!

Dr. N: (at this point I do not yet know about Kanno’s hybrid origins and I make a wrong assumption) This does seem as though it was a very difficult first incarnation for a new soul on Earth.

S: Who said I was a new soul?

Dr. N: I’m sorry, Kanno. I just assumed that right now you are only in your second incarnation on Earth.

S: That’s true, but I’m from another dimension.

Dr. N: (startled) Oh, then what can you tell me about this other dimension?

S: We had no physical worlds as you have in this dimension. My incarnations were on a mental world.

Dr. N: What did you look like on this world?

S:  I had an elongated, flowing body—spongy, with no skeletal structure. We were rather transparent forms of silvery light.

Dr. N: Did you prefer a certain type of gender?

S: We were all hermaphrodites.

Dr. N: Kanno, please explain the difference between traveling to the dimension of your origins from the spirit world as opposed to coming into our universe.

S: In my dimension movement is like going through soft, translucent filaments of light. Coming into your universe is like plowing through thick, heavy, moisture-laden fog.

Dr. N: And being on Earth for the first time—what was that like compared to your home world?

S: Having concrete tied to your feet. The first thing you notice is the heavy weight of the dense energy here compared to a mental world, (pause) It isn’t just heavy—it’s coarse … severe … I was really jolted in that life in India.

Dr. N: Is all this a little better now—are you becoming acclimatized?

S: (without confidence) To some extent. It’s still pretty difficult…

Dr. N: I can see that. Kanno, what is the most troubling aspect about the human brain for you?

S: (abruptly) Ahh—it’s the impulsive behavior—the physical reaction to things—without analytical thought. There is danger in connecting with the wrong kind of human being, too … treachery … I can’t deal with this.

Dr. N: (Kanno is sweating profusely and I quiet him now a bit before continuing) Tell me about your mental world. Does it have a name?

S: (pause) It’s a sound which I can’t re-create with my voice, (begins reminiscing) We float in a sea of gentle mental currents … soft… playful… so unlike Earth.

Dr. N: Then why come here?

S: (with a deep sigh) I am studying to be an Explorer-teacher. Most of my associates are satisfied to confine their efforts to one dimension. I finally told Phinus I wanted broader experience with a hard world in a completely different zone of existence. She told me she had a senior colleague who recommended another dimension with a strenuous physical world that had a reputation for producing vigorous, insightful souls (with a gallows laugh)— once you survive the lessons. This was Earth.

Dr. N: Did you get the impression there were other choices open to you?

S:  (shrugs)  Guides don’t  give you many choices in such situations. Phinus said that when I completed my work on Earth I would be strengthened in ways my friends who refused such assignments would not be. She said Earth would also be quite interesting and I accepted that.

Dr. N: Did any of your friends come with you into our dimension?

S: No, I was the only one who elected to go and I almost refused to return again in this life. My associates think I am very brave. They know if I make it, I’m going to be an effective traveler.

Dr. N: Let’s talk about travel, Kanno. As an interdimensional traveler, you probably know if there is a finite number of dimensions around our physical universe.

S: (flatly) I do not know.

Dr. N: (cautiously) Well, is your home dimension next to ours?

S: No, I must pass through three other dimensions to get here.

Dr. N: Kanno, it would be helpful if you would try and describe what you see as you pass through these dimensions you are familiar with in your travels.

S: The first dimension is a sphere full of colors and violent explosions of light, sound and energy … I think it is still forming. The next is black and empty—we call it the unused sphere. Then there is a beautiful dimension which has both physical and mental worlds composed of gentle emotion, tender elements and keen thought. This dimension is superior to my original dimension and your universe as well.

Dr. N: It’s now your universe too, Kanno. Tell me, does the trip through the total of four dimensions take long?

S: No, quickly—like air particles passing through a filter.

Dr. N: Can you give me a sense of the structural design between these dimensions in relation to the spirit world? You described the dimensions as spheres. Why don’t we start with that.

S: (long pause) I can’t tell you much. Everything is … in a circle around the center of the spirit world. Each of these universes appears to me to be an interlocking sphere with the next, as in a chain.

Dr. N: (after failing to gain more information) How are you getting on in our universe now, Kanno?

S: (rubbing his hand on his forehead) Better. I am learning how to discharge my energy in a steady, positive stream without depleting my reserve. It helps me to be away from people for long periods. I expect to really improve after a few more lives, but I am looking forward to completing my time here on Earth.

Before leaving the realm of the Explorer Soul, I should add that this sort of training involves learning about the texture of intelligent energy. I am frustrated in not being able to discover more about the properties of this energy in motion on mental worlds. Some information comes to me from those souls who have had experience on physical worlds which are also considered mental, as demonstrated by the following condensed quote:

We visit the volcanic gas world of Crion to learn by assimilation. It is a mental world with outward physical attributes. Our group of Explorers float as blobs of fluid energy in a sea of gaseous substances. We are metamor-phic and able to change shape and form into the tiny beings whose life is centered around pure thought. There is absolute vibrational uniformity here, unlike Earth.

Souls who travel interdimensionally explain that their movements appear to be in and out of curved spheres connected by zones that are opened and closed by converging vibrational attunement. Explorer trainees have to learn this skill. From the accounts I have heard, the interdimensional travelers must also learn about the surface boundaries of zones connecting universes as hikers locating trailheads between mountain ranges. Souls speak of points, lines and surfaces in multi- space which indicate larger structural solids, at least for the physical universes. I would think dimensions having geometric designs need hyperspace to hold them. Yet Explorer Souls travel so fast in some sort of hyperspace it seems to me the essence of speed, time and direction of travel is hardly definitive. Training to be an Explorer must indeed be formidable, as indicated by this quote from a client who travels through five dimensions between her lives:

These dimensions are meshed with one another so that I have no sense of boundaries except for two elements, sound and color. With sound, I must learn to attune my energy to the vibrational frequency of each dimension, and some are so complex I can not yet go to them. With color, the purples, blues, yellows, reds and whites are manifestations of light and density for those energy particles in the dimensions where I travel.

9 The ring of destiny

The Screening Room of Future Lives

The place of future life selection is seen as a sphere containing highly concentrated force fields of glowing energy screens.

As I mentioned in the section on spiritual libraries, the place of life selection has been characterized as the Ring of Destiny, where we first behold our next body.

Most subjects see the Ring as a circular, domed theater with floor-to- ceiling panoramic screens which surround them completely while they are situated in a shadowed viewing area. Some people see the screens as being on two or three sides while they stand or sit on a raised deck, from this observation deck, souls can look up, straight ahead or down at the screens that are huge compared to what is seen in the other learning centers of the spirit world.

The Ring displays futuristic scenes of events and people the soul will encounter in the life to come. Some clients have commented that each screen reflects scenes of childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and old age of the bodies they are reviewing, while others say that all the screens show them the same scene at one time. The whole spiritual structure of the screening room is designed to give the viewer an ability either to observe or participate in the action, just as in libraries. It does seem to me that more people elect to enter the screens of the Ring during life selection than with the screens in the other learning centers. They want to actually experience snippets of future events in certain bodies before making any final decisions. The preference to enter a scene or just observe is always left up to the individual soul. As with the smaller consoles, the Ring also has what appears to be control panels or lever bars to monitor the action. People call this procedure scanning the timelines, and the more advanced tell me they can control the array of events in front of them with their minds. The sequence of events can, to some extent, be regulated in stop action for parts of a future life the soul may wish to consider more carefully.

I cannot stress too much that all my subjects feel what they are seeing has been edited for their benefit and that they have less control over what they can watch than, say, in the library. Moreover, I have the impression that when looking into the future, they see more of an early life than later. This may be due to bias in reporting since those years are already over by the time I see the client. The key viewing years of a new life seem to be between eight and twenty, when the first major forks in life begin to emerge. Many people tell me they are shown certain years  in great detail while other parts of their future life are completely left out. The control panels seem to be of no use here, yet this never bothers my subjects. I believe their current amnesia also plays a part. As one forty-nine-year-old man explained, “I was shown my current body at ages four, sixteen, and twenty-eight, but I think I am now being blocked from recalling what I saw afterwards.”

During viewing, the screens ebb and flow like a film of water. One woman used a suitable metaphor to represent her feelings about the experience when she said:

As the screens come alive they resemble a three-dimensional underwater aquarium. When I look at a life it's like taking a deep breath and going underwater. People, places, events—everything floats by you in a flash before your eyes as if you are drowning. Then you come back to the surface. When you are actually sampling a scene from the life they show you, it reflects the time a person is able to stay underwater. In many ways, uncovering the memories my subjects have about their last experience in the life selection room and their interpretations as to body choice is one of the most therapeutic and informative aspects of my hypnosis sessions. My clinical work is greatly enhanced when a client returns to the Ring because of the relevancy to their current life. By offering the reader a more comprehensive picture of this process, I hope to bring a greater appreciation of the importance of each life we select in our cycle of lives.

This chapter contains one final soul specialty that I will add to my list. These are the Timemasters, who are coordinators engaged with past, present and future timelines of people and events. Timemasters are the highly adroit experts who give the impression of actually directing the presentations in our theater-in-the-round. These master souls are members of an entire fellowship of planners that include guides, Archivists and council Elders, who are involved with designing our future.

A large percentage of my subjects never see Timemasters in the screening room. Some clients feel they are alone in the Ring except for a “projectionist.” Others will enter the Ring with a personal guide, or perhaps an Elder, who is the only advisor they are aware of helping them during life selection. In terms of our own input, many souls have already organized their thoughts about the next reincarnation. Our guides and council members have helped refine these thoughts with questions about what we think our next life should be about and the type of human being that might best suit us. Still, we are not really prepared for the choices offered to us once we enter the life selection room. There is a sense of wonder and even some apprehension for the average soul.

The Timemasters of the Ring seem to be shadowy figures in the background who may be consulted by those guides who accompany us to the viewing areas. Even if they are seen, my clients are not inclined to communicate with them during observations. This is why my next case is atypical.

Case 62

Dr. N: Please give me a picture of what takes place as you enter the sphere of life selection.

S: There are two beings who come forward to work with my guide, Fyum. He seems to know them well.

Dr. N: Do you see them in this place before every new life?

S: No, only when the next life is going to be particularly difficult— which means a number of hard body choices.

Dr. N: Do you mean more body choices than usual, or more complex individual bodies?

S: Mmm … usually I get only a couple of body choices and that makes it easier for me.

Dr. N: Do you know the names of these two specialists who talk to Fyum?

S: (jerks in chair) Never! That’s just not something I would know. There isn’t any… easy familiarity here with these masters of time … that’s why Fyum is with me.

Dr. N: I understand. So do your best lo give me an idea of what these Timemasters of your life offerings are like.

S: (more relaxed now) Okay, number 1 is masculine-appearing and he is rigorous in his demeanor. I know he is inclined toward having me choose a certain body—the one which will be the most useful. This body will give me the maximum experience I need in my future life.

Dr. N: Oh … from all I have heard, the Ring directors are rather quiet, unobtrusive beings.

S: Well… yes, that’s true, but during the choosing, there is always a preferred body choice that the planners feel is best. This body is given a prominent presentation, (pause) Everyone knows this is the first time I have seen these choices—and they want my choice to be fruitful.

Dr. N: So I have heard. Why don’t you tell me about number 2?

S: (smiling) She is feminine and softer … more flexible. She wants me to accept the body which will be pleasurable to be inside. She leans to moderation and turns to 1 and says there is plenty of time to learn my lessons. I have the feeling there is a deliberate juxtaposition between them for my benefit.

Dr. N: Sort of like the good cop, bad cop routine during an interrogation?

S: (laughs) Yeah, maybe, so I will have an advocate in both camps with Fyum taking the middle road.

Dr. N: So Fyum is kind of a referee?

S: Mmm … no, that’s not true. Fyum is neither lenient nor severe in attitude as I deliberate my choices. It is made clear to me that the body choice is mine alone because I am going to have to live with it. (a burst of laughter) Hey, I made a pun!

Dr. N: I think you did. We really do have to live with our choices. Why don’t you explain what choosing the body you had in your last life was all about before we go further.

S: In my last life, I chose a difficult path with the body of a woman who would die within two years of marriage. My husband in that life needed to feel the loss of someone he loved deeply for a karmic debt from the life before.

Dr. N: So there was a high probability that this particular body was going to die young and the main question was would you be the soul who would elect to choose that body?

S: Yes, that’s about it.

Dr. N: Well, please go on and tell me the circumstances surrounding your death as a young woman in that life.

S: In the screening room I saw I had three choices of death during a narrow time span involving my life on a ranch near Amarillo, Texas. I could die quickly from a stray bullet during a gunfight between two drunken men. I could die more slowly after a fall from a bucking horse. And I could die by drowning in a river.

Dr. N: Was there any chance you might live?

S: (pause) A slight one, but that would defeat the purpose of my joining with that body.

Dr. N: Which was what?

S: My soulmate and I chose to be husband and wife on this ranch because he needed the lesson. I rejected the other body choices. I came to help him.

Dr. N: Tell me what was on your mind as you looked at the three choices in the screening room.

S: I chose the bullet, naturally. The manner of my death was not about these choices as much as the meaning behind my dying young.

The reader may wonder about the connection of the laws of karma to future possibilities and probabilities. Karma does not only pertain to our deeds, it is internal as well, reflecting our thoughts, feelings and impulses—all relating to cause and effect. Karma is more than taking proper actions toward others, it is also having the intention to do so. While the timeline for the Amarillo woman had a high probability of being short, her early death was not chiseled in stone. One of the variables here was the type of soul that would occupy that particular body. Even with the soul who elected to take this body anticipating a short life, there were elements of free will to be considered. I learned that it was not 100 percent ordained that this woman would die young by the stray bullet that hit her while she was standing across the street from the saloon where the gunfight took place. When I asked if she might have avoided going into Amarillo for supplies that day my, client said, “Yes, but something impelled me to go into town right when I did, and I  almost didn’t go without knowing why.” Another soul might not have gone at the last minute without knowing why either.

Timelines and Body Choices

Although time has little relevance outside our physical universe, we see ourselves and everything around us aging each day. We live on a planet around a star, which is also constantly aging in chronological time. The cycle of life involves movement of time and the timelines of our dimensional reality appear to be influenced by advanced beings who allow reincarnating souls to study the past and see into the future. In libraries and spiritual learning centers we can view other possible actions we might have taken in former lives to explore the “what ifs” of our past.

Under the doctrine of free will, the events of the past were not inevitable any more than our actions within those events. Fate does not decree that a certain situation has to come out a particular way. We are not puppets on a string. In our universe, when the past is over, these events and the people involved with them become eternal and are forever preserved in spiritual libraries. Since past, present and future in chronological time represent now time in the spirit world, how is future time treated in the Ring of life selection?

In chapter 5, following case 30,1 postulated on the many possibilities for the same event existing in parallel universes. In physical universes, this hypothesis means planets such as Earth could be duplicated within the same time frames and exist simultaneously as moving particle waves of light energy. Universes might be parallel, superimposed coexisting realities within the same dimension, or something else inconceivable. Regardless of the spatial layout, from the true reality of the spirit  world, time and events are tracked, stopped, and moved forward and backward by examiners of Earth. The major trunk lines, which I call base lines, are the probabilities of future events in certain bodies presented as possibilities for our examination in the Ring.

The waves of past events still indelibly exist, as in spiritual libraries, but if the present and future also exist in now time, how can the future be changed when the past is not? Is this an impossible paradox? In quantum mechanics, particles of light seem to vanish at one point and reappear instantaneously in another place. If each event in time exists along wavelike ripples of probabilities and possibilities, is it likely that a past event is given certain eternal properties where future events are still fluid and open to change? My strong feeling is yes.

However, after years of listening to people explain about their life choices, I do not believe future alternatives are unlimited in number. There is no need for our choices in life to be infinite. These possibilities only have to be varied enough for us to learn from the lessons. For example, in case 29, Amy indicated to me from a past life review in the library that her alternative choices to suicide began to fall off the chart of possibilities after a while.

The planners deal in the “what ifs” of our lives. Events which have  not yet taken place in the grand scheme of things are known by Timemasters and others for their greater or lesser potential of happen- ing. We do not simply study alternate timelines of future events in the Ring. Rather, we examine the alternative bodies offered us that will  exist within those events. These bodies will be born into roughly the same time frames. Watching the most probable series of events linked to those bodies under consideration is like previewing advance promotional scenes from a movie.

As they view specific scenes of what the Timemasters want them to see, some souls feel they are playing a chess game where they don’t yet know all the possible moves available for a desired ending. Usually, souls look at parts of a future life on a base line, or Ring Line, as some clients call it. The Ring Line represents the greatest probable course of a life for each body examined. The soul preparing for incarnation knows that one chess move, one minute change in the game they are watching, could alter the outcome. I find it intriguing that most of the time souls are not shown any in-depth probable future outcomes. They know there are many other possible moves on the chessboard of life which can change at any moment of play. Frankly, this is what makes the game interesting for most souls. Changes in life are conditional on our free will toward a certain action. This causality is part of the laws of karma. Karma is opportunity but it also involves fortitude and endurance because the game will bring setbacks and losses along with personal victories.

Reports of what goes on in these screening rooms are very consistent between hypnosis subjects. Their affirmations of what they all see bog- gle the mind. Still, while in the Ring, people are not able to view events into the future beyond the next immediate life span of the bodies presented to them. Evidently, this might cloud the way souls see the lives they are viewing. Taking my cue from this spirit world practice, I prefer not to work with progression in hypnosis except in spiritual screening rooms. Once in a while, in conjunction with something else under discussion out of the Ring, a subject will get brief flashes of scenes where they are participating in a future event, such as being on a starship. I usually don’t push for more information here. Moreover, these flashes of future existences are mercurial since people may only  see a single possibility that could change when the time actually arrives, owing to a whole host of new circumstances and decisions based upon the timelines of history leading up to these events.

The screening rooms arc helpful to those souls with reservations about accepting a covenant for the next life. For many, observing certain aspects of their future gives them confidence. Nevertheless, some apprehensive souls have said they refuse to enter the screens to directly sample bodies for fear they might lose their nerve in accepting a difficult life contract. The more intrepid souls feel the screening room is designed to foster just the opposite reaction because you are allowed to test the waters before jumping in.

A poignant example of someone preparing for a trial is the selection of a homosexual body. Since a predisposition to being a gay or lesbian person is essentially biological and not the result of social learning or environment, these bodies are picked by souls for two basic reasons. As  I have said before, at levels 1 and II many souls choose bodies of one particular gender around 75 percent of the time because they are comfortable being male or female. I find that my gay and lesbian clients  have started the process of alternating gender choices in their lives, which is reflective of the more developed soul. Choosing to be a gay male or lesbian female is one means of affecting that transition in a particular life. Thus, their current sex may not be as familiar to them as the body of the opposite sex, such as a gay male feeling as if he is actually in the body of a female.

The second and far more important factor is souls choosing a gay or lesbian orientation in advance of the life they are now living because they deliberately chose to exist in a society that would be prejudiced against them. My gay and lesbian clients are usually not young, inexperienced souls. If they go public, this means these people have decided to live a life where they will be swimming upstream in a culture with rigid gender role stereotypes. They must try and rise above public abuse in order to find self-esteem and self-identity. This takes daring and resolve, which I see when I take these clients back to the life selection room when these decisions were made.

To illustrate all this, I had a gay male client who was once an Empress in China. After a long wait, he was in his first incarnation since that life of luxury and power. This soul, known as Jamona, explained that as an Empress he was in the body of a strikingly beautiful woman who wore a fortune in jewels and was waited on hand and foot, befitting her rank. It was a life of self-indulgence, lack of trust in everyone around her due to court intrigue, and adulation by her subjects. In the life selection room, just before Jamona’s current life, there were three body choices. This is what my client had to say about his decision:

Of my three choices, two were women and one was a handsome young man who, I was told, "was feminine inside." One woman was very thin, almost frail-looking, who was to live a quiet life of a devoted wife and mother. The other woman was chic, kind of flashy, and destined to be a society gadfly. She was also emotionally cold. I chose the man because I would have to cope with a life of homosexuality. I knew if I could overcome the shame of society it would offset my life of adulation as an Empress.

These selections were in keeping with the usual spread of body choices. The attractive society woman would simply have been an extension of my client’s former life as a public figure who was self- absorbed and envied. The housewife would not have been a poor choice. Here was a middle-of-the-road offering where Jamona would have learned to be humble and accept life’s trials in poor circumstances.  Even so, the candidate was another woman and Jamona wanted to break a long cycle of being in female bodies.

Choosing the life of a gay man, according to Jamona, was the hardest one, although he has been much more financially secure than the  woman of ordinary means. We are not coached during these selections but the older souls know there is often one tempting choice which would not test us very much. Jamona knew this was the society woman. He made his choice not because he was pushed into selecting the leading candidate of the gay male but because the trial was clearly the hardest.

My client told me, “There have been many people in my life who have treated me with disgust and even loathing. I needed to experience this discrimination—to feel unsafe and vulnerable.”

One thing I have noticed in the selection of bodies is that the more advanced souls are able, to make insightful comparisons between the bodies offered them within the time periods that are presented. I also   see many less-advanced souls accept the body they know they ought to choose as the best course of action. They trust the selection process more than themselves. A client said, “For me, getting a new body is like trying on a new suit of clothes off the rack which you want to buy and hope it won’t need alterations.”

Timemasters

Only once every few years does a Timemaster in training come my way. When I recognize one, they are a resource to be treasured. Since there are other specialties associated with timelines I must guard against making early presumptions in the hypnosis session. For instance, the Archivist Souls assist souls in searching out their past histories and alternative timelines to those events. Thus, they function more as historians and chroniclers than as Timemasters who would track timelines of the immediate future for bodies under consideration in the life selection room. As with the other soul specialties, I’m sure there is overlapping here, too, with many masters working on time coordination for souls in need of their services. This is why my clients often lump them all together in their minds with the label of planners.

There is much the Timemaster trainees don’t know yet, or so they say. As I probe the esoteric aspects of any soul specialty, there is the  necessity of sorting out the usual blockages of details I am not supposed to know as opposed to what my advanced subject really doesn’t know. Readers may wonder why I didn’t ask other relevant questions in the cases presented in this book. The chances are I did, but received no response. Sometimes, both the trainee in a specialty area and I bring forth information which starts off as being inadvertent and then snowballs. Such was the case with a soul called Obidom, who is an engineer in his current life. I will begin the dialogue at a memorable point in our session.

Case 63

Dr. N: Obidom, can you tell me what you do between lives that represents your greatest challenge as a soul?

S: I study time on the planet Earth.

Dr. N: To what end?

S: I wish to be a master of this art… traveling the timelines … understanding the sequences with people living in a physical world. To help the planners assist souls in their life selections.

Dr. N: How is your program progressing?

S: (sighs) Very slowly, I’m such a beginner I need many mentors.

Dr. N: Why were you chosen for this training?

S: It is very difficult for me to tell you because I don’t think I am very worthy of this art. I suppose it all began because I enjoy manipulating energy and became rather good at it in my classes.

Dr. N: Well, isn’t this true of many souls who make things by energy manipulation in their creation classes?

S: (beginning to warm to my questions) This is different, we don’t create … in the same way.

Dr. N: What is different about your work?

S: To work with time, you must learn spatial manipulation. You start with models and then go to the real thing.

Dr. N: What sort of models?

S: (dreamily) Oh … a huge vaporized pool… of swirling liquid energy … thinning in those gaps where scenes are simulated for us in mini-bites… the gaps open … you see neon tubes of fluctuating light… ready for entry, (stops) It’s really hard to explain.

Dr. N: That’s all right, Obidom. 1 would like to discuss where you are now working, who teaches you, and something about the practical art of becoming a Timemaster.

S: (quietly) Time training is conducted at a temple, (grins) We call it the Temple of Time—where teachers instruct us in the application of energy sequences for events.

Dr. N: What are sequences?

S: Timelines exist as energy sequences of events which move.

Dr. N: Tell me how you manipulate energy in the timelines.

S: Time is manipulated by compressing and stretching energy particles within a unified field and to regulate its flow … like playing with rubber bands.

Dr. N: Can you change events in the past, present and future? Is that what you mean by manipulation?

S: (long pause) No, I can only monitor the energy sequences. We operate as… highwaymen who enter and exit the sequences— which we consider roads—by speeding up and slowing down. Condensing our energy speeds us up and expansion slows us down. It’s the same thing with events and people who appear on the sequences as points in the roads. We don’t create anything. We intersect as observers.

Dr. N: Then who created the time sequences in the first place?

S: (exasperated) How can I know that? At my stage I am only trying to function within the system.

Dr. N: Just asking, Obidom. You’re being very helpful. Tell me, to what purpose do you function as a Timemaster in training?

S: We are given one-event assignments… the human choices around that event all have meaning. The practical applications of what we do involve human streams of thought and actions that join in a river of time.

Dr.  N:  I  would  call  these  occurrences  passages  of  action  and memory of that action.

S: I would agree. Particles of energy do involve memory.

Dr. N: How?

S: Energy is the carrier of thought and memory within the sequences and these never pass into oblivion. The conduit by which time is perceived begins with thought—the shaping of an idea—then the event and finally the memory of the event.

Dr. N: How is all this recorded into the sequences?

S: By the vibrational tone of each recorded particle of energy. This is what we recover.

Dr. N: Can the sequences exist in all sorts of alternate realities?

S: (pause) Yes … overlapping and interlaced … this is what makes the search interesting if one has the skill to find them. All things can be observed and retrieved for study.

Dr. N: I need more direction here, Obidom.

S: There is a lot I can’t tell you. The particles of energy which are part of the causation for the setting up of events in time involve vibrational patterns with many alternatives. We view all this human history as useful for future incarnations of people.

Dr. N: Tell me how you feel about alternate possibilities to events.

S: (long pause) We study what is productive. Events—poor, better, best—are played out until they cease to be productive, (sighs deeply) Anyway, I’m still very new at that. I study the past scenes of what has taken place.

Dr. N: So are you saying everything that can exist in time does not necessarily exist if there is nothing for human beings to learn from its existence?

S: (pause) Ah … yes, similar situations of decision-making call for slightly different solutions ?nd after a while the differences are so small they would be nonproductive as lessons.

Dr. N: From all you have told me, Obidom, I have the feeling you are not much engaged in future time just yet. So how do you see yourself?

S: I think of myself more as an archeologist in time. My assignments are studying people and events of the past and present. The future is murky … the sequences unclear … no, I’m an archeologist with time right now.

Dr. N: Where did your studies really begin in this field?

S: When my class was assembled for training at the temple.

Dr. N: How many souls are in your class?

S: There are six of us … (pause, adding) I didn’t know anyone before we got there.

Dr. N: Obidom, tell me about your initial training. Certainly, this must be clear in your mind.

S: I was sent to the world of Galath. It is a physical world similar to the geography of Earth. This world once had a great civilization, highly technical, and the Galathians were able to travel to other planets, which led to their undoing. Galath now has no highly intelligent life forms.

Dr. N: I don’t understand why you were sent to a dead world?

S: It’s not dead as much as vacant. When we arrived for training we assumed a transparent form which resembled the humanoid appearance of the old Galathians. (laughs)

Dr. N: Tell me about them.

S: I was just thinking… they were yellowish-green people, very tall and willow)’, without apparent joints … they had large, multi-faceted insect eyes …

Dr. N: What were they like as a people?

S: The Galathians were wise but foolish—like the rest of us. They came to believe in their invincibility.

Dr. N: But what is the purpose of coming here? Isn’t everything gone?

S: Don’t you see? Their timelines still exist. We are here to practice intersecting with the old history of this place. This is kind of an exotic world with beat-up space platforms still circling the planet. On the ground there are huge spheres of habitation which are now empty and falling apart… plants growing in their ancient halls of learning, decaying vestiges of this once-great civilization are scattered about…

Dr. N: Just what do you and your five classmates do, Obidom?

S: We beam out our energy … and float through the corridors of their past time. One of the teachers helps us adjust our vibrations to intersect with certain periods of Galathian history. It is fragmentary because of our lack of skill… but certain scenes of their power are vivid.

Dr. N: So nothing of the past is ever really lost?

S: No, although the Galathians are gone, everything they did, in a sense, still lives … their triumphs … their decline … we can study their mistakes. I can retrieve people talking at certain moments … what they were thinking before they were conquered by another race and assimilated into their culture away from here. The Galathians had a musical language which flows around their broken ships of space and deserted streets.

Dr. N: What is your ultimate goal, Obidom?

S: When I become proficient I will serve as an advisor for the planners who wish to design certain situations for people … help the library researchers … assist in coordinating selections in the sphere of life (i.e., the Ring)—that sort of thing.

Dr. N: Obidom, I have a personal question for you. If I was a soul with some time off between lives, could I come back to my hometown as it existed when I was a boy and see myself again with my family and friends in scenes from the past? I don’t mean re- creating all this in the spirit world, but actually coming back to Earth in a disembodied state, as you did on Galath.

S: (smiles) Sure … although you might need some help with a talented teacher before you got the hang of it. Just don’t expect to do any tinkering around with the original to make alterations, (sardonically) Remember, you would be a ghost.

Free Will

At one of my lectures in Vancouver, B.C., a distraught woman rose and cried out loudly, “You New Age gurus tell us on one hand we have free will to make choices in our life and on the other that we are predestined to follow a certain plan because of past life karma. Which is it? I have  no free will in my life because I am at the mercy of forces over which I have no control. My life is one of sorrow.” After my talk I sat down next to this woman for a few minutes and learned that her nineteen-year-old son had recently been killed on a motorcycle.

People have the idea that free will and destiny are opposing forces. They do not realize that destiny represents the sum of our deeds over thousands of years in a multitude of incarnations. In all these lives we had freedom of choice. Our current life represents all past experiences both pleasant and unpleasant, and so we are the product of all our for- me choices. Add to this the fact that we may have deliberately placed ourselves in situations that test how we will react to events in our current life, which are not perceived by the conscious mind. This too involves personal choices. We occupy a particular body for many reasons. The young motorcycle rider, by his mother’s own admission, lived for speed and essentially got a high from the dangers of his obsession.

Because my last section on time opened the door to future probabilities and possibilities, it is appropriate to examine the ramifications of free will a little further. Reincarnation would mean nothing if all life  was predetermined. In my remarks about timelines, I suggested that the future may exist in many realities. People who have premonitions about the future may be right or wrong. If someone saw themselves being killed in a certain place and time and it didn’t happen, this potential causality could mean it was only the most dire of alternative  possibilities.

An argument for determinism, as opposed to free will, is that one Source, or a collective group of lesser divinities, is responsible for planet Earth being populated with humans who suffer from disease, pain, hunger and fear. We live in a world of earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, fires, and other natural disasters over which we have no control. I have often said that Earth is considered by souls to be a very difficult school. The great lesson of Earth is to overcome both planetary and private destructive forces in life, grow strong from the effort, and move on.

To a great extent we come equipped with what we need to take care of ourselves. Karma may at times seem punitive, but there is justice and balance which we may not recognize in our sorrow. Fear arises when we separate ourselves from our spiritual power. We knew many of the challenges in advance of our life and chose them for good reasons. Accidents involving our bodies are not considered to be accidental by the soul, as I have tried to show in many cases, such as case 62 with the woman from Amarillo who was shot to death. The sheer will of our true Self has the power to rise in opposition to our weakness in character, especially during adversity. We have the freedom to remake our lives after any catastrophe if we are willing to take the responsibility to do so.

More important than the events that test us in life is our reaction to these events and how we handle the consequences. This is the primary reason for conscious amnesia. I have indicated that the soul is not usually shown all the alternatives to probable future events in the life to come. There are good reasons for this practice despite spontaneous spiritual memory recall, which exists with some people. Amnesia allows for free will and self-determination without the constraints of unconscious flashback memories about what we viewed in the screening room. While the scenes presented to us covering our next life are selective, my cases have shown we will be given the opportunity to review all the major alternatives after the life is over. I have a short but very graphic example of free will that reveals how even discarnate souls can be surprised by a sudden decision which can change the probable outcome in life.

I had a client who was killed at the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863 as a newly recruited Union soldier. His name was John and he lived in a small community near Gettysburg. Although just sixteen, John and his sweetheart, Rose, had begun to talk of marriage in the future. The night before the three-day battle began, a Union officer rode into John’s area looking for a young non-combatant who could ride a horse well to deliver dispatches. John had no plans to enlist in the war because of his age and the fact he was needed on his mother’s farm. The Union officer found John and hurriedly explained his urgency, promising that John’s enlistment would end when the battle ended. John was a fine horseman and he impulsively agreed to ride for the Union because “I did not want to miss out on a chance for the grand adventure.” He had to leave immediately without saying goodbye to anyone. John was killed the next day.

Even as he floated above his body, John could not believe he was seeing himself lying on the ground dead. Upon returning to his spirit group, John was met by Rose—that portion of her essence she had not taken to Earth. At the moment Rose saw John she cried out, “Why are you back here? We were supposed to be married!” These soulmates quickly realized that John had abruptly chosen a path that deviated from his probable life. Even so, each path has karmic benefits of some sort, as was the case with John’s brief Army experience.

I asked this client if he had been shown scenes in the screening room of what was going to happen at Gettysburg. He replied, “No, I accepted what they showed me up to the age of sixteen because I knew they had good reasons to reveal only what I needed to know before that life. I  have faith in the decisions of my guides.” John, the boy soldier, was not shown the possibility of his death at Gettysburg and this is very typical with such cases. Yet what about those cases where an untimely death is such a high probability in life that there is a necessity for the planners to give us the opportunity to volunteer for these bodies as a matter of personal benefit from the experience?

I know past life regressionists who have had numerous cases of heroic souls who volunteered to participate in the holocaust in Nazi Germany.  I certainly have. Perhaps this is because so many of these souls from the death camps are now living new lives in America. There are options for all kinds of disasters. For the bad ones, sometimes souls are prepared for what lies ahead for them by attending pre-life rehearsals, as illustrated by this statement from a client:

I remember passing by a large group of souls in a preparation class who were gathered in an amphitheater structure. They were all listening to a speaker tell them about the value of life even though they were only going to Earth for a short time. They had all volunteered to be in some sort of disaster where they would be killed together. They were told to get mentally prepared and to make the most out of the time they had and that if they wished their next lives could be much longer.

Case 64

This is a case of euthanasia involving a subject named Sandy. She provided me with another example of an instance where a death scene was shown to the principals of a future life. As is so often true with souls who must witness their death in advance of a life, volunteering is part of the contract. During my intake interview, I learned that Sandy was closely bonded to her brother, Keith, and that they were members of a large family. As his older sister, she had taken care of him like a mother while they were growing up. Keith was hot-headed and in his teenage years he lived on the ragged edge, driving fast cars and getting into numerous scrapes with the law. Sandy told me Keith lived as though he had a death wish. She added that Keith had hurt some people along the way with a capricious life style, but he had a good heart and his zest for living each day to its fullest was contagious.

Sandy always had a premonition her brother would die young. Keith was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) at age twenty-seven and died two years later. ALS is a degenerative disease of motor movements that progresses into muscle atrophy within a couple of years. Toward the end, many patients must be on a respirator to breathe and they receive large doses of morphine to combat agonizing pain.

When Sandy reached her spirit group during our session, we discovered brother and sister were companion souls. Keith was the fun-loving prankster in their group and over many previous centuries he had been rather careless of others’ feelings. In consultations with his guide and members of the group, Keith recognized it was essential that he learn humility in order to advance. Being a soul of temerity, Keith asked for a life where he would be given a potent challenge toward acquiring humility rather than have this lesson strung out over many lives. He was warned that accelerated lives can be very rough. Keith said he was ready. It was a bitter pill in the Ring to discover he would have to volunteer for an athletic body which would be immobilized by ALS. Sandy said that there was a point in the life selection room where her brother almost backed out. I will pick up her narrative at this place in our session.

Dr. N: Please tell me as much as you can about Keith’s reaction to the body he was offered.

S: (solemnly) He was shown the worst—his body before and after the illness struck. How his independence would be taken away to make him dependent upon us. They kept nothing from him. Keith saw in the beginning of the disease there would be much self-pity and remorse, then terrible anger, but if he fought he would learn.

Dr. N: (switching back and forth from current time to the spirit world with Sandy) And did he learn?

S: Oh, yes. Near the end Keith grew calm, accepting and appreciative of what we did for him.

Dr. N: Do you have anything you would like to explain about how Keith prepared for this life with you?

S: (after a long pause my client’s face takes on a look of acquiescence) I will tell you. It will be good to talk about this… I have told no one before, (begins to cry and I work on keeping her in focus)

Dr. N: We don’t have to do this if it is too painful.

S: No, I want to. (takes a deep breath) As we prepared to come forward into this life, I was to be the oldest child in our family so I came first. We had a long discussion just before my time. Keith said he was prepared to suffer but when he reached the point where he was totally incapacitated—when he couldn’t take any more—I was to shut off his life support system and free him.

Dr. N: You were going to do this in a hospital?

S: We planned for that in the spirit world but then, thank God, he was sent home during his last seven weeks and that made our plan easier.

Dr.  N:  Is  this  about  pain?  Certainly  Keith  must  have had  pain killers.

S: Morphine can only do so much. The last seven weeks were terrible even with the respirator and pain killers. His lungs were so affected he could not move or talk near the end.

Dr. N: I understand. Tell me about the plan you and Keith devised in the spirit world before your lives began.

S: (sighs) We began our drill by creating a bed and the life support system Keith saw in the screening room. He had every detail in his mind. Then we practiced because I thought I would be dodging doctors and nurses. I worked with the machine and studied the advance warning signs of his illness. In the drill, we went over the signals Keith would give me which would show he was ready to be released from his suffering. Finally, he asked for my promise to stay strong and let nothing deter me in the final moments. I gave him this promise willingly.

After Sandy regained full consciousness we discussed her role in the death of her brother. She said when there was a particular smell, or “death odor,” from Keith’s throat area, she knew it was time to get ready. I should add that this body sign did not necessarily mean Keith was going to die right away. Almost without thinking, Sandy spoke in her brother’s ear, “Keith, are you ready to go?” Then came the prearranged signal. At this moment Keith squeezed his eyes open and shut three times for the “yes” response. Calmly, she detached Keith’s life support system. The doctor came to the house later, found the life support system reattached, and pronounced Keith dead.

For the rest of the day, she felt no guilt. That night, lying in bed, a doubt crept into Sandy’s mind about her automatic reactions, and she questioned herself. After tossing and turning she finally fell into a fitful sleep. Soon Keith came to her in a dream. Smiling with gratitude, he conveyed to Sandy that she had done everything perfectly and that he loved her. A few weeks later Sandy was meditating and had a vision of her brother sitting on a bench talking with “two monks dressed in robes.” Keith turned, laughed at her, and said, “Hang in there, Sis!”

To a devout religionist, this man’s life did not belong to himself, but to God. While it is true that we are given our bodies by an act of divine creation, everyone’s life belongs ultimately to them. The right to die is a hotly debated topic in legal circles today, especially as it pertains to doc- tor-assisted suicide with the terminally ill. It has been said that if death is the final act of life’s drama, and we want that last act to reflect our own convictions during life, we should have that right regardless of the reli- gious or moral convictions of a majority. The opposing view is that if  life is a gift, of which we are the custodians, we have certain moral duties despite our own feelings. Knowing what I do about how our souls choose life, with the free will to make changes during that life, I believe we clearly have the right to choose death when no quality of life  remains and there is no possibility of recovery. It is not intended that a degradation of our humanity be prolonged. The next case provides a more conventional representation of free will in terms of a full life.

Case 65

Emily was a woman in her late forties who came to see me because she was troubled by her purpose in life. During the years she was raising her children, Emily worked as a part-time secretary. Dissatisfied with this role, she returned to school and qualified as a nurse with an interest in geriatrics. During training, she discovered she liked treating the elderly because they were more inclined to talk about their faith. Emily had been attracted to spirituality all her life. She told me that her upbringing by a strict, rather cruel and overly pious father had turned her toward less-structured avenues of spirituality.

Although she had become a registered nurse some two years before our meeting, Emily had not worked in her new profession because of self-doubts about her competence. Due to her happy marriage with a supportive husband it had been easy just to slip into volunteer work without pay, pressure or responsibility.

As I moved Emily rapidly through her most immediate past life in the early stages of our session we discovered her name had been Sister Grace, a nun for the Sisters of Mercy in New England. The Order wanted her to accept the position of Mother Superior but she refused due to her fears of leadership and feelings of unworthiness. Indeed, a later overview from the spirit world of Emily’s other recent past lives attested to a pattern of lives as priests and nuns in cloistered environments. She remarked, “I was able to serve God without getting too involved with the troubles of outside society.”

I am often asked if the planners force certain lives on us for particular reasons. This case is a good example of just how indulgent our guides can be until we are finally ready for greater challenges. In the past 500 years, all of Emily’s lives had been in religious orders in one form or another. She was comfortable with these lives and unwilling to make major changes. This past behavior represents a defining element of her confusion about life today.

The dialogue for this case opens at the second council meeting after Emily’s life as Sister Grace, which means she was in preparation for her current life. If I discover there is to be a second council meeting between lives, it will usually take place just before we go to the Ring, and I know the life to come is likely to involve an opportunity for significant change. Both the type and number of Elders who appear at these second meetings depend on the kinds of lives and bodies to be presented.

Dr. N: When you are at this second council meeting is the makeup of the panel the same as the first one?

S: No, only two appear—my chairperson and a member who seems to have taken a special interest in what I will be offered in the next life.

Dr. N: Well, since we have already talked about your first council meeting following the life as Sister Grace, just give me a sense of what is now going on before you go to the place of life selection.

S: They want to know if I have thought long and hard about being in such a rut over the last 500 years and if I am ready to get involved with mainstream society.

Dr. N: Would they be upset with you if you returned to a religious life once again?

S: No, they are too wise for this sort of thing. They would just know I wasn’t ready for a new undertaking yet. They are very gentle with me. I am reminded that my self-discipline and faith are to be admired and I learned a great deal, but that too much repetition over many lives can hold me back.

Dr. N: Did you take lots of risks before the last 500 years—before all those religious lives?

S: (laughs) I had been on a different path for a long time. I was … excessive … let’s say celibacy was not on my agenda.

Dr. N: So, after being Sister Grace, it was time to bring the next series of life choices back to some sort of center—to bring balance into your existence on Earth?

S: Yes, and I tell them I am ready for a change.

Note: My use of time shifts at council meetings was discussed in chapter 6. With this case, I now shift forward to scenes in the life selection room to obtain a better therapeutic framework to help Emily. What follows is a portion of the cognitive reframing 1 used, which began with the venting and identification of personal conflicts. It is my intention that this hypnosis subject will recognize the opportunity her spiritual planners have given her to move forward into new ventures with greater self-awareness.

Dr. N: We are now in the place where you are reviewing your current body as Emily for the first time. Are you alone or with someone?

S: That second council member is with me and I feel the presence of another … who I can’t see. (probably a coordinating Timemaster)

Dr. N: (after briefly discussing other body choices) Why are you attracted to the body of Emily?

S: I go inside a screen to feel the wavelengths of this brain … and how our mutual vibrations will blend. It is a good meld … between us… her talents and sensitivity are very compatible with me.

Dr. N: (reinforcement) So you can see the planners have your best interests at heart.

S: Oh, yes.

Dr. N: What do you see as the most significant aspect of your future life as Emily?

S: (long pause) This is hard for me to answer. I see her conflicts— they are my own—being torn between doing one thing and wanting another kind of career. I do not see myself as a nurse.

Dr. N: Since you are qualified now to be a nurse, could it be that you are shown more but at this moment your spiritual memory of these details is not revealed because the planners don’t want to interfere with your free will to make a decision at such an important crossroad?

S: Maybe, I’m not sure, (pause) Ah … we don’t have to be shown occupations … one can see … moods … attitudes and feelings at different times in the sphere of life with a particular body.

Dr. N: Good, I want you to ride with those feelings about this body you occupy and tell me how you can thrive as a person.

S: (another long pause) By nurturing people.

Dr. N: And what does that tell you?

S: (thinking, but no response)

Dr. N: And in the sphere of life selection, do you think the insight you now have about Emily is sufficient for you to accept this person and move forward to make a contribution in life?

S: Yes.

At this juncture in our session, Emily realized that there were elements of synchronicity in reviewing these past events in the Ring with me at this time and having free will to change her life. Some trips to the Ring give us more detail about a future life than others. Emily saw it was no accident she was assigned to an overly strict religious household as a child, which would drive her away from old, conditioned behavior patterns into new paths of thought. She saw that her freedom to make new choices and rely on her gut feelings gave her permission to under- take the search.

Uncertainty in life is frequently an outgrowth of former life patterns and obsessions. Emily’s old inner fear of not wanting to accept responsible positions within the church because she felt unworthy surfaced again in her current professional life. While the door was opening to her in the field of medicine in a profound way, it also left her confused. Why did it seem both right and wrong at the same time? Emily had become mired in her plans for a midlife course correction over unconscious self-doubts which had peaked in her last life as Sister Grace.

Within six months of our meeting I received a letter from Emily explaining that she had taken a job with a nursing home and loved it. This particular facility wanted nurses who would not shy away from spiritual counseling to assist patients in dealing with feelings of helplessness, loneliness and depression. Emily wrote that she felt spiritually fulfilled. I don’t deserve much credit for shedding light on this situation because Emily had already started on her quest before our session. She just needed a nudge to keep going. Today, nearing age fifty, she has broken free.

This case is not presented to denigrate traditional religion or religious orders by implying that Emily’s soul had somehow wasted 500 years of incarnation time by taking roles of priests and nuns. Those were beneficial years of acting on her spiritual calling. Today those same callings are satisfied on a different road. Change is a hallmark of karma through the use of free will in making course corrections into unfamiliar waters. Searching for who you really are is getting in touch with your inner Self and bringing passion and meaning into what you do in life.

Souls of the Young

The Loss of a Child

The Ring represents a cycle of life, death and rebirth. For the soul, children play a vital role in their regeneration of life. What are the spiritual implications when this highly functional organism dies before it hardly got started? There have been grieving parents who have written me inquiring about the meanings surrounding the untimely death of their children and these letters are always difficult to answer. Those of us who have not gone through the agony of losing a child can only imagine the pain suffered by these parents. Some people who lose a child jump  to the wrong conclusion that their terrible loss is the result of a karmic debt they must pay because of some transgression in a former life involving child abuse.

If the lost child was a teenager, or older, the karmic forces that led to the death customarily relate directly to the young person and not so much to the parent. Moreover, even when the death of a younger child does karmically involve the parent, this lesson does not automatically mean the parent was a perpetrator of mistreatment to children in a former life. The lesson could have been the result of many other elements, including that of indirect action. One of my clients who came to me about a year after the death of her eight-year-old daughter related the following story to me during her session.

I was a wealthy matron in London in the nineteenth century. I paid little attention to the suffering of the young waifs on the street around my townhouse. I callously disregarded their plight because they were not my children; to my mind they were the responsibility of their parents or the state and had nothing to do with me. I looked the other way even though I had plenty of money to support an  orphanage and a safe house for young unwed mothers nearby. I knew these services were struggling to make ends meet and I did nothing. Between lives I decided to correct my superficial ways. I agreed to experience the anguish of loving my own child and having her taken away. God, what pain, but I am learning compassion.

Information about the soul and infant mortality has come to me over many years which may provide some solace to mothers who feel remorse over both voluntary and involuntary actions involving the loss of an unborn child. This would include both issues of abortion and miscarriages. Please keep in mind during my review of this material that the karmic cause and effect relating to earlier past life incidents  are particular to each parent-child relationship. My intent is to give the reader some general interpretations about the young that I have acquired from the reports of many subjects.

I will begin by stating that I have never had a single case where a soul joined the fetus in the first trimester. The reason that souls do not begin their complex merger with a fetus under three months is quite simply because there is not enough brain tissue for them to work with at this stage. I have a dear friend who is an obstetric nurse at a major hospital in Oregon. When she heard me make this statement on a national radio show she called to say, “Michael, why won’t you let these little ones  have their souls?” She was clearly upset with me over the question of who does and who does not have a soul in place if a baby is not going to term. I began by saying something to the effect that I don’t make the rules, so please don’t kill the messenger. I suspect this caregiver of babies, who has seen many who did not survive and leave her hospital, felt that from the moment of conception a fetus with a soul identity would somehow receive more spiritual comforting than otherwise.

I told my friend there is a universal consciousness of love surrounding all unborn babies. The creative force of existence is never separated from any form of living energy. A fetus can be alive as an individual entity without yet having an immortal soul identity. If a mother aborts her child in the first trimester, there are loving spiritual forces hovering nearby to comfort this mother and watch over the child. I have been told that even in cases of miscarriages and abortions between four and nine months, souls can be in place to support both the child and mother in a more direct physical manner with energy. Souls know in advance the probabilities of the baby going to term.

For example, if a pregnant woman loses her child because she fell down a stairway, say in the seventh month, it was not absolutely preordained she would take this fall. There was also the possibility on that particular day, at a certain moment in time, she might have decided at the last minute not to descend the stairway. However, if a young, unmarried girl becomes pregnant and decides to abort her child because it is unwanted, the chances are high this was a significant prob- able event of choice. These two interpretations of causality are, of course, hypothetical. Nevertheless, various scenarios of significant events in our life are known in advance when we choose certain bodies in the Ring. All have karmic implications and purpose for us.

Souls are not assigned to babies at random. When a mother loses her child for whatever reason, I have found the odds are quite high that the soul of this baby will return again to the same mother with her next child. If this mother does not bear another child, the soul may return to another close member of the family because that was the original intent. When a life is short, souls call these filler lives and they too have purpose for the parent. Here is an illustration:

I joined a fetus at four months for a three-month existence. During this time my mother needed to feel my soul energy to know that giving and losing life is very profound. I did not wish to let the sadness of losing me prevent her from having the courage to try again. We knew this fetus was not going to term, but there was a good probability of a second child after me and I wanted that partnership with her. She doesn’t realize that I was once her son and now I am her daughter. I think I was able to soften her bitterness and grief by sending my mother comforting thoughts in the stillness of all the nights between her two pregnancies.

As I mentioned in the section on soulmates in chapter 7, when babies and young children die their souls typically do not rise into the spirit world alone. Spirit guides, caretakers of the young, or a member of the child’s soul group are frequently involved with meeting these souls right at ground level. If a parent is killed at the same time as their small child, they stay together, as the following quote demonstrates:

After my son and I were killed by bandits (Sweden, 1842), I comforted him as we rose together. Because he was so young, he was disoriented and confused at first. I held my son close and told him how much I loved him and that we were going home. As we rose together, I said that we would soon be met by our friends and then parted for a while, before being reunited once again.

New Body-Soul Partnerships

The process of a soul joining with an unborn child is an appropriate end to the case histories I have presented in this book. The soul is now ready to embark on another reincarnation adventure with hopes and expectations for a fresh new role in life. The partnership between the physical and etheric minds that usher a whole human being into the world can be smooth or rocky in the early adjustment stages of childhood. Even so, it is the end result and how we finish the course we traveled that counts the most.

During our lifetime, the soul and the body are so intertwined that the duality of expression may confuse us as to who we really are. The complexities of this association between body and soul represent an alliance of long evolutionary development going back perhaps to the   late Pleistocene era when hominoids on this planet were originally considered suitable for soul colonization. The oldest divisions of our modern brain still remain in place as survival mechanisms. Some people, such as the soul Kliday in case 36, acknowledge touching primitive sections of the brain when they enter a fetus. These are the areas that control our visceral, physical reactions, which are instinctual and emotional rather than intellectual. Some of my clients have said that a few brains they have joined seemed more primitive than all the others.

Ego has been defined as Self, conceived as a spiritual substance upon which experience is superimposed. This psyche would define the soul, but there is an ego of a kind relegated to the brain which experiences  the external world through the senses governing action and reaction. It is this functional organism—created before the soul arrived—that the soul must join in a mother. In a sense, there are two egos at work here and this is most evident to me during regressions when I take my sub- jects to the Ring and later when they join a fetus. It is in the fetus where the body-soul partnership really begins.

The soul and brain of a new baby appear to begin their association as two separate and distinct entities and become one mind. Some people are bothered that my two-entity position, or duality of body and spirit, means that while the immortal character of the soul lives on, the temporary personality of the body dies. Yet it was the soul, in concert with the mind of a body, which created a unique personality of a single Self. Although the physical organism of the body will die, the soul who occupied that body never forgets the host which allowed them to expe- rience Earth in a particular time and place. We have seen how souls can remember and re-create who they were in certain timelines.

Every physical body has its own unique design and the concepts, ideas and judgments of any human mind arc directly related to the soul who is occupying that body. I endeavored to show in chapters 3 and 4 how some body-soul combinations work more efficiently than others. Physiologists do not know why intense emotion may cause irrational behavior in one person and logical coping actions in another. For me, the answer lies in the soul. When the body-soul partnership is under- way in the fetus of a client’s current body, 1 do hear evaluations from many of them about brain circuitry being fine-tuned or a bit jumbled in the new baby. The remarks from a level V soul about entering a body are instructive in terms of attachments:

No two brains are constructed in precisely the same way. When I initially enter the womb of my mother, I touch the brain gently. I flow in . . . seeking . . . probing . . . searching. It is like osmosis. I know immediately if this brain is going to be smooth or rough sailing for our mutual communication. I will receive my mother’s emotional feelings during pregnancy more than her clear thoughts. That’s how I know if the baby is wanted or not, and this makes a difference in the baby getting a good or bad start.

When I enter the fetus of an unwanted baby, I can make a positive difference by energy engagement with this child. When I was a young soul, 1 would get caught up with the alienation of a parent and both the child and I felt a separation. I have been working with babies for thousands of years and I can handle whatever sort of child they give me so we are both fulfilled by coming together. I have too much work to do in life to be slowed down by a body match which does not happen to be perfect for me.

When a soul reaches level III, most are able to make rapid adjustments once inside a fetus. A subject told me bluntly, “When a complex, highly advanced soul combines with a sluggish brain, it is like hitching  a race horse to a plow horse.” Usually my clients express this sentiment about bodies in a more deferential manner. There are karmic reasons for all body-soul matches. Also, a high IQ is no indication of an advanced soul. It is not a low IQ but the disturbed, irrational mind that poses problems for the less-experienced souls.

As for body matches with the soul, our options are offered to us in good faith for a variety of life designs. Body choices in the Ring are never used to trap us into something unsuitable for our development. The sphere of life selection is not a department store fire sale of merchandise. The planners have no interest in sandbagging some unsuspecting soul with a “poor-quality” body. There is purpose for both egos behind every body-soul match. While the body delights the soul as a means of both physical and mental expression, it is capable of bringing great pain. The lesson of this merger is to forge a harmonious unification of body and soul so that they function as one unit. I have two perspectives that illustrate this collaboration:

I am a volatile soul with hasty inclinations and I prefer aggressive bodies with temperaments which complement my own inclinations. We call this sort of combination of mirror images a double-double. I can never slow down. I must admit the quiet bodies with noncombative minds do calm me, but then I tend to become very lazy and complacent.
I am comfortable with emotionally cold hosts. I also love analytical minds so we can take our time before commit- ting to things. Inside Jane it's as though I'm on a roller- coaster ride. She is so reckless, jumping into situations— I mean I try to drag her back—but she gets so out of  control she brings us a lot of pain. Yet, there is much joy too—it's all overwhelming, but what a wild ride!

Certain body matches do produce lives of frustration and very difficult challenges. However, only a couple of times in my entire career have I ever had a soul who admitted they asked to be replaced in a fetus it found impossible to adjust to in any way. In both cases, another soul took its place before the eighth month. A prenatal exchange due to incompatibility is an extremely rare occurrence because this is what the life selection room is all about.

In chapter 3, where 1 discussed people who engage in wrongdoing, I explained how our inner soul Self might not be in harmony with our body. I also said that no soul is innately evil when it joins a fetus. Still, the soul does not enter with a blank slate either. A soul’s immortal char- acter is influenced by all the attributes and temperament of the brain, which challenges the soul’s maturity. I have said there are souls who are more susceptible than others in falling prey to negative influences in life. Most of the cases in this book, reflect souls who struggle in opposition or work in harmonious conjunction with their bodies. Souls combating the need to control may not blend well with a body ego disposed to confrontation. On the other hand, a cautious, low-energy soul could choose a rather passive, introverted body temperament in order to institute boldness in concert with its host.

When a soul joins with a new baby, 1 can be fairly sure the partnership will address both the soul’s shortcomings and a body-mind who needs this particular soul. The planners choose bodies for us which are  intended to combine our character defects with certain body tempera- ments to produce specific personality combinations. From clients who  are medical doctors and physiologists, I have been given brief anatomical glimpses about souls entering the developing brain of a fetus. Case 66 is an example. Posthypnotic suggestions have enabled subjects in these professions to sketch out simplified diagrams of what they were trying to say about these linkages while under hypnosis. This has helped my understanding.

Case 66

Dr. N: I would like to know if the initial transition into the fetus is always about the same for you?

S: No, it is not. Even though I might have had x-ray vision into the mind of the child during life selection, my entry can still be ragged.

Dr. N: Give me your most recent example of a difficult entry.

S: Three lives ago, I joined with a very stiff, unreceptive brain. It felt my presence was invasive. This was unusual because most of my host bodies accept my presence. I’m ordinarily considered to be a new roommate.

Dr. N: Are you saying this particular host body felt you were an alien presence that it should reject?

S: No, it was a dull mind of dense energy pockets. My arrival was an intrusion on its lack of mental activity … there was … isolation between compartments of the brain … creating resistance to … communication. Lethargic minds require more effort on my part. They resist change.

Dr. N: Change of what?

S: Of my being in its space, requiring some reaction to deal with this fact. I caused this mind to think and it was not a curious mind. I began pushing buttons and found it did not want to be summoned by me.

Dr. N: What did you expect?

S: From my review in the sphere (the Ring), I saw the end result of an adult mind but I didn’t see all the difficulties with the baby’s mind … when it was new.

Dr. N: I see, and you are saying this mind considered your intrusion as a threat?

S: No, only a nuisance. Eventually, I was accepted and the child and I adapted to each other.

Dr. N: Let’s go back to your statement about pushing buttons. Please explain to me what this means to you with a standard entry into the fetus of your choice?

S: When I enter a developing brain 1 am accustomed to joining around the fourth month—our guides give us some latitude here—but I never enter after the sixth month. When I enter the womb of the mother I create a red light of tight energy and direct it up and down the spinal column of the baby—following a network of neurons to the brain.

Dr. N: Why do you do that?

S: This tells me about the efficiency of thought transmission—the sensory relays …

Dr. N: Then, what do you do?

S: Play my red light around the dura mater—the outer layer of the brain … gently …

Dr. N: Why red light?

S: This allows me to be … especially sensitive to the physical feelings of this new person. I meld my energy warmth to the gray-blues of brain matter. Before I get there, the brain is simply gray. What I am doing is turning on the lights in a dark room with a tree in the middle.

Dr. N: You lost me. Explain about the tree.

S: (intensely) The tree is the  stem. I park myself between the two hemispheres of the brain to get a ringside seat as to how this system will  function.  Then  I  move  around  the  branches  of  the  tree  to investigate the circuitry. I want to know how dense the energy is in the fibers around the wheel of the cerebral cortex folding around the thalamus … I want to learn how this brain thinks and senses things.

Dr. N: How important is energy density or the lack of it in the brain?

S: A mind that has excessive density in certain areas means there are blockages which inhibit the bridges between efficient neuron activity. I want to make some adjustments in these road blocks with my energy if I can—you know—while the brain is still forming.

Dr. N: You can make a difference in how the brain develops?

S: (laughs at me) Of course! Did you think souls are passengers on a train? I stimulate these areas ever so slightly.

Dr. N: (deliberately obtuse) Well, I thought you and the baby … are both in miniature by the way you exhibit intelligence in the beginning.

S: (laughs) Not until birth.

Dr. N: Are you saying that you can improve brain wave function with all these activities you have described?

S: That is our expectation. The whole idea is matching your vibrational levels and capabilities with that of the natural rhythms of the child’s brain waves—their electrical flow, (with exuberance) I think my host bodies are grateful for my assistance in improving the speed of thought over bridges, (stops and then adds) Maybe this is wishful thinking.

Dr. N: What do you see in the future for the brain with continued evolution and the influence of souls as a stimulus?

S: Mental telepathy.

Certainly, I have had younger souls who appear to be more inactive after body entry than case 66. This is a far sight better than agitating  the child by ineptness from overzealous, inexperienced souls. The average soul probes their new host for information but in a way that has been described as “tickling the child to give it pleasure.” Essentially,  this is an important time for integration between body and soul with the mother also mentally entering into this process of getting acquainted.   By no means is the seat of the soul limited to the brain. Soul energy radiates throughout the whole body of the child.

Case 66 is a medical doctor. My next case comes from a non-medically oriented client about the union of two entities to form one whole as a new life begins. Each soul has its own preferences about when and how they wish to enter the fetus. The following case gives us an indication of the procedures used by a very considerate, evolved soul.

Case 67

Dr. N: Tell me what it is like to enter the mind of a baby and when you usually enter.

S: In the beginning I think of it as a betrothal. I entered my current body in the eighth month. I prefer to enter on the late side when the brain is larger so I have more to work with during the coupling.

Dr. N: Isn’t there a downside to entering late? I mean, you are then dealing with a more independent individual.

S: Some of my friends feel that way, I don’t. I want to be able to talk with the child when there is more mutual awareness.

Dr. N: (being dense to elicit a response) Talk—talk to a fetus—what are you saying …?

S: (laughs at me) Of course we interact with the child. Dr. N: Take me through this slowly. Who says what first?

S: The child may say, “Who are you?” I answer, “A friend who has

come to play and be a part of you.”

Dr. N: (with deliberate provocation) Isn’t that deceitful? You haven’t come to play. You have come to occupy this mind.

S: Oh, please! Who have you been talking to? This mind and my soul were created to be together. Do you think I am some sort of foreign intruder on Earth? I have joined with babies who welcomed me as if I were expected.

Dr. N: There are souls who have had a different experience.

S: Look, I know souls who are clumsy. They go in like bulls in a china shop with their over-eagerness to get started with an agenda. Too much frontal energy all at once sets up resistance.

Dr. N: In your current lifetime, was the child at all anxious about your entry?

S: No, they don’t know enough yet to be anxious. I begin by caressing the brain. I am able to immediately project warm thoughts of love and companionship. Most of the babies just accept me as being part of themselves. A few hold back—like my current body.

Dr. N: Oh, really? What was unusual about this fetus?

S: It wasn’t a big deal. Its thoughts were, “Now that you are here, who am I going to be?”

Dr. N: I think that’s a very big deal. Essentially, the child is acknowledging that its identity depends on you.

S: (patiently) The child has begun to ask itself, “Who am I?” Some children are more aware of this than others. A few are resistant because, to them, we are an irritation to their inert beginnings— like a pearl in an oyster.

Dr. N: So you don’t feel the child senses it is being forced to give up something of its individuality?

S: No, we have come as souls to give the child … depth of personality. Its being is enhanced by our presence. Without us they would largely function as unripened fruit.

Dr. N: But does the child understand any of this before birth?

S: It only knows that I want to be friends so we can do things together. We begin by communicating with each other with simple things such as an uncomfortable body position in the mother’s womb. There have been times when the umbilical cord was wrapped around the neck of the baby and I have calmed the child where otherwise it might have squirmed and made things worse.

Dr. N: Please continue with how you assist the baby.

S: I prepare the child for birth, which is going to be a shock when it happens. Imagine being forced out of a warm, comfortable, secure womb into the bright lights of a hospital room … the noise … having to breathe air… being handled. The child appreciates my help because my primary goal now is to combat fear by soothing the brain with assurances that everything will be fine.

Dr. N: I wonder what it was like for children before souls came to help them?

S: The brain was too primitive then to conceptualize the trauma of birthing. There was little awareness. (Laughs) Of course I wasn’t around in those days.

Dr. N: Are you able to calm anxious mothers in any way?

S: We must be proficient. During much of my existence I had little or no effect on my mothers if they were frightened, sad or angry during pregnancy. You must be able to align your energy vibrations with both the child and the mother’s natural body rhythms. You have to harmonize three sets of wave levels—which includes your own—to soothe the mother. I might even have the baby kick the mother to let her know we are all right.

Dr. N: Then at birth, I supposed the hard work of the merger is over?

S: To be honest, the merger isn’t complete yet for me. I talk to my body as a second entity up to the age of six. It is better not to force a full meld right away. We play games as two people tor a while.

Dr. N: I have noticed a lot of young children talk to themselves as if they were with an imaginary playmate. Is that their soul?

S: (grinning) That’s right, although our guides enjoy playing with us as young children too. And have you also noticed the elderly talking to themselves a lot? They are preparing for separation at the other end in their own way.

Dr. N: In general how do you feel about coming back to Earth in life after life?

S: As a gift. This is such a muhifaceted planet. Sure, this place brings heartache, but it is delightful too and incredibly heautiful. The human body is a marvel of form and structure. 1 never cease to be awed by each new body, the many different ways I can express myself in them, especially in the most important way—love.

Our Spiritual Path

The concept of our resurrection into beings who belong in a kingdom of eternity goes far back into human antiquity. From our early origins, we have believed that life and afterlife are sustained by divine intelligence as a single, unified whole. These sentiments come from the memories of many people I have regressed to the Stone Age. For ages since then, we thought of the soul world as another state of consciousness rather than an abstract place. The afterlife was considered to be only an extension of our physical life. I believe the world is returning to those concepts, which were beautifully expressed by Spinoza, who said, “All the cosmos is a single substance of which we are a part. God is not an external manifestation, but everything that is.”

I consider such legends as Atlantis and Shangri-La as having their origins in the eternal longing we feel for recapturing a Utopia that once existed but is now lost. In the superconscious mind of every person I have ever placed in deep hypnosis lies the memory of a Utopian home. Originally, the concept of Utopia was intended to illustrate ideas, not a society. My subjects see the spirit world as a community of ideas. In this sense, the afterlife involves self-purification of thought. Beings who are still incarnating are far from perfect, as demonstrated by my cases. Nevertheless, we can justifiably think of our existence in the spirit world as Utopian because there is a universal harmony of spirit. Righeousness, honesty, humor and love are the primary foundations of our life after life.

After reading the information contained in this book, I know it must seem cruel that the Utopia of our dreams does exist within all of us but is blocked from conscious memory by amnesia. When some of these blocks are overcome through hypnosis, meditation, prayer, channeling, yoga, imagination and dreams, or a mental state reached through physical exertion, there is a sense of personal empowerment. Some 2,400 years ago, Plato wrote about reincarnation and said that souls must travel over Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness, whose waters produce a loss of memory from our true nature.

The sacred truths of our etheric history can be recovered today because we are able to circumvent the conscious mind and reach the unconscious, which was not immersed in the River of Forgetfulness.  Our higher Self remembers our past triumphs and transgressions in a selective way, whispering to us across time and space. Our personal spirit guides endeavor to give us the best from both worlds, the ethereal and material. Each new baby is given a fresh start with an open future. Our spiritual masters wish to produce karmic opportunity without the constraints of our knowing those pitfalls we experienced in former lives. They become more lenient in a selective way with amnesia as we engage in self-discovery. This is our best route to wisdom.

The question has been fairly asked as to why amnesia blocks about our spiritual life have been loosened to permit research into the spirit world. I think about this issue a great deal because now in the twenty- first century I expect younger hypnotherapists to go far beyond what my generation has been able to accomplish in unlocking the spiritual mind. I feel the reasons for our ability to discover more of the mysteries about life on the other side is a direct outgrowth of living in the twentieth century. The advancement of innovative techniques in hypnosis would have to be listed as a consideration. However, I believe there are more compelling reasons why our amnesia has become less constrictive over the last thirty years. Never before has such a variety of drugs been so pervasive in the human population. These mind-altering chemicals imprison the soul within a body encumbered by a mental fog. The soul’s essence is unable to express itself through a chemically addicted mind. I feel the planners on the other side have lost patience with this aspect of human society. There are other reasons as well. As the twentieth century draws to a close we live in a frantic, rage-filled, overpopulated, environmentally degraded world. The mass destruction of our planet in the last hundred years from all sources is unequaled in human experience.

I do not have a dark vision of the future, despite my comments. It may be true that to the people who are living in an era, their time seems more decadent than the last. Yet we have made great advancements culturally, politically and economically in the last hundred years. In many ways the world is a far safer place than it was in 1950. Internationally, nations have more social conscience and commitments to work for peace than ever before in our long history of monarchies and dictatorships, which were still very much in evidence at the start of the twentieth century. What we face in the twenty-first century is the eroding of individualism and human dignity in an overcrowded society dominated by materialism. Globalization, urban sprawl and bigness is a formula for loneliness and disassociation. Many people believe in nothing but survival.

I believe the spiritual door has been opened to our immortality because to deny us this knowledge has proven to be counterproductive. In the spirit world of my experience, if something on Earth isn’t work- ing it can be changed. Amnesiac blocks were set in place with human beings to prevent preconditioned responses to certain karmic events. However, the benefits of amnesia may no longer outweigh the draw- backs of lives existing within a vacuum of chemically-induced apathy. There are too many people trying to escape from reality because they  do not see their identity as having purpose or meaning. Drugs and alcohol aside, in overcrowded, high-tech societies around the world, people have an emptiness of spirit because they are ruled by their body- ego senses. They have little or no connection to their real Self. Because each of us is a unique being, different from all others, it is incumbent upon those who desire internal peace to find their own spirituality. When we totally align ourselves to belief systems based upon the experience of other people, I feel we lose something of our individuality in the process. The road to self-discovery and shaping a personal philosophy not designed by the doctrines of organizations takes effort but the rewards are great. There are many routes to this goal which begins by trusting in yourself. Camus tells us, “Both the rational and irrational lead to the same understanding. Truly, the path traveled matters little; the will to arrive is enough.”

Visions of the afterlife lie within each of us as a sanctuary while we travel the maze of Earth’s pathways. The difficulty in uncovering fragments of our eternal home is due in no small part to life’s distractions. It is not a bad thing to accept life as it is, asking no questions and  assuming that in the end what is supposed to happen will happen. However, for those with a longing to know more, simple acceptance of life is totally unsatisfying. For some travelers, life’s mysteries cry out for attention, if being alive is to have any meaning.

In the search for our own path of spirituality it is wise to ask, “What sort of behavioral code do I believe in?” Some theologians suggest that nonreligious people are attempting to cut loose from moral and ethical responsibility dictated to us in scripture from a higher authority. How- ever, we are not evaluated after death by our religious associations but rather by our conduct and values. In the spirit world I am familiar   with, we are measured more by what we do for others rather than ourselves. If traditional religious activity serves your purpose and provides you with spiritual sustenance, you are probably motivated by a belief in scripture and perhaps the desire for comradeship in worship. The same attractions are true with people who join metaphysical   groups and derive satisfaction from following the ideas of prescribed spiritual texts with like-minded people. While such practices may be comforting and edifying for your spiritual growth, it must be   recognized that these pathways do not suit everyone.

If there is no inner peace, it does not matter what sort of spiritual affiliation you have. Disengagement in life arises when we separate ourselves from our inner power by taking the position that we are all alone, without spiritual guidance, because no one upstairs is listening. 1 have great respect for people with abiding faith in something since for a large part of my life I had no solid foundation of spirituality, despite my searching. There are atheists and agnostics who take the position that since religious and spiritual knowledge cannot be based upon natural or proven evidence, it is unacceptable. Simply having faith is not truly revealed knowledge to the skeptic. I identify with these people because I was one of them. My faith in the hereafter slowly began as an outgrowth of my participation with subjects in hypnosis. This is a discipline I believed in professionally before my research discoveries. Nevertheless, my own spiritual awareness was also the result of years of personal meditation and introspection about this research.

Spiritual perception must be an individual quest or it has no meaning. We are greatly influenced by our own immediate reality, and we can act on that reality one step at a time without the necessity of seeing too far into the distance. Even steps in the wrong direction give us insight into the many paths designed to teach us. To bring the soul Self into harmony with our physical environment, we are given freedom of choice to exercise free will in the search for the reasons why we are here. On the road of life we must take responsibility for all our decisions without blaming other people for life’s setbacks that bring unhappiness.

As I mentioned, to be effective in our mission we are expected to help others on their paths whenever possible. By helping others we help ourselves. Reaching out to others is inhibited when we nurture our own uniqueness to such an extent that we become totally self-absorbed. However, being an absentee landlord in your own house makes you ineffective as a person as well. You were not given your body by a chance of nature. It was selected for you by spiritual advisors and after previewing their offerings of other host bodies, you agreed to accept the body you now have. Thus, you are not a victim of circumstance. You  are entrusted with your body to be an active participant in life, not a bystander. We must not lose sight of the idea that we accepted this sacred contract of life and this means the roles we play on Earth are actually greater than ourselves. Our soul energy was created by a  higher authority than we can know in our present state of development. Consequently, we must focus on who we are as a person to find that fragment of divinity within us. The only limitations to personal insight are self-imposed. If the spiritual paths of others have no relevance to you, this does not mean the way designed for your needs is nonexistent. The reason for our being who we are is a major truth in life. Where one person may find an aspect of that truth manifested to them, it will not be in the same place for another.

Essentially, we are alone with our soul, yet people who feel lonely haven’t quite found themselves. Self-discovery of the soul has to do with self-possession. The capturing of our individual essence is like falling in love. Something within you lying dormant is awakened at a point in  your life by a stimulus. The soul flirts with you at first, tempting you to go further with delights that are only seen from a distance. The initial attraction of self-discovery begins with an almost playful touching of the conscious by the unconscious mind. As the intensity of wanting to fully possess our inner Self grows, we are drawn irresistibly into a more intimate connection. Knowing our soul becomes a marriage of fidelity to one’s Self. The fascinating aspect about self-discovery is that when you hear that inner voice you instantly recognize it. Based on my practice, I am convinced that everyone on this planet has a personal spiritual  guide. Spirit guides speak to our inner mind if we are receptive. While some guides are more easily reached than others, each of us has the ability to call upon and be heard by these guides.

There are no accidents in life, yet people get confused by what they perceive to be randomness. It is this philosophy that works against thoughts of spiritual order. It becomes an easy next step to feel we have no control in our lives and trying to find ourselves is pointless since nothing we do matters anyway. Believing in the randomness of events negatively influences our reaction to situations and allows us to avoid thinking about explanations for them. Having a fatalistic outlook on life by saying “It’s God’s will” or even “It’s my karma” contributes to inaction and lack of purpose.

That which is meaningful in life comes in small pieces or large chunks all at one time. Self-awareness can take us beyond what we thought was our original destination. Karma is the setting in motion of those conditions on our path that foster learning. The concept of a Source orchestrating all of this need not be pretentious. The spiritual externalist waits for reunification with a Creator after death, while the internalist feels part of a Oneness each day. Spiritual insight comes to  us in quiet, introspective, subtle moments which are manifested by the power of a single thought.

Life is a matter of constant change toward fulfillment. Our place in the world today may be different tomorrow. We must learn to adapt to these different perspectives in life because that, too, is part of the plan for our development. In so doing, there is a transcendence of Self from the masking process of a temporary outer shell to that which lies deep within our permanent soul mind. To uplift the human mind from feelings of disenchantment, we must expand our consciousness while forgiving ourselves for mistakes. I believe it is vital to our mental health that we laugh at ourselves and the foolish predicaments we get into along the road. Life is full of conflicts and the struggle, pain and happiness we experience are all reasons for our being here. Each day is a new beginning.

I have a final quote that came from a subject who was preparing for another departure from the spirit world into a new incarnation on Earth. I think his statement offers a fitting conclusion to this book:

Coming to Earth is about traveling away from our home to a foreign land. Some things seem familiar but most are strange until we get used to them, especially conditions which are unforgiving. Our real home is a place of absolute peace, total acceptance and complete love. As souls separated from our home we can no longer assume these beautiful features will be present around us. On Earth we must learn to cope with intolerance, anger and sadness while searching for joy and love. We must not lose our integrity along the way, sacrificing goodness for survival and acquiring attitudes either superior or inferior to those around us. We know that living in an imperfect world will help us to appreciate the true meaning of perfection. We ask for courage and humility before our journey into another life. As we grow in awareness so will the quality of our existence. This is how we are tested. Passing this test is our destiny.

The End.

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A detailed look into the topography of Heaven; The Destiny of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton. (Part 2)

This is part two of a three part HTML version of the book by Michael Newton titled “Destiny of Souls”. The first part can be found HERE.

Important Note
This post contains the complete reprint of the non-fiction work by Dr. Michael Newton titled “Destiny of Souls”. This HTML version of the book was transcribed from a MS Word version of a PDF file that was obtained from an EPUB file format. Thus the paragraphs tend to have odd breaks. I have also not included the very few figures that were part of the book. Aside from these issues, the book should be easy enough to read without problem. Please enjoy. Please also take note that this is the second part of a three part series.

Destiny of Souls (Part 2 of 3)

Spiritual Energy Restoration

Soul Energy

We cannot define the soul in a physical way because to do so would establish limits on something that seems to have none. I see the soul as intelligent light energy. This energy appears to function as vibrational waves similar to electromagnetic force but without the limitations of charged particles of matter. Soul energy does not appear to be uniform. Like a fingerprint, each soul has a unique identity in its formation, composition and vibrational distribution. I am able to discern soul properties of development by color tones, yet none of this defines what the soul is as an entity.

From years of study on how the soul interacts within a variety of human minds over many incarnations, and what it subsequently does in the spirit world, 1 have come to know something of its yearnings for perfection. This does not tell me what the soul is either. To fully understand soul energy, we would need to know all the aspects of its creation and, indeed, the consciousness of its source. This is a perfection that I cannot know, despite all my efforts investigating the mysteries of life after death.

I am left then with examining the actions of this profound energy substance and how it reacts to people and events and what it is striving to do in both physical and mental environments. If the soul’s existence begins and is molded by pure thought, it is sustained by that thought as an immortal being. The soul’s individual character enables it to influence its physical environment to give greater harmony and balance to life. Souls are an expression of beauty, imagination and creativity. The ancient Egyptians said that to begin to understand the soul, one must listen to the heart. I think they were right.

Standard Treatment at the Gateway

When we cross over and are met by our guides, I find the techniques they use at initial contact fall into two general categories:

  1. Envelopment. Here returning souls are completely cloaked by a large circular mass of their guide’s powerful energy. As the soul and guide come together, the soul feels as though they both are encased in a bubble. This is the more common method, which my subjects describe as pure ecstasy.
  • The Focus Effect. This alternate procedure of initial contact is administered a little differently. As the guide approaches, energy is applied to certain points at the edges of the soul’s etheric body from any direction of the guide’s choosing. We might be taken by the hand or held by the tops of our shoul- ders from a side position. Healing begins from a specific point of the etheric body in the form of a brushing caress followed by deep penetration.

The choice of procedures depends on the preference of the guide and the condition of our soul energy at the time. In both instances there is  an immediate infusion of potent, invigorating energy while we are projected forward. This is the introductory phase of the journey to our eventual spiritual destination. The more advanced souls, especially if they are undamaged, usually do not require assistance from a loving energy force.

A review of the techniques employed by case 1 on his wife, Alice, demonstrates elements of both the focus effect and envelopment on a living person by someone who is not yet a guide. Other cases in the last chapter indicate this is one way we begin our training in the use of healing energy before acquiring the status of a guide. During the exhilarating moments after initial contact, our guides might also expertly apply what I call energy penneation. This follow-up effect of energy transference has been described as being similar to the percolating of coffee. In case 8 a soul used an energy filtration process involving smell on her husband, Charles.

Healing emotional and physical injury, both in and out of the spirit world, emanates from a source of goodness. Positive energy flows to every part of the soul’s being from the sender, whose own essence and wisdom is transmitted as well. My subjects are unable to explain the beauty and subtlety of this assimilation except to say it resembles the flowing of rejuvenating electricity.

Emergency Treatment at the Gateway

When souls arrive at the gateway to the spirit world with energy that is in a deteriorated state, some of our guides engage in emergency healing. This is both a physical and mental healing exercise that takes place before the soul moves any further into the spirit world. One of my clients died in an auto accident in his last life where his leg was severed. He told me what occurred at the gateway as a result of this experience:

When I reached the gateway, my guide saw the gaps in my energy aura and proceeded at once to push the damaged energy back into place. He molded it as clay to fill, reshape and smooth out the rough edges and broken intervals to make me whole again.

The etheric, or soul body is an outline of our old physical body which souls take into the spirit world. Essentially, it is an imprint of a human form we have not shed yet, like the skin of a reptile. This is not a permanent condition, although we might naturally create it later as a colorful, luminescent shape of energy. We know damaged body  imprints from a past life can influence the current physical form of  some people unless properly deprogrammed, so why not the reverse? There are souls who shed their body form completely at the moment of death. However, many souls with physical and emotional scars from life carry the imprint of this damaged energy back home.

In terms of afflictions and soul healing, I learn a lot from the stu- dents as well as the teachers in the spirit world. My next case was a rather unusual one for me where a student guide was unable to handle

damaged energy properly at the gate. My subject in this case had just come off a difficult life after being blown up in an artillery bombard- ment during a battle in World War I.

Case 19

Dr. N: As you pass into the bright light following your death in the mud and rain of this battlefield, what do you see?

S: A figure coming toward me dressed in a white robe. Dr. N: Who is this figure?

S: I see Kate. She is a new teacher, recently assigned to our group.

Dr. N: Describe her appearance and what she is communicating to you as she comes closer.

S: She has a young, rather plain face with a large forehead. Kate radiates peace—I can feel it—but there is a concern too and … (laughs) she won’t come close to me.

Dr. N: Why not?

S: My energy is in bad shape. She says to me, “Zed, you should be healing yourself.”

Dr. N: Why doesn’t she help in this endeavor, Zed?

S: (laughs  again  loudly)  Kate does not want  to  get  near all my scrambled negative energy from the war … and the killing.

Dr. N: I have never heard of a guide shying away from such responsibility with disassembled energy, Zed. Is she afraid of contamination?

S: (still laughing) Something like that. You have to understand Kate is still rather new at this sort of work. She is not happy with herself—I can see that.

Dr. N: Describe what your energy looks like right now.

S: My energy is a mess. It is in chunks … black blocks… irregular … totally skewed out of alignment.

Dr. N: Is this because you didn’t escape from your body fast enough at the moment of death?

S: For sure! My unit was taken by surprise. I normally cut loose (from the body) when I see death coming.

Note: This case and many others have taught me that souls often leave their bodies seconds before a violent death.

Dr. N: Well, can’t Kate lend some assistance in rearranging your energy?

S: She tries … a little . . . I guess it’s too much for her at the moment.

Dr. N: So, what do you do?

S: I begin to take her suggestion and try to help myself. I’m not doing too well, it’s so scrambled. Then a powerful stream of energy hits me like water from a fire hose and it helps me begin to reshape myself and push out some of the negative crap from that battle.

Dr. N: I have heard of a place where energy is showered upon newly returned, damaged souls. Is that where you are now?

S: (laughing) I guess so—it’s from my guide, Bella. I can see him now. He is a real pro at this kind of thing. He is standing behind Kate, helping her.

Dr. N: Then what happens to you?

S: Bella fades away and Kate comes close to me and puts her arms around me and we start to talk as she leads me away.

Dr. N: (deliberately provoking) Do you have any confidence in Kate

after she treated you like some sort of leper?

S: (frowns at me severely) Oh, come on—that’s a mite strong. It won’t be long before she gets the hang of working with this kind of messed-up energy. I like her a lot. She has many gifts … right now, mechanics isn’t one of them.

Recovery Areas for the Less Damaged Soul

Regardless of the specific energy treatment received by the soul at the gateway to the spirit world, most all returning souls will continue on to some sort of healing station before finally joining their groups. All but the most advanced souls crossing back into the spirit world are met by benevolent spirits who make contact with their positive energy and escort needy souls to quiet recovery areas. It is only the more highly- developed souls, with energy patterns that are still strong after their incarnations, who return directly to their regular activities. The more advanced souls appear to get over hardship more quickly than others after a life. One man told me, “Most of the people I work with must stop and rest, but I don’t need anything. I’m in too much of a hurry to get back and continue my program.”

Most recovery areas for the returning soul involve some kind of orientation back to the spirit world. It may be intense or moderate in scope, depending upon the condition of the soul. This usually includes a preliminary debriefing of the life just completed. Much more in-depth counseling will take place later with guides in group conferences and with our Council of Elders. I have written about these orientation procedures in Journey of Souls. The surroundings of recovery areas are identifiable earthly settings created out of our memories and what spiritual guides feel will promote healing. Orientation environments are not the same after each of our lives. One woman had the following to say, after dying in a German concentration camp in 1944:

There are subtle differences in physical layout depending upon the life one has just lived. Because I have just returned from a life filled with horror, cold and bleakness—everything is very bright to lighten my sorrow. There is even a comfortable fire next to me so I'll have the feeling of added warmth and cheerfulness.

Upon returning to the spirit world, often my subjects describe them- selves as being in a garden setting, while others might say they are in a crystalline enclosure. The garden presents a scene of beauty and serenity, but what does crystal represent? It is not just in the orientation rooms that 1 hear about crystals. Crystal caves, for example, appear in the minds of some people who are spending time alone in reflection right after a life is over. Here is a typical statement about a crystal recovery center:

My place of recovery is crystalline in composition because it helps me connect my thoughts. The crystal walls have multicolored stones which reflect prisms of light. The geometric angles of these crystals send out moving bands of light which crisscross around and bring clarity to my thoughts.

After talking to a number of clients out of trance, and with others who are knowledgeable about crystals, I came to realize that crystals represent thought enhancement through a balancing of energy. As a shamanic tool, the crystal is supposed to assist in tuning our vibrational pattern into a universal energy force while releasing negative energy. Bringing forth wisdom from an expanded consciousness through heal- ing is the primary reason for being in a place of spiritual recovery.

The next example involves a garden setting. I had a client who had been working on humility for many lives. In earlier incarnations, usu- ally as a man, this soul had been caught up with host bodies that had become haughty, arrogant and even ruthless during my subject’s occupancy. In a complete turnaround, this person’s last life had been one of acceptance that bordered on passivity. Since this life was so out of character for my client, there was a feeling of failure when this soul reached the recovery area. I was then given this account:

I am in a beautiful circular garden with willow trees and a pond with ducks in it. There is such tranquillity here and this scene softens the feelings of discouragement I have over my last performance. My guide, Makil, brings me to a marble bench under an arbor draped with vines and flowers. I am so down over my wasted life because I over-compensated at every turn—going from one extreme to another. Makil smiles and offers me refreshments. We drink nectar and eat fruit together and watch the ducks. While we do this the aura of my old physical body moves further away from me. I begin to feel as though I am taking in his powerful energy as oxygen after a near drowning.
Makil is a gracious host and he knows I need nourishment because I am judging myself in such a critical manner. I am always harder on myself than he is. We talk about my overcorrections of past mistakes and what I wanted to do that didn't get done—or was only partially completed. Makil offers encouragement that I still learned from this life, which will make the next one better. He explains the important thing was that I was not afraid to change. The whole garden atmosphere is so relaxing. I am already feeling better.

From cases such as this I have learned that our guides use the sense memory we had in our physical bodies to assist in our recovery. There are many ways to achieve this, such as the use of taste memory by Makil in the above case. I have also listened to descriptive scenes involving touch and smell. After receiving streams of bright white “liquid  energy,” there have been subjects who describe additional treatments involving the sensations of sound and multicolored lights:

After my cleansing shower, I move to an adjacent room to the place of rebalancing. While I float to the center of this enclosure, I see a vast array of spotlights overhead. 1 hear my name called: "Banyon, are you ready?" When I give my assent, sounds vibrate into  me which resonate like tuning forks until the pitch is just right to make my energy bubble—like frothy soapsuds. It feels wonderful. Then the spotlights come on one at a time. In the beginning I am scanned by an intense beam of healing green light. It casts a circle around me as if I were on a stage. This light is designed to pick up my level of displaced energy—to see what I have lost or damaged—and make corrections. I think this is more effective because my energy is bubbling from the sound vibrations. Then I receive a wash of gold light for strength and blue for awareness. Finally, my own pinkish-white color is restored by one of the spotlights. It is soothing and loving and I'm sorry when this is over.

Regenerating Severely Damaged Souls

There are certain displaced souls who have become so contaminated by their host bodies that they require special handling. In life they became destructive to others and themselves. This spectrum of behavior would primarily include souls who have been associated with evil acts that caused harm to other people through deliberate malice. There are souls who slowly become more contaminated from a series of lifetimes, while others are totally overcome by one body alone. In either case these souls are taken to places of isolation where their energy undergoes a more radical treatment plan than with the typical returning soul.

Contamination of the soul can take many forms and involve different grades of severity during an incarnation. A difficult host body might cause the less experienced soul to return with damaged energy where a more advanced being would survive the same situation relatively intact. The average soul’s energy will become shadowed when it has lived within a host body obsessed by constant fear and rage. The question is, by how much?

Our thoughts, feelings, moods and attitudes are mediated by body chemicals which are released through signals of perceived threats and danger from the brain. Fight or flight mechanisms come from our primitive brain, not from the soul. The soul has a great capacity’ to con- trol our biological and emotional reactions to life but many souls are unable to regulate a dysfunctional brain. Souls display these scars when they leave a body that has deteriorated in this fashion.

I have my own theory of madness. The soul comes into the fetus and begins its fusion with the human mind by the time the baby is born. If this child matures into an adult with organic brain syndromes, psychosis, or major affective disorders, abnormal behavior is the result. The struggling soul does not fully assimilate. When this soul can no longer control the aberrant behavior of its body, the two personas begin to separate into a dissociated personality. There may be many physical, emotional and environmental factors that contribute to a person becoming a danger to themselves and others. Here the combined Self has been damaged.

One of the red flags for souls who are losing their capacity to regulate deviant human beings is when they have had a series of lives in bodies demonstrating a lack of intimacy and displaying tendencies toward violence. This has a domino effect with a soul asking for the same sort of body to overcome the last one. Because we have free will, our guides are indulgent. A soul is not excused from responsibility for a disturbed human mind it is unable to regulate because it is a part of that mind. The problem for slow learner souls is they may have had a series of prior life struggles before occupying a body that escalated wrongdoing to a new level of evil.

What happens to these disturbed souls when they return to the spirit world? I will begin with a quote from a client giving me an outsider’s view of a place where severely damaged souls are taken. Some of my subjects call this area the City of Shadows:

It is here where negative energy is erased. Since this is the place where so many souls are concentrated who have negative energy, it is dark to those of us outside. We can't go into this place where souls who have been associated with horror are undergoing alteration. And we would not want to go there anyway. It is a place of healing, but from a distance it has the appearance of a dark sea—while I am looking at it from a bright, sandy beach. All the light around this area is brighter in contrast because positive energy defines the greater goodness of bright light.
When you look at the darkness carefully, you see it is not totally black but a mixture of deep green. We know this is an aspect of the combined forces of the healers working here. We also know that souls who are taken to this area are not exonerated. Eventually, in  some way, they must redress the wrongs they perpetrated on others. This they must do to restore full positive energy to themselves.

Subjects who are familiar with damaged souls explain to me that not all of the more terrible memories of bad deeds are erased. It is known that if the soul did not retain some memory of an evil life it would not  be accountable. This knowledge by the soul is relevant for future deci- sions. Nevertheless, the resurrection of the soul in the spirit world is merciful. The soul mind does not fully retain all the lurid details of harming others in former host bodies after treatment. If this were not true, the guilt and association with such lives would be so overpowering to the soul they might refuse to reincarnate again to redress these wrongs. These souls would lack the confidence to ever dig themselves out of pits of despair. I understand there are souls whose acts in host bodies were so heinous they are not permitted to return to Earth. Souls are strengthened by regeneration with the expectation they can keep future potentially malevolent bodies in check. Of course, once in our new body, the amnesiac blocks of certain past life mistakes prevent us from being so inhibited we would not progress.

There are differences in the regeneration process between   moderately and severely damaged souls. After listening to a number of explanations about kinds of energy treatments, I have come to this conclusion: The more radical approach of energy cleansing is one of remodeling energy while the less drastic method is reshaping. This is an oversimplification because there is much I don’t know about these esoteric techniques. The fine art of energy reconstruction is handled by nonreincarnating masters who are not in my office answering questions.

I work with the trainees. Case 20 will provide some insight into the mechanics of energy reshaping while case 21 will address remodeling.

Case 20

My subject in this case is a practitioner of chiropractic and homeopathic medicine who currently specializes in repolarizing the out-of- balance energy patterns of patients. This client has been a healer for thousands of years on Earth and is called Selim in the spirit world.

Dr. N: Selim, you have told me about your advanced healing group in the spirit world and how the five of you are in specific energy training. I would like to know more about your work. Would you begin by telling me what your advanced study group is called and what you do?

S: We are in training to be regenerators. We work to reshape … to reorganize … displaced energy in the place of the holding ground.

Dr. N: Is this place a designated area for souls whose energy has been disrupted?

S: Yes, the ones in bad condition. Those who will not be returning to their groups right away. They will stay in the holding ground.

Dr. N: Do you make this determination at the gateway to the spirit world?

S: No, I do not. I have not yet reached that status. This decision is made by their guides, who will call upon the masters who are training me.

Dr. N: Then tell me, Selim, when do you enter the picture after a severely damaged soul crosses back to the spirit world?

S: I am called by my instructor when it is felt I can assist in this energy healing. Then I move to the holding ground.

Dr. N: Please explain to me why you use the term “holding ground” and what this place is like.

S: The damaged soul is held here until their regeneration is complete so they are healthy again. This sphere is designed … as a beehive structure … covered with cells. Each soul has its own place to reside during the healing.

Dr. N: This sounds very much like the descriptions I have heard about the incubation of new souls after their creation and before they are assigned to groups.

S: That’s true … these are spaces where energy is nurtured.

Dr. N: So, are these beehive spaces all in the same place and used lor the same purpose—both for regeneration and creation?

S: No, they are not. I work in the place of damaged souls. Newly created souls are not damaged. I can tell you nothing about those places.

Dr. N: That’s fine, Selim, I appreciate learning about those areas where you do have knowledge and experience. Why do you think you were assigned this sort of work?

S: (with pride) Because of my long history in so many lives of working with wounded people. When I asked if I could specialize as a regenerator, my wish was granted and I was assigned to a training class.

Dr. N: And so when a severely wounded soul is returned to the holding ground, are you a soul who could be called to assist?

S: (shakes his head negatively) Not necessarily. I am only requested to go to the regeneration areas to work with energy that has been moderately damaged. I am a beginner. There is so much I don’t know.

Dr. N: Well, I have a great deal of respect for what you do know, Selim.

Before I ask you about your level of work, can you explain why a damaged soul would be sent to the holding ground?

S: They were overcome by their last body. Many are souls who have been repeatedly suppressed in previous lives as well. These are the ones who become stuck in life after life making no progress. Each body has contaminated them a little more. I work with these souls more than the ones who have had terrible energy damage, either from one life or many lives.

Dr. N: Do the souls whose energy has been gradually depleted ask for help, or are they forced to come to the holding ground?

S: (promptly) No one is forced. They cry for help because they have become totally ineffectual, repeating the same mistakes over and over again. Their teachers see they do not recover sufficiently between lives. They want regeneration.

Dr. N: Does the same cry for help come from souls who have been severely damaged?

S: (pause) Perhaps less so. It is possible that a life is so destructive it has damaged the … identity of the soul.

Dr. N: Such as being involved with cruel acts of violence? S: That would be one reason, yes.

Dr. N: Selim, please give me as many details as you can about what happens when you are called to the holding ground to work on a case with severely depleted or altered energy

S: Before meeting the new arrival one of the Restoration Masters outlines the meridians of energy we will be regenerating. We review what is known about the damaged soul.

Dr. N: This sounds like you are surgeons preparing for a procedure with x-rays before the operation.

S: (with delight) Yes, this gives me an idea of what to expect in three- dimensional imagery. I love the challenges involved with energy repair.

Dr. N: Okay, take me through this process.

S: From my perspective there are three steps. We begin by examining all particles of damaged energy. Then these dark areas of blockage are removed and what is left—the voids—are rewoven with an infusion of new purified light energy. It is overlaid and melded into the repaired energy for strengthening.

Dr.  N:  And  does  reweaving  energy  mean  reshaping  to  you,  as opposed to something even more radical?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: Are you personally involved with all phases of this operation?

S: No, I am being trained in the first step of assessment and can assist a little with the second step—where the modifications are not as complex.

Dr. N: Before you actually begin to work, what do you see when a soul’s energy has been severely damaged?

S: Damaged energy looks like a cooked egg where the white light has solidified and hardened. We must soften this and fill the black voids.

Dr. N: Let’s talk a moment about this blackened energy…

S: (interrupts) I should have added that the damaged energy can also create … lesions. These fissures are voids themselves, caused by radical physical or emotional damage.

Dr. N: What are the effects of disrupted energy on the incarnated soul? S: (pause) Where the energy is mottled—not distributed evenly—this is due to long-term energy deterioration.

Dr. N: You talked about rearranging and repairing old energy with new purified energy for healing. How is this done?

S: By intense charge beams. It is delicate work because you must keep your own vibrational tuning … in matched sequences with that generated by the soul.

Dr. N: Oh, so this becomes personal. A master’s own energy is used as a conduit?

S: Yes, but there are other sources of new purified energy that I don’t use or know much about because of my lack of experience. Dr. N: Selim, you have told me how warped energy is softened and allowed to flow back onto the right spaces, but introducing new purified energy concerns me. With all that reconfiguration aren’t you changing the immortal identity of these souls?

S: No, we have … altered . . . to strengthen what is there … to bring the soul close to its original form. We don’t want this to happen again. We don’t want them back.

Dr. N: Is there some way you can test your repair work after it is completed?

S: Yes, we can place a field of simulated negative energy around the regenerated soul—as a liquid—to see if this can filter through the structure of our repairs. As I said, we don’t want them back. Dr. N: One last question, Selim. When you are finished, what happens to the regenerated soul?

S: It varies. All of them stay with us a while … there is healing with sound … vibrational music … light… color. And when these souls are released, much care is taken with their next incarna- tions and the selections of bodies, (sighs) If the soul has been in a body that damaged others in former lives… well… we have fortified these souls to go back and begin again.

My next case is an example of severe remodeling. Case 21 involves a particular class of soul 1 call the hybrid soul. In chapter 8, case 61 is another representative of this type of soul. I believe the hybrid souls are especially prone to self-destruction on Earth because they have incarnated on alien worlds before coming here fairly recently. There are hybrid souls who have great difficulty adapting to our planet. If I find this to be true, it is probable their first incarnation here was within the last few thousand years. The others have already adapted or left Earth for good. Less than a quarter of all my clients are able to recall memories of visiting other worlds between lives. This activity by itself does not make them hybrids. An even smaller percentage of my cases have memories of actually incarnating on alien worlds before they came to Earth. These are the hybrid souls.

The hybrid is usually an older soul who, for a number of reasons, has decided to complete their physical lives on our planet. Their old worlds may no longer be habitable or they may have lived on a gentle world where life was just too easy and they want a difficult challenge with a world like Earth that has not yet reached its potential. Regardless of the circumstances for a soul leaving a world, I have found these former incarnations typically involve life forms which were slightly above, about equal, or slightly below the intelligence capabilities of the human brain. This is by design. Hybrid souls who have formally incarnated on planets with civilizations possessing  a much higher technology than Earth, such as those with space travel abilities, are smarter because they are an older race. Also, I have noticed that when I do have a hybrid soul as a client with former experience on a telepathic world, they tend to have greater psychic abilities than normal.

Sometimes a hybrid client will confuse their early incarnations on other physical worlds with being on Earth until we sort out that their first world only resembled a place on Earth. Visions of once living on the island nation of Atlantis is a good example. Without discounting the possibility that Atlantis once existed on Earth thousands of years ago, I believe the source of many earthly myths come from our soul memories of former existences on other worlds.

I think hybrid soul is an appropriate term for those souls among us of mixed incarnation origins. Such souls have developed from being in hosts that are genetically different than humans. I have seen gifted people in this life who started their development on another world. Nevertheless, there is a dark side to this experience, as a level V subject in training to be a Restoration Master will explain.

Case 21

Dr. N: Since you work with the severely damaged souls, can you give me a little more information about your duties?

S: I’m in a special section working with those souls who have become lost in a morass of evil.

Dr. N: (after learning this subject works only with those souls from Earth who have incarnated on other worlds before they came to Earth) In this section, are these the hybrid souls I have heard about?

S: Yes, in a restoration area where we deal with those who have become atrocity souls.

Dr. N: What a terrible name to call a soul!

S: I’m sorry you are bothered by this, but what else would you call a being associated with acts of evil that are so serious they are unsalvageable in their present state?

Dr. N: I know, but the human body had a lot to do with … S: (cutting me off) We don’t consider that to be an excuse.

Dr. N: Okay, then please continue with the nature of your work. S: I am a second-stage restorer.

Dr. N: What does that mean?

S: When these souls lose their bodies, they are met by their guides and perhaps one close friend. That first stage does not last long and then the souls who have been involved with horrible acts are brought here to us.

Dr. N: Why doesn’t the first stage last as long as with other souls?

S: We don’t want them to begin to forget the impact of their deeds—the harm and pain they caused on Earth. The second stage separates them from the uncontaminated souls.

Dr. N: This sounds like you are running a leper colony. S: (abruptly) I am not amused by that remark.

Dr. N: (after apologizing) You are not saying that all souls who commit evil acts are hybrid souls, as you define them?

S: Of course not, that’s my section. But you should understand some real monsters on Earth are hybrids.

Dr. N: I thought the spirit world was a place of order with masters of superior knowledge. If these hybrid souls are contaminated abnormalities in human form—souls with the inability to adjust to the emotional makeup of the human body—why were they sent here? This indicates to me the spirit world is not infallible.

S: A vast majority are fine, and they make great contributions  to human society. You would have us deny all souls the opportunity to come to Earth because some turn out badly?

Dr. N: No, of course not. Let’s move on. What do you do with these souls?

S: Others, way above me, examine their contaminated energy in light of just how the world of their earlier experience impacted on their human body. They want to know if this was an isolated case, or if other souls from that planet have had problems on Earth. If that is true, other souls from that world might not be permitted to come to Earth again.

Dr. N: Please tell me more about your section.

S: My area is not devoted to souls who have committed one serious act of wrongdoing. We work with habitually cruel life styles. These souls are then given a choice. We will do our best to clean up their energy by rehabilitation and if we think they are salvageable, they are offered a choice to come back to Earth in roles where they will receive the same type of pain they caused, only multiplied.

Dr. N: Could a salvageable soul be one who committed terrible atrocities in life but showed great remorse?

S: Probably.

Dr. N: I thought karmic justice was not punitive?

S: It’s not. The offer represents an opportunity for stabilization and redemption. It usually will take more than one life to endure an equal measure of the same kind of pain they caused to many people. That’s why I said multiplied.

Dr. N: Even so, I suppose most souls take this option?

S: You are mistaken. Most are too fearful that they will fall again into the same patterns. They also lack the courage to be victims in a number of future lives.

Dr. N: If they won’t come back to Earth, then what do you do?

S: These souls will then go the way of those souls we consider to be unsalvageable. We will then disseminate their energy.

Dr. N: Is this a form of remodeling energy—or what?

S: Ah … yes … we call it the breaking up of energy—that’s what dissemination means. Certainly, it is remodeled. We break up their energy into particles.

Dr. N: I thought energy could not be destroyed. Aren’t you destroying the identity of these contaminated souls?

S: The energy is not destroyed, it is changed and converted. We might mix one particle of the old energy with nine particles of new fresh energy provided for our use. The dilution will make that which is contaminated ineffectual, but a small part of the original identity remains intact.

Dr. N: So, the negative badness energy is mixed with overdoses of new goodness energy to render the contaminated soul harmless?

S: (laughs) Not necessarily goodness but rather freshness.

Dr. N: Why would any soul resist dissemination?

S: Even though those souls who accept these procedures for their own benefit recover and eventually lead productive lives on Earth and elsewhere … there are souls who will not stand for any loss of identity.

Dr. N: Then what happens to these souls who refuse your help?

S: Many will just go into limbo, to a place of solitude. I don’t know what will eventually happen to them.

As I have said before, soul contamination does not only come from the physical body. Certainly, the energy damage described in the last two cases indicates that souls themselves are impure beings who also contribute to their own distress.

Before continuing, I want to make a statement about karmic choices here that is important for all of us to keep in mind. When we see people who are victims of great adversity in life, this does not necessarily mean they were perpetrators of evil or wrongdoing of any kind in a former life. A soul with no such past associations might choose to suffer through a particular aspect of emotional pain to learn greater com- passion and empathy for others by volunteering in advance for a life of travail.

There are cases when a soul’s energy damage is moderate, requiring special attention, but not to the degree where a Restoration Master is needed. The following quote is a report from a client about a gifted healing soul who works at a recovery station. I think of her as a combat nurse managing a field hospital and my client agrees:

Oh, it's Numi—I'm so glad. I haven't seen her in about three or four lives, but her deprogramming  and restoration energy techniques are just superlative. There are five others being attended to in this place whom I don't know. Numi comes over and clasps me to her. She gets inside me and blends my tired energy with her own. I feel the infusion of her stimulating vibrations and she performs a tiny bit of reshaping. It is as if I am receiving a gentle reaffirmation of that which created my own energy. Soon, I am ready to leave and Numi gives me a beautiful smile goodbye till next time.

Souls of Solitude

In the last chapter I explained how certain dysfunctional souls who have just experienced physical death leave their bodies and go into seclusion for a time. They are not ghosts but they don’t accept death  and they don’t want to go home. The low percentage of souls in my practice within this category are at an impasse with themselves. Their major symptom is one of avoidance. Eventually, they are coaxed by empathetic guides to return to the heart of the spirit world. I called them the souls of silence. I also mentioned that it is considered a part of normal activity for healthy souls in the spirit world to engage in periods of quiet time away from others. Besides reflecting upon their goals,  souls may use this interval to reach out and touch people they left behind on Earth.

However, there is another category of silent soul whom I see as a soul in solitude as opposed to a soul in seclusion. It may seem as if I am splitting hairs here, but there are major differences. Souls who wish solitude are healthy souls who have been through the recovery process and yet they still strongly feel the effects of negative energy contamination. Here is a case in point:

After every life, I go to a place of sanctuary for quiet reflection. I review what I want to save and integrate from the last body and what should be discarded. Right now, I am saving courage and getting rid of my inability to sustain personal commitment. For me, this is a place of sorting. What I decide to keep becomes part of my character. The rest is thrown off.

Only a certain type of soul engages in this activity for a prolonged period. Often, they are more advanced souls who are more reflective if they are alone. This type of soul might be a natural leader who is drained of energy by defending other people. One such soul of this class is Achem, who is a soul devoted to causes for the betterment of others, often at his own expense.

Case 22

In this subject’s past life he fought against the final subjugation of Morocco by the French military and was captured in 1934. As a resistance fighter, my client was taken from the Atlas Mountains into the Sahara Desert and tortured for information he did not give. After being staked to the ground, he was left to die a slow death in the hot sun.

Dr. N: Achem, please explain to me why you require such a long period of solitude after your life in Morocco?

S: I am a protector soul and my energy has still not recovered from the effects of this life.

Dr. N: What is a protector soul?

S: We try to protect those people whose innate goodness and intense desire to better the lives of large numbers of people on Earth must be preserved.

Dr. N: Who did you protect in Morocco?

S: The leader of the resistance movement against French coloniza- tion. He was more effective in helping our people fight for free- dom because of my years of sacrifice.

Dr. N: This sounds demanding. Do you usually work with political and social movements in your lives?

S: Yes, and in war. We are warriors for good causes.

Dr. N: What attributes do protector souls have as a group?

S: We are noted for our enduring perseverance and calmness under fire while assisting others who are worthy.

Dr. N: If you challenge those who would seek to harm the people you want to protect, who decides if they are worthy? It seems to mc this is a very subjective thing.

S: True, and this is why we spend time analyzing in advance where we can best be utilized to help people. Our work can be offensive or defensive in nature but we do not engage in any aggressive action lacking principle.

Dr. N: All right, let’s talk about your energy drain after these endeavors. Why hasn’t the shower of healing or some other restoration center returned you to normal?

S: (laughs) You call it a shower, I call this the car wash! It’s an undulating tube which rubs you all over with positive energy, like the brushes of a car wash. I just took a few of my young students through it from the last life and they feel great.

Dr. N: So why didn’t the car wash help you?

S: (more serious) It was not nearly enough, although the negative impurities are essentially gone. No, the core of my being has been affected by the cruelty of that life and the torture I endured.

Dr. N: What do you do?

S: I send the students away and go to the place of sanctuary where I can fully connect with myself.

Dr. N: Please tell me all you can about this place and what you do there.

S: It is a darkened enclosure—some call it a slumber chamber— where there are others resting but we do not really see each other. I sense there are about twenty of us now. We feel so washed out we have no desire to relate to anyone for a while. The Keepers attend to us.

Dr. N: Keepers? Who are they?

S: The Keepers of Neutrality are skilled at noninterference. Their talent lies in ministering to us with absolutely no intervention into our thoughts. They are the custodians of the slumber chambers.

Note: Apparently, the Keepers of Neutrality are a subspecialty within the ranks of Restoration Masters. They have other names but neutrality means they facilitate healing indirectly without any communication. My clients say these beings are devoted to absolute quietude for souls in their care.

Dr. N: What do these passive custodians look like?

S: (tersely) They are not passive. The picture I can give you is one of monks moving about a sanctuary. The Keepers have cloaks and a hood over their faces so they present no identity to us. Their thoughts are closed, but they are very watchful.

Dr. N: So they simply watch over you while you rest?

S: No, no—you still don’t understand. They possess great skill in ministering to us. Their concern is the proper regulation and

infusion of the energy which we have stored in the spirit world before going into a physical life.

Dr. N: I have heard a great deal about this attribute of the soul to divide itself. Why can’t you just go to your own spiritual area and take the rest of your energy and meld with it? Or why not have a team of Restoration Masters regenerate your contaminated energy?

S: (takes a deep breath) I’ll try to explain it. For us, all that is unnecessary. It is the effects of the impurities which we want healed by a slow, even return of our own purified, rested energy. The Keepers assist us in the restoring of our own energy.

Dr. N: Rather like getting a blood transfusion from your own blood bank?

S: Yes, exactly, now you are beginning to comprehend. We don’t want it in a rush. We don’t need major restoration either. We receive slow energy infusions of our own energy over a prolonged period for greater… elasticity. We want the strength we had before a rough life—and more—from having gone through the physical experience.

Dr. N: What’s a prolonged period of time in Earth years for your recovery in this sanctuary?

S: Oh, that’s hard to say… 25 to 50 years … we would always like it to be longer because the Keepers use their own vibrational frequencies to … massage our energy—which is fantastic. They are very private beings though, who don’t want to be seen or spoken to, but they know we are grateful for their care. They also know when it is time for us to rejoin our friends and get back to work, (laughs) Then we are pushed out.

It was from cases such as these that I learned one of the best ways to repair damaged energy is to receive it back slowly. Many souls of soli- tude are quite advanced and don’t require restoration in the normal recovery areas. These vigorous souls can be too overconfident. Achem admitted that he only took about 50 percent of his energy to Morocco and should have “charged up” more before departing into that life.

The next section will address planetary healers who work in physical environments. Since these souls are generally still incarnating, my subjects do not consider them as masters. This would include the trans- former souls mentioned in the next case. Planetary work is where our exposure to many specialties begins and is a basic training ground for developing souls.

Energy Healing on Earth

Healers of the Human Body

When I learned about souls who were specializing in restoring damaged energy in the spirit world, I was curious how these souls might apply their unconscious spiritual knowledge when they were working in physical form. Some place great emphasis on this aspect of their skill development to help human beings. My next case is a woman who works with many energy modalities, including reiki. However, until our hypnosis session, she had little idea of the source of her spiritual power to heal. Her spiritual name is Puruian and during our time together she explained how and why energy adjustments are necessary for incarnates as well as discarnates.

Case 23

Dr. N: Puruian, I would like to know if your spiritual training in soul restoration is used by you in your earthly assignments?

S: (subject evidenced some surprise as this information began to unfold in her mind after my question) Why … yes… I didn’t realize how much until now … only those of us who want to continue working in this way on Earth are called transformers.

Dr. N: What is the difference? How would you define a trans- former?

S: (laughs in recognition) As transformers we do repair jobs on Earth—we are the cleanup crew—transforming bodies to good health. There are people on Earth who have gray spots of energy which cause them to get stuck. You see it when they make the same mistakes over and over in life. My job is to incarnate, find them and try and remove these blocks so they make better decisions and gain confidence and self-value.          We transform them to  be more productive people.

Dr. N: Puruian, I would like to clarify the differences in spiritual training, if any, between restoring souls in the spirit world and transforming energy on a physical world?

S: (long pause) Some parts of our training are the same but… transformers are sent to other worlds between lives to study— those of us who like working with physical forms.

Dr. N: Describe the last training you had as a transformer before you came back to Earth.

S: (struck by my question, there is a dreamy response) Oh … two light beings came from another dimension to work with the six of us. (Puruian’s independent study group) They showed us how… to keep our vibrational energy into a tight, beamed focus—not scattered. I learned to pinpoint my energy to be more effective.

Dr. N: Were these beings from a physical world?

S: (in a soft tone) More like a gas sphere where their intelligence exists in … bubbles… but they were so good. We learned … oh … we learned …

Dr. N: (gently) I’m sure … Let’s return to the practical use of what you learned now that you are more aware of the origins of your skills. Tell me how you apply this spiritual knowledge in your energy work today as a transformer soul on Earth?

S: (a look of wonder) It’s … there now… in my mind … I see why it works … (stops)… the focused beam …

Dr. N: (pressing) The focused beam … ?

S: (earnestly) We use it as a laser—rather like a dentist would drill out a decayed tooth—to pinpoint and clean up gray energy. This is the fast

way. It is harder for me to use a slow procedure which is longer lasting and even more effective.

Dr. N: Okay, Puruian, remember you are explaining to me how you use your spiritual training and earthly training in combination to heal energy. You have the memory right now of both aspects. Tell me about the slow method.

S: (takes a deep breath) 1 close my eyes and kind of go into a semi- trance when I cup my hands near my patient’s head. I see now thai whal I have learned in the spirit world helps me more than what I learned in my classes down here. I guess that doesn’t matter, really.

Dr. N: We receive power to help others from many sources. Please go on about your healing by the slow method with your patients on Earth.

S: Well, I work with geometric shapes, such as spirals of energy, forming them in my mind to match the configuration of the particular trouble spot. Then  I lay these energy structures around the gray areas. This sets up the areas to be repaired with my slow healing vibrations, like placing a hot pad on a sore muscle, (pause) You see, these souls were damaged on the way in and this … infirmity … only grows worse as the body develops on Earth.

Dr. N: (surprised) Back up a minute. What do you mean, “damaged on the way in”? I thought your work on Earth mostly involved contaminated energy from life’s trials?

S: That’s only part of the problem. When souls enter the human body on Earth they come into dense matter. Their host bodies, after all, contain primitive animal energy which is thick. The soul has a natural sort of pure, refined energy which does not easily blend with some human hosts. It takes experience to get used to all this. The younger souls especially can be damaged. They get knocked off their tracks early on and are … twisted.

Dr. N: And you might project different energy configurations with different people who are your patients.

S: Uh-huh, that is the job of the transformer. Their damaged energy lines are so … squiggly … they must be rearranged to remove the toxic energy. These muddled souls are so unbalanced that a lot of our work must be directed at all the cells of the body where negative energy is trapping the free flow of the positive. When this is performed properly the soul is more fully engaged with the human brain.

Dr. N: This sounds very worthwhile, indeed.

S: It is gratifying although I still have a lot to learn, (laughs) We call ourselves psychic sponges for refined energy.

It is not surprising that case 25 uses reiki in her work on Earth. Reiki is an ancient art of healing by the hands. After evaluating and working on damaged energy, practitioners of this art close gaps in the human energy field with body alignments to bring symmetry. There are theo- ries that damaged energy’, physical or mental, in the human body causes gaps in our auras through which a demonic negative force can enter. This is another of those fear-based myths that receives undeserved attention. I have been told by restoration specialists that this does not happen because there is no outside force of evil trying to take over your body. However, negative energy blockages in our energy field do cause a reduction in functional capacity.

I am also disturbed by scientific articles debunking energy work with the hands, such as therapeutic touch, because I have seen the power of this kind of healing with the sick. It is often freely given by certain nurses in hospital settings out of a genuine concern to nurture and heal. Our bodies are composed of an energy field of particles that appears solid but is fluid and acts as a vibrational conductor. One of my transformer souls had this to say about her therapeutic touch methods:

The secret to healing is removing my conscious self so as to avoid inhibiting the free flow of energy between us. My objective is to merge with the energy flow of the patient to bring out the highest good in that body. This is done with love as well as technique.

If the receiving party is resistant and inhibits the free-flowing passageways of chi, or life force, through their own mental negativism, they are perfectly capable of blocking the detection of their energy field by a healer. As we begin a new millennium, more people are becoming aware of the healing properties of meditation and guided imagery to build energy within themselves. There are many ways to reach the center of our inner wisdom by tapping into a higher energy source. Massage, yoga, acupuncture and biomagnetic healing are some of the techniques available to help balance our chi.

Body energy and soul energy are adversely affected by vibrational resonances not in harmony with each other. Each person has their own fingerprint of natural rhythm. Body and soul must smoothly coexist for humans to be productive. If we take a holistic approach to body health, our creative self is better able to function with the human brain. Being in harmony with our outer and inner self positions us to more energetically engage in physical, spiritual and environmental interrelationships.

Healers of the Environment

Before my research into the spirit world, I had no idea of the special gifts of environmental healers on our planet. I have learned the Earth itself has its own vibrational rate and there are people capable of tuning into this ecological energy. One of the cases that opened my eyes was a woman who works for the Forest Service in the Pacific Northwest. In her letter requesting a session, she explained:

In the last few years I have felt a tingling, sparking sensa- tion in my hands whenever I am around heavy vegetation. It is not painful, but there is an urgency for something to be released during my work in the forests. Lately, I have dreams about lightning going out of my hands and my wanting to pull it back into a bottle to save it. These dreams seem to fulfill a need inside me and upon awakening I feel happy. Am I going crazy?

I am drawn to people who think they are going crazy because of unexplained phenomena in their lives. 1 know what this feels like per- sonally. Many of my old, traditional colleagues are convinced I have lost my marbles. Therefore, I was glad to take this woman as a client after she agreed to see a physician to make sure there was nothing causing neurological problems with her hands. I will pick up the dialogue of this case at the point where we are discussing her participation in an advanced independent studies group in the spirit world.

Case 24

Dr. N: Why did the five of you come together in this study group?

S:  Because  we  work  with  energy  the  same  way.  It  helps  raise  our consciousness—our abilities—when we are together

Dr. N: Please explain this to me.

S: Well, our situation right now is that individually we cannot sustain an energy flow of sufficient quality to last very long and have the necessary effect.

Dr. N: So you accomplish what you wish to do collectively?

S: Yes, to some degree. That’s why we enjoy working together so we can throw energy out in unison and bottle it up in concentrated reserves. Working alone our energy is not as potent, not as refined—it goes in all directions.

Dr. N: Is this why you are having these dreams and feeling these hand sensations right now in your life?

S: (reflects) Yes, I see that it is a message for me. I must alter my life to include more energy work.

Dr. N: You mean to store and use energy to heal people?

S: (quickly responds to my wrong assumption) No, my study group works with energy differently. We are healers of plants, trees and the land. That is why we pick lives as caretakers of the environment.

Dr. N: Did you choose your current vocation for a specific reason related to your skills?

S:Yes.

Dr. N: How about other members of your spirit world study group? S: (with a big grin) Two of them work with me in the forest service. Dr. N: I would think as planetary healers you and your friends have

your work cut out for you with all the environmental destruction

going on around Earth.

S: (sadly) It’s terrible and we are so needed here.

Dr. N: Tell me, have you and the members of your study group been involved with using energy environmentally in many past lives on Earth?

S: Oh, yes … for a long time.

Dr. N: Give me an example.

S: In my last life I was an Algonquian Indian with the name of Singing Tree. My job was to insure our land would continue to supply us with food. I used to stand out in the forest for hours and hold out my hands. The tribe thought 1 was talking to the trees and the soil but actually I was exchanging energy with the land.

It’s an extension of mind and body with some help from our guides.

Dr. N: And how about today?

S: (pause) When you create and support beauty and growth from the land, you also give power to others who live here. From your hands you provide a means by which others arc motivated with the beauty of what they see around them, as well as receiving sustenance from the environment.

Sometimes I receive letters years later from clients who want to say they finally reached their goals in life. A person with environmental healing talents might write me to announce they have become a land- scape architect, opened a garden nursery, or joined a protest group to stop the logging of old redwood trees. I enjoy these aspects of career counseling in my work that begin with the question, “Why am I here?” When I became involved with delving into the mysteries of the spirit world, I thought people would mostly want to know about their spirit guides and soulmates. Instead, I found their primary interest was their purpose in life.

Before leaving the subject of our environment on Earth, and the manner in which people are able to tune into the energy vibrations of this planet, I should say a word about sacred sites. A number of researchers have reported on the fact that there are places in the world which give off intense pulses of magnetic energy. In the last chapter I spoke about vibrational energy layers which vary in density around the Earth. Some sacred sites on Earth are well-known to the public, such as the places of stone in Sedona, Arizona; Machu Picchu in Peru; and Ayers Rock in Australia, to name a few. People standing in these places feel a heightened awareness and physical well-being.

Planetary magnetic fields do affect our physical and spiritual con- sciousness, and I find a curious similarity here with descriptions about the spirit world. My clients say the home ground of their cluster group  is “a space within a space” whose non-solid boundaries have a specific vibrational concentration of energy generated by that particular group. Perhaps certain human habitations on Earth, considered to be sacred  by the ancients, contain vortexes of energy concentrations caused by what are called natural “ley lines.” The places where these magnetic gridlines converge are said to enhance unconscious thought and make it easier to open our mental passages into spiritual realms. Knowledge of vortex locations are very useful to planetary healers. In chapter 8,  under the section of soul explorers in other worlds, I will touch again on planetary vibrational grid patterns which affect intelligent life away from Earth. Soul Division and Reunification

The capacity for souls to divide their energy essence influences many aspects of soul life. Perhaps soul extension would be a more accurate term than soul division. As I reported in the section under ghosts, all souls who come to Earth leave a part of their energy behind in the spirit world, even those living parallel lives in more than one body. The percentages of energy souls leave behind may vary but each particle of light is an exact duplicate of every other Self and replicates the whole  identity. This phenomenon is analogous to the way light images are split and duplicated in a hologram. Yet there are differences with a  hologram. If only a small percentage of a soul’s energy is left behind in the spirit world, that particle of Self is more dormant because it is less concentrated. However, because this energy remains in a pure, uncontaminated state, it is still potent.

When I made the discovery of our energy reserve in the spirit world, so much fell into place for me. The grandeur of this system of soul duality impacts many spiritual aspects of our life. For example, if someone you loved died thirty years ahead of you and has since reincarnated,  you can still sec them again upon your own return to the spirit world.

The ability of a soul to unite with itself is a natural process of energy regeneration after physical death. A client emphatically told me, “If we were to bring 100 percent of our energy into one body during an incar- nation, we would blow the circuits of the brain.” A full charge of all a soul’s energy into one human body would totally subjugate the brain to the soul’s power. Apparently, this could happen with even the less potent, undeveloped souls. I suppose this factor of soul occupation in a host body was evaluated in the early stages of human evolution by those spiritual grandmasters who chose Earth as a planetary school.

Moreover, having all the soul’s energy capacity in one body would negate the whole process of growth for the soul on Earth because it would have no challenge coping with the brain. By strengthening a variety of parts of a soul’s total energy in different incarnations, the whole is made stronger. Full awareness at 100 percent would have another adverse effect. If we did not divide our energy, we would experience a higher level of spiritual memory retention in each human body. Amnesia forces us to go into the testing area of the laboratory of Earth without the answers for the tasks we were sent here to accomplish. Amnesia also relieves us of the baggage for past failures so we may use new approaches with more confidence.

The ghost in case 15 indicated how it is possible for souls to miscalculate the percentage of energy concentration they bring into a life. One client called this “our light quotient.” In a strange fashion, I find my level IV and V subjects shortchange themselves more than the less developed souls. This was demonstrated by the warrior soul in case 22. Typically, a highly advanced soul will bring no more than 25 percent of its total capacity to Earth where the average, less confident soul has 50- 70 percent. The energy of a more evolved soul is refined, elastic and vigorous in smaller quantities. This is why the younger soul must bring more energy into their early incarnations. Thus, it is not the volume of energy which gives potency to the soul but the quality of vibrational power representing a soul’s experience and wisdom.

How does this information help us understand the combined force of soul and human energy? Every soul has a specific energy field pattern which reflects an immortal blueprint of its character, regardless of the number of divided parts. When this spiritual ego is combined with a more structured personality of a physical brain, a higher density field is produced. The subtleties of this symbiosis are so intricate I have only scratched the surface. Both blueprints of energy react to each other in an infinite number of ways to become one to the outside world. This is why our physical well-being, senses and emotions are so tied to the spiritual mind. Thought is closely associated with how these energy patterns are shaped and melded together and each nourishes the other in our bodies.

I frequently use the analogy of a hologram to describe soul division. Holographic images are exact duplicates. This analogy is helpful but it does not tell the whole story. I have mentioned one variable in the process of soul division as involving the potency of energy concentration in each divided part. This element relates to the experience of the soul. Another variable is the density of material energy in each human body and the emotional makeup which drives that body. If the same soul  joins two bodies at the same time and brings 40 percent of its energy  into each body, there will be different manifestations of energy.

Think of taking a photograph of the same scene in the morning, at noon and in the evening. The changes in light refraction would create a different effect on the film. The energy of souls begins with a specific pattern but once on Earth these patterns are changed by local conditions. When we review our future life from the spirit world we are given advice about the energy requirements of the body we will occupy. The decision of how much energy we should take is ours. Many souls want to leave as much behind as possible because they love their home and the activities going on there.

Emotional and physical trauma drains our energy reserves. We can lose shards of positive energy to people whom we give it to voluntarily, or by others who drain it out of us with their negativity. It takes energy to erect and maintain defense mechanisms to protect ourselves. A sub- ject once said to me, “When I share my light with those I think worthy of receiving it, I can recharge it faster because it was given freely”

One of the best ways we revitalize our energy is through sleep. Once again, we can further divide the energy we brought with us and roam freely while leaving a small percentage behind to alert the larger portion to return quickly if needed. As 1 mentioned earlier, this capacity is especially useful when the body is in a state of illness, unconsciousness, or in a coma. Since time is not a limiting factor for a freed soul, hours, days, or weeks away from the body are all rejuvenating. I might add that souls can also be recharged by loving spirits during a crisis. We interpret these energy boosts as profound revelations. A few hours’ rest from the human body can do wonders for a soul as long as the remaining portion left behind is on cruise control and not coping with a complex dream analysis. That circumstance may cause us to wake up exhausted.

Since living parallel lives is another option for soul division, what are the motivations and effects from this decision? Many people feel it is common for souls to live parallel lives. 1 have found this not to be true  at all. The souls who choose to split into two or more bodies within the same general time frame on Earth want to accelerate their learning. Thus, a soul might leave up to 10 percent of its energy behind and place the rest in two or three bodies. Because we have free will, our guides will allow for these experiments but they advise against it. On the whole, since the energy drain is enormous, most souls who try parallel lives do so only a time or two before giving it up. Souls don’t wish to lead  parallel lives unless they are extraordinarily ambitious. Also, souls don’t split their energy to incarnate as twins. Dividing your energy to be in a family with the same genetics, parental influence, environment, nationality and so forth would be counterproductive. Such lack of diversity would provide little motivation for living a parallel life.

People are curious about the origins of two souls in the bodies of identical twins. I had two sisters in their late twenties as clients, born  one minute apart. The souls of these women arc intimately connected in the same spirit group, however they are not strictly primary soul-mates. Each has met and lives with their own male soulmate with whom they are deeply in love. These two souls have lived for thousands of years as close friends, siblings, parents and children of one another but not as mates. They have never been twins before and the reason for their doing so currently was two-fold. They had unresolved trust issues in their past life relationship, but they said the major reason was “together, our combined energy field is doubled, which makes us more effective in reaching other minds.”

People ask me if a soul did not bring enough energy into its body during the fetal state, can it retrieve more later in life? I find that once the energy formula of a given percentage is chosen in advance by a soul, it stays. To permanenty add more “fresh” energy from the spirit world during a life would likely disrupt the delicate balance initially established between the soul and a new human brain. Also, it seems improbable that an incarnated being could retrieve an ethereal substance from its discar-nated self. However, with the help of their guides, some people have the ability to communicate—or temporarily tap into—their own energy reserve during a crisis.

The process of souls reuniting with the rest of their energy becomes most evident for me when I regress my subjects through a former death experience. Unless there are complications from the last life, most souls reacquire the balance of their energy at one of the three primary spiritual stations: near the gateway, during orientation, or after returning to their soul group. The advanced souls usually disembark only at the final stop on their journey home.

The Three Stations

Receiving our own energy at the gateway is not really a common occurrence. This is probably due to the initiation of recovery by a shower of healing near the gate. I do hear about it once in a while though, as with the soul in my next quote whose deceased husband brought a small remaining portion of her energy to the first stop. She explained the circumstances this way:

My love could easily handle the little energy 1 saved. He brought this to me and spread it over me gently with his hands like a blanket as we were embracing. He knew how old and tired I was and he asked to come. Once contact is made, the rest of my energy comes into me as a magnet. I feel so expanded by it. The first thing 1 notice is that I can read his mind so much better telepathically and I sense so much more of what is around me.
When our guides conclude that it would be an advantage to have more of our energy at the second station during orientation, this decision has different ramifications. Basically, the decision rests on the belief that our debriefing from a difficult life will be more productive. Then, too, we might not be returning to our spirit group for some reason right after orientation. Here is an example of soul reunification at this stop:
I am in a plain room which looks futuristic with smooth, milk-white walls. There is a table and two chairs—this furniture has no edges. My guide, Everand, is concerned over my lack of responsiveness. She is about to perform what we call "melting the physical form." She holds the rest of my energy in a beautiful, translucent vessel which radiates. Everand comes forward, pressing it into my  hands. I feel the upsurge of my energy as an electrical charge. Then she moves close to me, stimulating my natural vibrational frequency to accept more easily what I left  behind. As my core center is filled with my own essence, the outer shell of my physical body imprint is melted off. It is as if I were a dog shaking off water droplets from my fur after getting wet. The unwanted earthly particles are jarred loose—dissolved—and my energy now begins to sparkle again instead of being a dull light.

The usual way most souls reunite with the balance of their energy is after returning to a cluster group. A subject put it this way. “It is smoother for me to reunite with myself after I arrive at home base with my friends. Here the infusion of my rested energy can be assimilated at my own pace. When I am ready, I go get it myself.”

Case 25

This case excerpt is from a discussion 1 had with a soul called Apalon, who discussed her reunification upon arriving home in a more flam- boyant way than the soul in the quote above. Apalon is a level II soul who has just returned to the spirit world from a hard life in Ireland as a poor woman who died in 1910. Although physically strong and self- reliant, Apalon was married to a domineering, alcoholic husband and had to raise five children virtually alone. She suffered from a lack of personal freedom and self-expression. I see Apalon’s welcoming home party as a reflection of a job well done after this difficult life.

Dr. N: Tell me, Apalon, after you have finished with the initial greetings from your spirit group, does the time soon arrive when you unify with your own energy reserve?

S: (grinning) My guide Canaris enjoys making a ceremony out of unification.

Dr. N: With the energy you left behind?

S: Yes, Canaris goes to an alcove in our enclosure where my energy is stored in a glass urn, waiting for me. It is under his care.

Dr. N: I gather your reserve energy has not been too active since your absence. What percentage of the total did you leave behind?

S: Only 15 percent—I needed a lot for my Irish life. This part was able to engage with my group and I could move around our area but 1 didn’t participate in recreational diversions. .

Dr. N: I understand, but is this weakened 15 percent a completely whole representation of your soul?

S: (vehemently) Absolutely—only a smaller version of me.

Dr. N: And was this 15 percent of you able to keep up with group lessons and greet people while the other 85 percent was on Earth?

S: Mmm … to an extent… yes. I continue to gain knowledge in both settings. (Earth and the spirit world)

Dr. N: (offhanded) I’m curious about something. If that 15 percent is still viable, why don’t you just go get it yourself? What do you need Canaris for?

S: (offended) That would spoil his ceremony. Canaris is the keeper of my flame, so to speak, while 1 am gone. Besides, what you suggest would be an infringement on his prerogatives to assist me with melding with my energy. He wants to make a ceremony of it

Dr. N: I’m sorry if I was too presumptuous, Apalon. Why don’t you give me a visual picture of the ceremony.

S: (joyfully) Canaris goes to the alcove and, with the proud flourish of a nurturing father, brings it out while all my friends gather around and cheer about a job well done in Ireland.

Dr. N: Does this party include the soul who was your husband in the Irish life?

S: Yes, yes. He is in the front row cheering the loudest. He is not really the same person out of his Irish body.

Dr. N: All right, then what does Canaris do?

S: (laughs) He takes my energy in the greenish glass urn out of the alcove. It is glowing but he rubs it with his hands to make it shine brighter while enjoying our expressions of pleasure. Then he comes close and throws the cloud of light energy over me like a mantle of high office. He assists with my melding with his own powerful vibrations.

Dr. N: At this moment, what does having all your energy feel like?

S: (softly) Joining with oneself resembles two globs of mercury coming together on a glass plate. They flow into each other naturally and instantly become homogeneous. I feel a resurgence of power and identity. The warmth of the merger gives me a sense of serenity and peace as well. 1 feel… well… my immortality.

Dr. N: (rhetorically, to elicit a response) Isn’t it a shame we don’t take 100 percent of our energy to Earth?

S: (reacts immediately) Are you serious? No human mind could retain much of itself under those conditions, but I needed a lot for the Irish life.

Dr. N: What percentage do you have in your current body? S: Oh … around 60 percent and it’s plenty.

Dr. N: 1 have been told of physical planets where souls go that allow for

all of our energy and the retention of full memory.

S: Sure, and many of these life forms allow for mental telepathy, too.

Physical worlds like Earth—with the type of body we have—it’s a

stage  of  mental  development.  Right  now,  our  evolutionary  development sets up conditions which we must work through on our own.

The limitations are good for us right now.

Dr. N: Apalon, explain to me what you understand about how much energy you should take to Earth before every life?

S: My energy level is monitored by Canaris and my council for each body depending upon the physical and mental characteristics of that body. Certain bodies require more spiritual energy than others and they know what conditions exist before we enter the life.

Dr. N: Well, you told me this Irish woman was physically strong and, I assume, she had a strong will as well for you to have survived intact. Nevertheless, you took a lot of your energy to Ireland.

S: Yes, she was stronger than I am today, but she needed my spiritual help and I needed her strength to assert what influence I could to survive with some identity in a life of deprivation. We were not always in harmony.

Dr. N: So when you are not in harmony with a body it takes more personal soul energy? S: Oh, yes. And if your environment is harsh, that too must be taken into consideration. I feel very much in sync with my current body although 1 sometimes wish I had the stamina of the Irish body. There are many variables. That is the challenge. That’s what is fun.            

Note:    Today, Apalon  has incarnated as an independent businesswoman who  travels  all  over  the  world  for  an  international financial consulting firm. She has had numerous offers of marriage, all of which she has refused.

Occasionally, a client will tell me that after a former life they preferred to wait longer than normal before unifying with their energy. This is illustrated by the following quote:

Sometimes I like to wait until after my council meeting because I don't want the fresh energy to dilute the memories and feelings I had in the life just lived. If I did infuse myself (by taking in reserve energy), that former life would be less real to me. I want my thoughts to be centered on answering questions about my work in that body with a clear, lucid memory of each event. I want to retain every emotional feeling I had of these events as they occurred so I can better describe why I took certain actions. My friends don't like to do this, but I can always recharge and rest later.

Soul Group Systems

Soul Birthing

I think it is appropriate to begin an exploration of soul life with the creation of that life. Very few of my subjects have the memory capacity to go back to their origins as particles of energy. Some details of a soul’s early life come to me from the rank beginners. These young souls have a shorter life history both in and out of the spirit world so they still have fresh memories. However, at best, my level I subjects have only fleeting memories about the genesis of Self. The following quotes from two beginner souls are illustrations:

My soul was created out of a great irregular cloudy mass. I was expelled as a tiny particle of energy from this intense, pulsating bluish, yellow and white light. The pulsations send out hailstorms of soul matter. Some fall back and are reabsorbed but I continued outward and was being carried along in a stream with others like me. The next thing I knew, I was in a bright enclosed area with very loving beings taking care of me.
I remember being in a nursery of some sort where we were like unhatched eggs in a beehive. When I acquired more awareness I learned I was in the nursery world of Uras. I don't know how I got there. I was like an egg in embryonic fluid waiting to be fertilized and I sensed there were many other cells of young lights who were coming awake with me.
There was a group of mothers, beautiful and loving, who ... pierced our membrane sacs and opened us. There were swirling currents of intense, nurturing lights around us and I could hear music. My awareness began with curiosity. Soon I was taken from Uras and joined other children in a different setting.

The most revealing reports about soul nurseries come my way only infrequently from a very few highly advanced subjects. These are the specialists known as Incubator Mothers. The next case is a representative of this branch of service who is an exceptional level V called Seena.

Case 26

This individual is a specialist with children both in and out of the spirit world. Currently, she works through hospice with severely ill children. In her past life, she was a Polish woman who, although not Jewish, volunteered to enter a German internment camp in 1939. She did so ostensibly to wait on the officers and perform kitchen duties, which was a ruse. She wanted to be near the Jewish children entering the camp and to help them in any way possible. As a local resident of a nearby town, she could have left the camp at any time in the first year. Then it was too late and the soldiers would not allow her to leave. Eventually, she died in the camp. This advanced soul might have survived longer if she had brought more than 30 percent of her energy to sustain herself during the hardships of this assignment. Such is the confidence of a  level V.

Dr.  N:  Seena,  what  has  been  your  most  significant  experience between your lives?

S: (without hesitation) I go to the place of… hatching—where souls are hatched. I am an Incubator Mother, a kind of midwife.

Dr. N: Are you telling me you work in a soul nursery?

S: (brightly) Yes, we help the new ones emerge. We facilitate early maturation … by being warm, gentle and caring. We welcome them.

Dr. N: Please explain the surroundings of the place to me.

S: It’s… gaslike … a honeycomb of cells with swirling currents of energy above. There is intense light.

Dr. N: When you say “honeycomb,” I wonder if you mean that the nursery has a beehive structure, or what?

S: Um, yes … although the nursery itself is a vast emporium without seeming to be limited by outside dimensions. The new souls have their own incubator cells where they stay until their growth is sufficient to be moved away from the emporium.

Dr. N: As an Incubator Mother, when do you first see the new souls?

S: We are in the delivery suite, which is a part of the nursery, at one end of the emporium. The newly arrived ones are conveyed as small masses of white energy encased in a gold sac. They move slowly in a majestic, orchestrated line of progression toward us.

Dr. N: From where?

S: At our end of the emporium under an archway the entire wall is filled with a molten mass of high-intensity energy and… vitality. It feels as if it’s energized by an amazing love force rather than a discernible heat source. The mass pulsates and undulates in a beautiful flowing motion. Its color is like that on the inside of your eyelids if you were to look through closed eyes at the sun on a bright day.

Dr. N: And from out of this mass you see souls emerge?

S: From the mass a swelling begins, never exactly from the same site twice. The swelling increases and pushes outward, becoming a formless bulge. The separation is a wondrous moment. A new soul is born. It’s totally alive with an energy and distinctness of its own.

Note: Another one of my level Vs made this statement about incubation. “I see an egg-shaped mass with energy flowing out and back in. When it expands, new soul energy fragments are spawned. When the bulge contracts, I think it pulls back those souls which were not successfully spawned. For some reason these fragments could not make it on to the next step of individuality.”

Dr. N: What do you see beyond the mass, Seena?

S: (long pause) I see this beatific glow of orange-yellow. There is a violet darkness beyond, but not cold darkness … it is eternity.

Dr. N: Can you tell me more about the line of progression of new souls moving toward you out of the mass?

S: Out of the fiery orange-yellow the progression is slow as each hatchling emerges from the energy mass. They are conveyed off to various points where mothering souls like myself are positioned.

Dr. N: How many mothers do you see?

S: 1 can see five nearby… who, like me … are in training.

Dr. N: What are the responsibilities of an Incubator Mother?

S: We hover around the hatchlings so we can … towel-dry them after opening their gold sacs. Their progression is slow because this allows us to embrace their tiny energy in a timeless, exquisite fashion.

Dr. N: What does “towel-drying” mean to you?

S: We dry the new soul’s … wet energy, so to speak. I can’t really explain all this well in human language. It’s a form of hugging new white energy.

Dr. N: So, now you see basically white energy?

S: Yes, and as they come next to us—up close—I see more blue and violet glowing around them.

Dr. N: Why do you think this is so?

S: (pause, then softly) Oh … I see now … this is an umbilical… the genesis cord of energy which connects each one.

Dr. N: From what you are saying, I get a picture of a long pearl necklace. The souls are the pearls connected in a line. Is this at all accurate?

S: Yes, rather like a string of pearls on a silvery conveyer belt.

Dr. N: Okay, now tell me, when you embrace each new soul—dry them out—does this give them life?

S: (reacts quickly) Oh, no. Through us—not from us—comes a life force of all-knowing love and knowledge. What we pass on with our vibrations during the drying of new energy is … the essence of a beginning—a hopefulness of future accomplishment. The mothers call it… “the love hug.” This involves instilling thoughts of what they are and what they can become. When we enfold a new soul in a love hug it infuses this being with our understanding and compassion.

Dr. N: Let me carry this vibrational hugging one step further. Does each new soul have an individual character at this point? Do you add or subtract from its given identity?

S: No, this is in place upon arrival, although the new soul does not yet know who they are. We bring nurturing. We are announcing to the hatchling that it is time to begin. By … sparking … its energy we bring to the soul an awareness of its existence. This is the time of the awakening.

Dr. N: Seena, please help me here. When I think of obstetric nurses in a hospital maternity ward holding and nurturing new human babies, they have no idea what kind of person a baby will turn out to be. Do you function in the same manner—not knowing about the immortal character of these new souls?

S: (laughs) We function as nursery caregivers but this is not a human maternity ward. At the moment we embrace the new ones we know something of their identity. Their individual patterns become more evident as we unite our energy with them to give them sustenance. This allows us to better utilize our vibrations to activate—to ignite— their awareness. All this is part of their beginning.

Dr. N: As a trainee, how did you acquire this knowledge of the proper employment of vibrations with new souls?

S: This is something new mothers have to learn. It it is not performed properly, the hatchling souls move on not feeling fully ready. Then one of the Nursery Masters must step in later.

Dr. N: Can you take me a little further here, Seena? During your love hug, when you first embrace these souls, do you and the mothers discern an organized selection process behind the assignment of a new soul’s identity? For instance, could we have ten courageous type souls come through followed by ten more cautious souls?

S: That is so mechanistic! Each soul is unique in its totality of characteristics created by a perfection that I cannot begin to describe. What I can tell you is that no two souls are alike—none—ever!

Note: I have heard from a few other subjects that one of the basic reasons each soul is different from the other is that after the Source “breaks off” energy fragments to create a soul, what is left of the original mass becomes infmitesimally altered so it is not exactly the same as before. Thus, the Source is like a divine mother who would never create twin children.

Dr. N: (pressing, wanting my subject to correct me) Do you think this is a totally random selection? There is no order of characteristics with matched similarities of any kind? You know this to be true?

S: (frustrated) How could I know this unless I was a Creator? There are souls with similarities and those with none, all in the same batch. The combinations are mixed. As a mother I can tweak each major trait that 1 sense and this is why I can tell you no two have exactly the same combinations of character.

Dr. N: Well… (subject breaks in to continue)

S: I have the sense that there is a powerful Presence on the other side of the archway who is managing things. If there is a key to the energy patterns—we do not need to know of this …

Note: These are the moments I wait for in my sessions, where I try to push open the door to the ultimate Source. The door never opens more than a crack.

Dr. N: Please tell me what you feel about this Presence, about the energy mass which is bringing these new souls to you. Surely, you and the other mothers must have thought about the origins of souls here even though you cannot see it?

S: (in a whisper) I feel the Creator is… close by… but may not actually be doing the work of… production …

Dr. N: (gently) Meaning the energy mass may not be the primary Creator?

S:  (uncomfortable)  I  think  there  are  others  who  assist—I  don’t know.

Dr. N: (taking another tack) Is it not true, Seena, that there are imperfections to the new souls? If they were created perfect, there would be no reason for them to be created at all by a perfect Creator?

S: (doubtfully) Everything here seems to be perfection.

Dr. N: (1 temporarily move in another direction) Do you work only with souls coming to Earth?

S: Yes, but they could go to all kinds of places. Only a fraction come to Earth. There are many physical worlds similar to Earth. We call them pleasure worlds and suffering worlds.

Dr. N: And do you know when a soul is right for Earth based upon your incarnation experience?

S: Yes, I do. I know that the souls who come to worlds such as Earth need to be strong and resilient because of the pain they have to endure along with the joy.

Dr. N: That’s my understanding, too. And when these souls become contaminated by the human body—particularly the young ones—this is because they are less than perfect. Might that be true?

S: Well, I suppose, yes.

Dr. N: (continuing) Which  indicates to me that they must  work to acquire more substance than they had originally in order to acquire full enlightenment. Would you accept that premise?

S: (long pause, then with a sigh) 1 think perfection is there … with the newly created. Maturity begins by the shattering of innocence with new souls, not because they are originally flawed. Overcoming obstacles makes them stronger but the acquired imperfections will never be totally erased until all souls are joined together—when incarnation ends.

Dr. N: Isn’t this going to be difficult with new souls being created all the time to take the place of those ending their incarnations on Earth?

S: This too will end when all people … all races, nationalities unite as one. This is why we are sent to places such as Earth to work.

Dr. N: So, when the training ends, will the universe we live in die as well?

S: It may die before. It doesn’t matter, there are others. Eternity never ends. It is the process which is meaningful because it allows us to … savor the experience and express ourselves … and to learn.

Before continuing with the evolution of a soul’s progress, I should list what differences I have learned about their existence once they are created.

  1. There are energy fragments which appear to return to the energy mass that created them before they even reach the nursery. I do not know the reason for their being aborted. Others, who do reach the nursery, are unable to handle learning “to be” on an individual basis during early maturation. Later, they are associated with collective functions and, from what I can deter- mine, never leave the spirit world.
  2. There are energy fragments who have individual soul essences that are not inclined, or have the necessary mental fabric, to incarnate in physical form on any world. They are often found on mental worlds, and they also appear to move easily between dimensions.
  3. There are energy fragments with individual soul essences who incarnate only on physical worlds. These souls may well receive training in the spirit world with mental spheres between lives. 1 do not find them as interdimensional travelers.
  4. There are energy fragments who are souls with the ability and inclination to incarnate and function as individuals in all types of physical and mental environments. This does not necessarily give them more or less enlightenment than other soul types. However, their wide range of practical experience positions them for many specialization opportunities and assignments of responsibility.

The grand scheme for the newborn soul starts slowly. Once they are released from the nursery, these souls do not enter into incarnations, nor are they even formed into soul groups right away. Here is one description of this transition period from the still-fresh memory of a young level 1 soul with only a couple of incarnations under his belt:

Before I was assigned to my soul group and began coming to Earth, I remember being given the opportunity to experience a semi-physical world as a light form. It was more a mental world than physical because my surround- ings were not completely solid and there was no biological life. I saw other young souls with me and wc could move easily around the ground as luminous bulbs with a sem- blance of the human form. We were not doing—just being—and getting the feel of what it would be like to be solid. Although the setting was more astral than temporal, we were learning to communicate with each other as beings living in a community. We had no responsibilities. There was a Utopian atmosphere of tremendous love, security and protection everywhere. I have since learned that nothing is static and this—the beginning time— would be the easiest  of our existence. Soon we would exist in a world where we would not be protected, in places where we would have memories of pain and loneliness— and pleasure too—and that these experiences are the teaching memories.

Spiritual Settings

While in trance, my subjects describe many visual images of the spirit world in earthly symbolisms. They may create structural images from their own planetary experiences or have these images created for them by guides seeking to raise their comfort level with familiar surround- ings. After discussing this aspect of unconscious memory at lectures, I have had people say that, regardless of the consistency of these observations, they strain credibility. How could schoolrooms, libraries and temples exist in the spirit world?

I address these questions by explaining that past observational memory is metaphoric as a current perspective. Original scenes from all our lives never leave our memory as souls. In the spirit world, seeing a temple is not a literal record of stone blocks but rather a visualization of the meaning the temple has to that soul. Back on Earth, memories of past events in our soul life are reconstructions of circumstances and events based upon interpretations and conscious knowledge. All client memory retrieval is based upon observations of the soul mind processing information through a human mind. Regardless of the visual structures of spiritual settings, I always look to the functional aspects of what a subject is doing in them.

Once the new souls leave their protective cocoons they enter into community life. As they begin their incarnations, descriptions of the places and structures they see between lives take on the same flavor as that of older souls who go to Earth. Sometimes these descriptions are not so earthly. I hear reports of cathedral-like structures of glass, great halls of crystals, geometric buildings with many angles and smooth, domed enclosures without lines. Then, too, my subjects might say their surroundings have no structures, only fields of flowers and countryside scenes with forests and lakes. People in hypnosis display a sense of awe as they report floating toward their destinations in the spirit world. Many are so overcome they cannot adequately describe what they see.

I hear many accounts about the sheer movement of souls in transi- tion going from place to place. The following account is from a level IV subject who uses geometric shapes to describe the properties of the various settings he sees:

I do a lot of traveling around in the spirit world. The geometric shapes I see represent certain functions to me. Each structure has its own energy system. The pyramids are for solitude, meditation and healing. The rectangular shapes are for past life reviews and study. The spheroids are used to examine future lives and the cylinder portals are for traveling to other worlds to gain perspective. Sometimes I pass great hubs of soul activity—like an airport—with people being paged telepathically. The hubs are huge prismatic wheels with directional spoke-lines which curve away from you. It's busy but well-organized. (laughs) You can't rush in too fast or you might overshoot the particular line you want out of these great hubs. These centers are ports of call with host souls directing traffic and looking out for inquiries from travelers. Everything moves with a soft, comfortable floating motion and there are beautiful harmonic tones upon which souls can vibrationaily lock onto, keeping them on track to their destinations.

There is a statement from the Upanishads of India about our senses being carried in memory after death. I believe this old philosophical text is correct in the assumption that the senses, emotions and human ego  are a path to infinite experience, which provides a physical con- sciousness to the immortal Self. These sentiments were expressed by a client of mine in a cogent way:

We can create anything we want in the spirit world to remind us of places and things we enjoyed on Earth. Our physical simulations are almost perfect—to many they are perfect. But without a body… well ... to me they have the flavor of imitations. I love oranges. I can create an orange here and even come close to reproducing its pithy, sweet taste. Still, it is not quite the same as biting into an orange on Earth. This is one reason why I relish my physical reincarnations.

Despite this client’s comments, I have had subjects tell me they see the spirit world as true reality and Harth as an illusion created to teach us. There may be no contradiction here. People from Earth have keen taste buds. Oranges and human beings are therefore in harmony with each other in one existence. There are degrees of reality. Simply because our universe is a training ground does not make it unreal, only impermanent. What may be a temporary illusion in the span ot human surroundings does not take away from the fact that an orange on Earth eaten by an earthling does taste better than one created in the spirit world and eaten by a soul. By the same token, the reality of an interdimensional spirit world with its lack of absolutes allows the soul a magnitude of experience far beyond physical conceptions.

When my subjects describe seeing their spiritual centers, it is a wondrous image for them. All cultural stereotypes mixed with aspects of metaphoric symbolism recalled by the human mind are in play, to be sure, but these dramatic reenactments in a person’s spiritual life are no less real. When the soul returns to Earth with the shroud of forgetful- ness, it must adjust to a new brain without conscious memory. The new baby has no past experiences yet. The reverse is true right after death. For the spiritual hypnotherapist there are two forces operating in regression. On the one hand, we have the soul mind at work with its great storehouse of past life and spiritual life memories. On the other side, we also have the conscious memories of a current body engaged in descriptive imagery while the subject is in hypnosis. The conscious mind is not unconscious during hypnosis. If it were, the subject would be unable to speak to the facilitator coherently.

Memory

Before continuing with my analysis of what subjects in hypnosis see in the spirit world, I want to provide more information about divisions of memory recall and DNA. There are people who have the belief that all memories are carried by DNA. In this way they derive comfort from what they consider to be a scientific position against reincarnation. Certainly, everyone has a perfect right not to believe in reincarnation for a number of personal reasons, religious and otherwise. But to say that all past life memory is actually genetic in origin, carried in our DNA cells from remote ancestors, is an argument that, for me, fails in several ways.

Unconscious memories of past life trauma are capable of carrying a severely damaged physical imprint of that long-dead body into our new body, but this is not the result of DNA. These molecular codes are brand new and came with our current material body. Attitudes and beliefs from the soul mind do affect the biological mind. There are researchers who believe our eternal intelligence, involving energy imprints and memory patterns from past lives, may influence DNA.

Indeed, there are countless other elements involving thought sequencing which we bring into our host body from hundreds of former lives. This also includes our experiences in the spirit world where we have no body.

A sound argument against past life DNA memory is the volume of research we have accumulated about past lives. The former bodies we had in prior lives are almost never genetically related to our current family. I could have been a member of the Smith family, along with others in my soul group, in one life and we might all choose to be part of the Jones family in the next life. However, we would not come back to the Smith family, as I will explain more fully in chapter 7. The average subject has led past lives as Caucasians, Orientals and Africans with no heredity connections. Moreover, how can our memories of being on other worlds in other species come from human DNA cells created only on Earth? The answer is simple. So-called genetic memory is actually soul memory emanating from the unconscious mind.

I divide memory into three categories:

  1. Conscious Memory. This state of thought would apply to all memories retained by the brain in our biological body. It is manifested by a conscious ego Self that is perceptive and adaptive to our physical planet. Conscious memory is influenced by sensory experiences and all our biological, primitive instinctual drives as well as emotional experiences. It can be faulty because there arc defensive mechanisms related to what it receives and evaluates through impressions from the five senses.
  2. Immortal Memory. Memories in this category appear to come through the subconscious mind. Subconscious thought is greatly influenced by body functions not subject to conscious control, such as heart rate and glandular functions. However, it can also be the selective storeroom of conscious memory. Immortal memory carries the memories of our origins in this life and other physical lives. It is a repository of much of our psyche because the subconscious mind forms the bridge between the conscious and superconscious mind.
  3. Divine Memory. These are the memories that emanate from our superconscious mind which houses the soul. If conscience, intuition and imagination are expressed through the subconscious mind, they are drawn from this higher source. Our eternal soul mind has evolved from superior conceptual thought energy beyond ourselves. Inspiration may seem to spring from immortal memory, but there is a higher intelligence outside our body-mind which forms a part of divine memory. The source ot these divine thoughts is illusive. Sometimes we conceive of it as personal memory, when actually divine memory represents  communication from beings in our immortal existence.

Community Centers

My next case illustrates the visual associations subjects in a superconscious state bring to descriptive memories of arriving back home. It involves an identification with classical Greece, which is not unusual. I have listened to visualizations so futuristic and surreal as to allow for few comparisons with Earth. People do say to me that words cannot adequately describe the images of what they see at this junction. Once I take a client past the gateway to spaces where they begin to make con- tact with other spirits they become exhilarated.

In case 27 a subject, whose spiritual name is Ariani, will associate a Greek temple with her experience after death from her most immediate past life. Perhaps this is not surprising since so many of my subjects   had incarnations during the time when ancient Greece brought the light of a high civilization into a dark world. In art, philosophy and government they left a legacy and a challenge for those who followed. This society sought to unite the rational with the spiritual mind, which is remembered by those clients who were part of this Golden Age. Ariani had her final life in ancient Greece during the second century B.C., just before Rome began its occupation.

Case 27

Dr. N: When you approach your spiritual center, Ariani, what do you see there?

S: A beautiful Greek temple with bright white marble columns.

Dr. N: Are you creating this image of a temple yourself or is someone else placing it in your mind for you?

S: It’s really there in front of me! lust as I remember it… but… someone else could be helping me … my guide … I’m not sure. Dr. N: Is this temple familiar to you?

S: (smiling) I know it so well. It represents the culmination of a series of meaningful lives that I was not to know again for a long time on Earth.

Dr. N: Why is that? What is it about this temple that means so much to you?

S: It is a temple to Athena, goddess of wisdom. I was a priestess— with three others. Our job was to tend the flame of knowledge. The flame was on a flat, smooth rock in the center of the temple with writing etched around it.

Dr. N: What does the w r i t i n g mean?

S: (pause) Ah … essentially … to seek truth above all things. And the way to seek truth is to look tor harmony and beauty in that which surrounds us in life.

Dr. N: (deliberately obtuse) Well, is that all you did—just making sure the flame didn’t go out?

S: (with some exasperation) No, this was a place of learning where a woman could participate. The flame symbolized a sacred flame in our hearts for knowing truth. We held the belief in the holiness of a single god with lesser deities representing parts of that central power.

Dr. N: Are you telling me that you and the other women had monotheistic beliefs?

S: (smiling) Yes, and our sect went beyond the temple. We were seen by the authorities as being pure in heart and not as an intellectual caste. Most of them did not realize what we were about. They saw Athena in one light while we saw her in another. To us, the flame meant that reason and feeling were not opposed to one another. To us, the temple placed the mind above superstition. We also believed in equality between the sexes.

Dr. N: This kind of radical thinking could get you into a lot of trouble with a patriarchal establishment, I suppose?

S: It did, eventually. Their tolerance eroded and we had deceit and intrigue within our own ranks and then betrayal. Our motives were mistrusted. We were disbanded by a sexist state which was losing power and felt our sect was contributing to corruption within the state.

Dr. N: And after this series of lives in Greece, you wanted your temple with you in the spirit world?

S: That’s one way of putting it. To my friends and me, this life and a few earlier ones in Greece represented the high point of reason, wisdom and spirituality. I had to wait a long time before openly being able to express these feelings again in a female body.

Once I took Ariani into her temple she saw a huge rectangular gallery without a ceiling, filled with approximately 1,000 souls. These souls were a large secondary group whom she saw bunched into smaller clusters, called primary groups, made up of souls numbering from three to twenty-five. Her own cluster was midway back on the right side (see figure 1, circle A). As she made her way back, Ariani was accompanied by her guide. She then described how this entrance appears to a returning soul. This scene is one I hear repeated over and over again involving large numbers of soul groups, regardless of the structural setting. In the superconscious minds of people, these gatherings could just as well be in an amphitheater, palace courtyard, or school auditorium  as in a temple.

Dr. N: Ariani, give me a sense of what it feels like to make your way through this crowd of souls to your cluster.

S: (with excitement) It’s uplifting and awesome at the same time. With my guide leading, we start to weave our way left and right between the clusters, some of whom are seated in a circle and others are standing, talking. In the early stages most people pay no attention to me because we are strangers. Souls who are nearby my path might nod their heads in polite acknowledgment of my arrival. Then, about midway through, people who see me become more animated. A man who was my lover two lives ago stands up and gives me a kiss and asks how I am doing. More people in other clusters begin now to smile and wave at me. Some whom I have known in lives only slightly give me a thumbs-up greeting. Then—as I get to a group next to my own cluster—I see my parents. They stop what they are doing and drift over the short space between our two clusters to embrace me and whisper encouragement. Finally, I reach my own group and everyone is welcoming me back.

This diagram represents the first view by many people of large numbers of primary soul cluster groups which make up one big secondary group of some 1,000 souls. Primary group A is the subject's own cluster of souls.

This diagram represents the first view by many people of large numbers of primary soul cluster groups which make up one big secondary group of some 1,000 souls. Primary group A is the subject’s own cluster of souls.

About half of all my clients see large groups of souls upon their return. The other half report that after their arrival they see just their own cluster. The visual images of either large or small gatherings of souls can vary with the same soul after different lives. The primary group of souls, with whom we are most closely bonded, may also  appear to these same subjects as people milling about in outdoor scenes of recreation, such as a countryside field of flowers.

Regardless of an exterior or interior setting, figures 2 and 3 illustrate what a majority of subjects see when they first make contact with their groups. In these instances, no other groups are observed in the area. In figure 2, the welcoming souls are rather bunched together, each soul coming forward in turn to the front position. Figure 3 shows the customary way a group forms a semicircle around the newly arrived soul. Most of my subjects experience this circular form of greeting. A descriptive representation of this practice will be found in chapter 7 with case 47.

Those subjects who report going directly into a classroom setting upon returning from a past life have a clear picture in their minds of hallways that connect a series of spaces for study. Unerringly, they  seem to know in which space they belong. In these cases, cluster groups commonly stop their activities to welcome any new arrival. Figure 4 represents the usual design layout of a learning center where numerous groups of souls work. The consistency of reporting about the settings shown in figure 4 is astonishing. Only a very small percentage of my subjects say that their initial meeting with groups of souls involve just floating in air with nothing around. The absence of landscape scenes or physical structures does not last long, even in the minds of these people.

Figure 2 indicates the phalanx-diamond position of a primary cluster group greeting returning soul A with the group guide B behind. Here many souls are concealed behind one another before their turn to greet the incoming member.
Figure 2 indicates the phalanx-diamond position of a primary cluster group greeting returning soul A with the group guide B behind. Here many souls are concealed behind one another before their turn to greet the incoming member.
Figure 3 indicates the more common semicircle positioning of a soul group waiting to greet returning soul A with (or without) teacher- guide in position B. On the hands of this clock diagram, souls come forward, each in their own turn, from positions within a 180-degree arc. Typically, greeting souls do not come from behind A in the 6 o'clock position.
Figure 3 indicates the more common semicircle positioning of a soul group waiting to greet returning soul A with (or without) teacher- guide in position B. On the hands of this clock diagram, souls come forward, each in their own turn, from positions within a 180-degree arc. Typically, greeting souls do not come from behind A in the 6 o’clock position.

Classrooms

Any gathering of souls outside a classroom setting, including the large assembly halls, indicates it is a time of general socializing and recreation. This doesn’t mean serious discussions are not taking place in these areas, only that soul activities are not directed as in study areas. Here is a typical description from a subject who is moving into a class- room setting (see figure 4):

My guide takes me into a star-shaped structure and I know this is my place of learning. There is a round domed central chamber which is empty now. I see corridors going off in opposite directions and we move down one of these halls where the classrooms are located. They are offset in such a way that no two classrooms face each other. This is so we will not bother another room of souls. My room is the third cubicle on the left. I never see more than six rooms to a hallway. Each room has an average of eight to fifteen souls working at desks. I know this sounds ridiculous, but that’s what I see. As I pass down the hall with my guide, I notice in some rooms souls are studying quietly by themselves while others are working in groups of two to five. A different  room has the students watching an instructor lecturing at a blackboard. When I enter my room everyone stops what they were doing and gives me a big smile. Some wave and a few cheer as if they were expecting me. The ones nearest the doorway escort me to a seat and I get ready to participate in the lesson. The whole time 1 have been gone seems like a brief trip down to the corner grocery store to buy a carton  of milk.

Most of my subjects visualize the structures of their spiritual class- rooms as being single story, although there are exceptions, such as the next case, with an intermediate level soul called Rudalph.

Spiritual Learning Center This classroom design is visualized by many souls as having a central rotunda A, with primary cluster group rooms B down
adjacent corridors. Usually there are no more than six rooms per
hallway. These round rooms are offset from each other. The number of reported corridors varies.
Spiritual Learning Center This classroom design is visualized by many souls as having a central rotunda A, with primary cluster group rooms B down
adjacent corridors. Usually there are no more than six rooms per
hallway. These round rooms are offset from each other. The number of reported corridors varies.

Case 28

Dr. N: After your last station stop, Rudalph, describe to me what you see as you approach your destination—the place where you belong in the spirit world.

S: As I come near my pod, there is a park-like atmosphere where the countryside is so quiet and peaceful. I see clusters of bubbles that are smooth and transparent with souls inside.

Dr. N: And do you recognize your own pod?

S: Oh … yes … although my… references … take some getting used to again. I’m doing fine. I could have done this myself but my guide Tahama (who appears as an American Indian) came to escort me on this trip because she knew I was tired after a long, hard life, (subject died at age eighty-three in 1937) She is so considerate.

Dr. N: All right, describe your pod for me.

S: I see my pod as a large bubble—which is a school building— divided into four floors. Inside the bubbles there are many bright, colorful points of soul energy.

Dr. N: And all this is transparent from the outside to you? S: Semitransparent… milky.

Dr. N: Okay, now go inside and describe how you see these four floors and what they mean to you.

S: The four floors are transparent and look like glass. Each level is connected by a stairway with a compartment for study at one end. On each floor there are groups undergoing instruction. I enter on the first floor where a beginning level group of eighteen souls is listening to a visiting lecturer called Bion. I know her—she is very aware of the pitfalls of young people. She is strong but tender.

Dr. N: Do you know all the teachers in this school?

S: Oh, sure. I’m one of them—just starting, of course. Please don’t think I’m bragging, I’m just a student teacher, but I’m very proud.

Dr. N: As well you should be, Rudalph. Tell me, does each floor have one primary cluster group?

S: (hesitates) Well, the first two do—there are twelve working on the second level. The upper floors have souls from other groups working on their individual specialties.

Dr. N: Rudalph, is this the same thing as an independent studies program?

S: That would be accurate.

Dr. N: All right, what happens next to you?

S: Tahama tells me where I need to be—reminding me that I belong on the third level but to take as much time as I want. Then she leaves me.

Dr. N: Why does she do that?

S: Oh, you know … our guides maintain a teacher-student relationship with us in this center. They try not to be real familiar with us … in a social way, because of their … professional status. I don’t mean for this to sound as though they act like some pompous professors on

Earth. This is different. The master teachers, such as my other guide, Relon, keep a little distance from the students when not engaged in teaching to give them space and allow for individual expression among themselves. They feel it is important for the student’s growth not to be hovering around them all the time.

Dr. N: That’s most interesting. Please continue, Rudalph.

S: Well, Tahama says she will see me later. To be honest, I’m not completely tuned into this place yet. It’s just the way I am when I come back. It always takes me awhile to acclimatize, so I’m going to relax and enjoy the children on the ground floor.

Dr. N: Children? You call these first level souls children?

S: (laughing) Well, now I’m sounding a bit pompous myself. It’s just how we describe the beginners, who can be rather childlike in their development. This group is really just starting. They acknowledge me, because I have been active with them. I know the ones who are repeating the same mistakes because of a lack of self- discipline. They are not making much  effort  to move up in development. I don’t stay too long because I don’t want them to be distracted from Bion’s lesson.

Dr. N: What is the teacher’s attitude about the slow ones?

S: Frankly, the teachers of the first level do get tired of certain students who almost refuse to progress, so they leave them alone a lot

Dr. N: Are you saying the teachers stop pushing those students who are difficult?

S: You have to understand that teachers have infinite patience because time is meaningless. They are content to wait until the student is disgusted with treading water and offers to work harder.

Dr. N: I see. Please continue with your tour of this school.

S: I am looking up through the glass ceiling to the second level. That’s where I’m headed next. These souls have a fleecy, gauze appearance from here. I don’t really need a stairway but it represents a means of passage in my mind. As I climb to the second floor 1 see the adolescents. They are like super-active teenagers… full of restless energy… sponges absorbing a lot of information fast and trying to act on that knowledge. They are learning to get a grip on themselves but many don’t know yet how to give back to others in effective ways.

Dr. N: As a teacher, would you say that these souls are self- absorbed?

S: (laughs) That’s normal, along with a constant need for outer stimulation, (more seriously) I am not yet qualified to teach on this level. Enit is in charge here—a disciplinarian with a big heart. Right now they are on a break. I find them fun to be around because they all pump me for information about the manner in which I have learned to accomplish things on Earth. Soon it’s time for me to go to the third level.

Dr. N: What would happen if one of these students followed you up into the third level?

S: (smiles) Once in a while a curious one will wander into more advanced areas. It’s similar to a third grader walking down the hall into a sixth-grade class. The kid would be lost. They might be teased a little on Earth but someone would quietly take them back to their own classroom. It’s the same here.

Dr. N: Well, I guess you are ready to take me up to the third level. May I have your impressions of this place?

S: (brightly) This is my area and we are like young adults. Many of us are training to be teachers. The mental challenges here are more constant. Now we are working on resourcefulness, not just reacting to situations. We are learning to protect and inform, to keep our eyes open, and to see the spirit of others through the light in their eyes on our earthly rotations.

Dr. N: Do you recognize people you know?

S: Oh, I see Elan, (husband in both past and current life, a primary soulmate) He appears to me as we were in our last life. Elan sparks up my tired energy with his love—like lighting a fire in a cold stove. I was a widow for a long time, (tearfully) We are -sucked up into a pool of happiness together for a few moments.

Dr. N: (after a pause) Anyone else?

S: Everybody! There is Esent (mother in current life) and Blay (a best girlfriend in her current life), (subject is suddenly distracted) I want to go up briefly to the fourth level to see my daughter Anna, (also in current life)

Dr. N: Tell me what you can about the fourth level.

S: There are only three souls there and from below they appear as shapeless shadows of goldish and silver blue. There is such warmth and love with these souls growing into full adulthood. They are becoming very wise in helping souls really make use of their human bodies. I sense they feel more touched by a divine essence. They are in tune with their existence. When they come back from a physical life they don’t need adjusting as I do.

Dr. N: Where are the older adults, such as the senior guides, the Elders and others like them?

S: They are not in this bubble, but we see them elsewhere.

The Library of Life Books

Many of my clients speak about being in research library settings soon after rejoining their soul groups. I have come to accept the idea that it is a standard learning imperative that we begin to study our past lives in depth right away. After 1 wrote about the place where our life records are stored in my first book, people asked if 1 was able to supply them with more details.

The people who describe earthly structures in their spiritual home also include the library, and descriptions of this setting are quite consis- tent. On Earth, a library represents a systematic collection of books arranged by subjects and names which provide information. The titles of spiritual Life Books have my client’s names on them. This may seem odd, but if I were working with an intelligent aquatic being from Planet X who had never been to Earth and whose place of study was an ocean tide pool, I’m sure that is what this entity would report seeing in the spirit world.

I have reported on spiritual classrooms and smaller adjacent cubi- cles where primary groups interact, including even smaller isolated rooms where souls can be completely alone for quiet study. There is nothing small about the library. Everyone tells me the location of the Life Books is seen as a huge study hall, in a rectangular structure, with books lined along the walls and many souls studying at desks who do not seem to know each other. When my subjects describe a spiritual library they see the floor plan design in figure 5, an image that is very prevalent in their minds.

Once inside this space, librarian-guides are the Archivist Souls in charge of the books. They are quiet, almost monastic beings who assist both guides and students from many primary clusters in locating information. These spiritual libraries serve souls in different ways depending upon their level of attainment. Souls may be assisted either by their own guides, the Archivists, or both. Some of my clients go to the library alone upon returning to the spirit world, while others have guides who routinely accompany them into this space. A guide might get his student started and then leave the room. Many elements come into play here, including the complexity of the research and the timeline to be reviewed by the student soul. When students are in these study halls they sometimes work in pairs but mostly they do their research alone after being assisted by the Archivists in finding the proper Life Books.

Life Books Library. A: Bookshelves lining the walls of a large rectangular
structure.
B: Pedestals for archivists and guides assisting souls in
locating the proper Life Books.
C: Long study tables.
D: Walls of books and study tables stretching far into the
distance, out of the soul's line of sight.
Life Books Library.
A: Bookshelves lining the walls of a large rectangular
structure. B: Pedestals for archivists and guides assisting souls in
locating the proper Life Books. C: Long study tables.
D: Walls of books and study tables stretching far into the
distance, out of the soul’s line of sight.

Eastern philosophy holds that every thought, word and deed from every lifetime in our past, along with every event in which we participated, is recorded in the Akashic Record. Possibilities of future events can also be seen with the help of scribes. The word “Akasha” essentially means the essence of all universal memory that is recording every  energy vibration of existence, rather like an audio/visual magnetic tape.  I have discussed the connections of divine, immortal and conscious memory. Our human conceptualization of spiritual libraries, timeless places where we study missed opportunities and our accountability for past actions, is an example of those memory connections. People of the East have conceived that the substance of all events past, present and future is preserved by containment within energy particles and then recovered in a sacred spiritual setting through vibrational alignments. I feel the whole concept of personal spiritual records for each of us did  not originate in India or anywhere else on Earth. It began with our spir- itual minds already having knowledge of these records between lives.

I find it unsettling that certain aspects of recovered memory about spiritual libraries can be subverted by human belief systems which are intended to frighten people. Within Eastern cultures there are those   who have been led to believe the Life Books are analogous to spiritual diaries that can be used as evidence against the soul. Visions of spiritual libraries are interpreted as scenes where cases are prepared as depositions against errant souls based upon their karmic records. A further step in this misguided belief system brings us to the dreaded tribunal for sentencing after testimony about the soul’s shortcomings in the last life. Certain psychics claim they have privileged access to events of the  future through Akashic Records and that by working exclusively with them they can divert their followers from catastrophe.

Human extravagance has no bounds when it comes to instilling fear. A prime example is the fear of terrible punishment for those who commit suicide. It is true that being kept out of heaven has been a deterrent to suicide, but it is the wrong approach. I have noticed in recent years that even the Catholic church is not quite so adamant about suicide being a mortal sin subject to the extremes of spiritual punishment. There is now a Vatican-approved catechism which states that suicide is “against natural law” but adds, “by ways known to God alone, there is opportunity for salutary repentance.” Salutary means conducive to some good purpose.

My next case represents a subject who killed herself in her last life. She describes her examination of this act in a library setting. Repentance in the spirit world often begins here. Since I will be reviewing her suicide, this is a suitable point to briefly digress from the library and address some of the questions I have been asked about suicide and sub- sequent retribution in the spirit world.

When I work with clients who have committed suicide in former lives, the first thing most exclaim right after the moment of death is, “Oh, my God, how could I have been so stupid!” These are physically healthy people, not those who are suffering from a debilitating physical illness. Suicide by a person, young or old, whose physical state has reduced the quality of their life to almost nothing is treated differently in the spirit world than those who had healthy bodies. While all suicide cases are treated with kindness and understanding, people who killed themselves with a healthy body do have a reckoning.

In my experience, souls feel no sense of failure or guilt when they have been involved with a mercy death. I shall give a realistic example of this sort of death with a brother and sister under the free will section in chapter 9. When there is unendurable physical suffering, we have the right to be released from the pain and indignity of being treated like helpless children connected to life-support systems. In the spirit world, I find that no stigma is attached to a soul leaving a terribly broken body who is released by its own hand or from that of a compassionate caregiver.

I have worked with quite a number of people who have attempted suicide in the years before they saw me and I feel my working with them has provided a helpful perspective. Some were still in emotional turmoil when 1 met them, while others had pulled away from thoughts of self-destruction. One thing I have learned is that people who tell me they don’t belong on Earth need to be taken seriously. They may even be potential suicide cases. In my practice, these clients fall into one of three spiritual classifications:

  1. Young, highly sensitive souls who began their incarnations on Earth but have spent little time here. Certain souls in this category have had great difficulty adjusting to the human body. They feel their very existence to be threatened because it is so cruel.
  2. Both young and older souls who incarnated on another planet before coming to Earth. If these souls lived on worlds less harsh than Earth, they may be overcome by the primitive emotions and high density of the human body. These are the hybrid souls I discussed in the last chapter. Essentially, they feel they are in an alien body.
  3. Souls below level III, who have been incarnating on Earth since their creation but are not merging well with their current body. These souls accepted a life contract with a host body whose physical ego mind is radically different from their immortal soul. They cannot seem to find themselves in this particular lifetime.

What happens to souls involved with suicide in healthy bodies? These souls tell me they feel somewhat diminished in the eyes of their guides and group peers because they broke their covenant in a former life. There is a loss of pride from a wasted opportunity. Life is a gift and a great deal of thought has gone into allocating certain bodies for our use. We are the custodians of this body and that carries a sacred trust. My clients call it a contract. Particularly when a young, healthy person commits suicide, our teachers consider this an act of gross immaturity and the abrogation of responsibility. Our spiritual masters have placed their trust in our courage to finish life with functional bodies in a nor- mal fashion, no matter how difficult. They have infinite patience with us, but with repeated suicide offenders their forgiveness takes on another tone.

I worked with a young client who had tried to commit suicide a year before I saw him. During our hypnosis session we found evidence of a pattern of self-destruction in former lives. Facing his master teachers at a council meeting following his last life, this client was told by an Elder:

Once again you are here early and we are disappointed. Have you not learned the same test grows more difficult with each new life you terminate? Your behavior is selfish for many reasons, not the least of which is the sorrow you caused to those left behind who loved you. How much  longer will you continue to just throw away the perfectly good bodies we give you? Tell us when you are ready to stop engaging in self-pity and underestimating your capabilities.

I don’t think 1 have ever heard of a council member come down any harder on one of my subjects over the issue of suicide. Months later, this client wrote me to say that whenever thoughts of committing suicide entered his head he pushed them aside because of a desire to avoid having to face this Elder again after killing himself. A little posthypnotic suggestion on my part made recovering this scene in his conscious mind especially easy and serves as a deterrent.

In suicide cases involving healthy bodies, one of two things generally happens to these souls. If they are not a repeat offender, the soul is frequently sent back to a new life rather quickly, at their own request, to make up for lost time. This could be within five years of their death on Earth. The average soul is convinced it is important to get right back on the diving board after having taken a belly flop in a prior life. After all, we have natural survival instincts as human beings and most spirits tenaciously fight to stay alive.

For those who display a pattern of bailing out when things get rough there are places of repentance for a good purpose. These places do not contain a pantheon of horrors in some dark, lower spirit region reserved for sinners. Rather than being punished in some sort of bleak purgatory, these souls may volunteer to go to a beautiful planetary world with water, trees and mountains but no other life. They have no contact with other souls in these places of seclusion except for sporadic visits by a guide to assist them in their reflections and self-evaluation.

Places of isolation come in many varieties and I must admit they seem terribly boring. Maybe that’s the whole idea. While you are sitting out the next few games on the bench, your teammates continue with challenges in their new lives. Apparently this medicine seems to work because these souls come back to their groups feeling refreshed but knowing they have missed out on a lot of action and opportunities for personal development with their friends. Nonetheless, there are souls who will never adjust to Earth. I hear some are reassigned to other worlds for their future incarnations.

My next two cases represent the exposure of souls to spiritual  libraries and the impact seeing their records has on them. In both cases there is evidence of the use of altered reality, with some differences. The woman in case 29, a suicide case, will be shown a series of alternate choices she could have made in her past life, presented in four coexist- ing time sequences. The first timeline was the actual life itself. She will be more of an observer than a participant in these scenes. With case 30, however, we will see the employment of a single scene with an altered reality where the soul will dramatically enter a scene from his past life to actually experience a different outcome. Both cases are designed to show the many paths in life involving choices.

Our guides decide on the most effective means for self-discovery in the library. The design and scope of these investigations then comes under the jurisdiction of the Archivists.

Case 29

Amy had recently returned to the spirit world from a small farming village in England where she killed herself in I860, at age sixteen. This soul would wait another hundred years before coming back due to her self- doubts about handling adversity. Amy drowned herself in a local pond because she was two months pregnant and unmarried. Her lover, Thomas, had been killed the week before in a fall off a thatched roof he was repairing. I learned the two were deeply in love and intended to marry. Amy told me during her past life review that she thought when Thomas was killed her life was over. Amy said she did not want to bring disgrace upon her family from the gossip of local villagers. Tearfully, this client said, “I knew they would call me a whore, and if I ran off to London that is exactly what a poor girl with child would become.”

In suicide cases, the soul’s guide might offer seclusion, aggressive energy regeneration, a quick return, or some combination of these things. When Amy crossed over after killing herself, her guide, Likiko, and the soul of Thomas were there to comfort her for a while. Soon she was alone with Likiko in a beautiful garden setting. Amy sensed the dis- appointment in Likiko’s manner and she expected to be scolded for her lack of courage. Angrily, she asked her guide why the life didn’t go as planned in the beginning. She had not seen the possibility of suicide before her incarnation. Amy thought she was supposed to marry Thomas, have children and live happily in her village to old age. Some- one, she felt, had pulled the rug out from under her. Likiko explained that Thomas’ death was one of the alternatives in this life cycle and that she had the freedom to make better choices than killing herself.

Amy learned that for Thomas, his choice to go up on a high, steep and dangerously slippery roof was a probable one—more probable because his soul mind had already considered this “accident” as a test for her. Later, I was to learn Thomas came very close to not accepting the roof job because of “internal forces pulling him the other way.” Apparently, everyone in this soul group saw that Amy’s capacity for survival was greater than she gave herself credit for, although she had shown  tenuous behavior in her earlier lives.

Once on the other side, Amy thought the whole exercise was cruel and unnecessary. Likiko reminded Amy that she had a history of self- flagellation and that if she was ever going to help others with their sur- vival, she must get past this failing in herself. When Amy responded  that she had little choice but to kill herself, given the circumstances of Victorian England, she found herself in the following library scene.

Dr. N: Where are you now?

S: (somewhat disoriented) I’m in a place of study … it looks Gothic… stone walls … long marble tables …

Dr. N: Why do you think you are in this sort of building?

S: (pause) In one of my lives I lived as a monk in Europe (in the twelfth century). I loved the old church cloister as a place for quiet study. But I know where I am now. It is the library of great books … the records.

Dr. N: Many people call them Life Books. Is this the same thing?

S: Yes, we all use them … (pause, subject is distracted) There is a worrisome-looking old man in a white robe coming toward me … fluttering around me.

Dr. N: What’s he doing, Amy?

S: Well, he’s carrying a set of scrolls, rolls of charts. He is muttering and shaking his head at me.

Dr. N: Do you have any idea why?

S: He is the librarian. He says to me, “You are here early.” Dr. N: What do you think he means?

S: (pause) That… I did not have compelling reasons for arriving back here early.

Dr. N: Compelling reasons… ?

S: (breaking in) Oh … being in terrible pain—not able to function in life.

Dr. N: I see. Tell me what this librarian does next.

S: There is a huge open space where I see many souls at long desks with books everywhere but I’m not going to that room now. The old man takes me to one of the small private rooms off to the side where we can talk without disturbing the others.

Dr. N: How do you feel about this?

S: (shakes head in resignation) I guess I need special treatment right now. The room is very plain with a single table and chair. The old man brings in a large book and it is set up in front of me like a TV viewing screen.

Dr. N: What are you supposed to do?

S: (abruptly) Pay attention to him! He sets his scroll in front of me first and opens it. Then he points to a series of lines representing mv life.

Dr. N: Please go slowly here and explain what these lines mean to you, Amy.

S: They are life lines—my lines. The thick, widely spaced lines represent the prominent experiences in our life and the age they will most likely occur. The thinner ones bisect the main lines and represent a variety of other… circumstances.

Dr. N: I have heard these less prominent lines are possibilities of action as opposed to the probabilities. Is that what you are saying?

S: (pause) That’s right.

Dr. N: What else can you tell me about the thick versus thin lines?

S: Well, the thick line is like the trunk of a tree and the smaller ones are the branches. I know the thick one was my main path. The old man is pointing at that line and scolding me a bit about taking a dead-end branch.

Dr. N: You know, Amy, despite this Archivist fussing about these lines, they do represent a series of your choices. From a karmic standpoint all of us have taken a wrong fork in the road from time to time.

S: (heatedly) Yes, but this is serious. I did not just make a small mis- take in his eyes. 1 know he cares about what I do. (there is a pause and then loudly) I WANT TO HIT HIM OVER THE HEAD WITH HIS DAMN SCROLL. I TELL HIM, “YOU GO TRY MY LIFE FOR A WHILE!”

Note: At this point Amy tells me that the old man’s face softens and he leaves the room for a few minutes. She thinks he is giving her time to collect herself but then he brings back another book. This book is opened to a page where Amy can see the Archivist as a young man being torn apart by lions in an ancient Roman arena for his religious convictions. He then puts this book aside and opens Amy’s book. I ask her what she sees next.

S: It comes alive in three-dimensional color. He shows me the first page with a universe of millions of galaxies. Then the Milky Way … and our solar system … so I will remember where I came from—as if I could forget. Then, more pages are turned.

Dr. N: I like this perspective. Amy. Then, what do you see?

S: Ahh … crystal prisms … dark and light depending upon what thoughts are sent. Now, I remember I have done this before. More lines … and pictures… which I can move forward and backward in time with my mind. But the old man is helping me anyway.

Note: I have been told these lines form vibrational sequences representing timeline alignments.

Dr. N: How would you interpret the meaning of the lines?

S: They form the patterns for the life pictures in the order you wish to look at—that you need to look at.

Dr. N: I don’t want to get ahead of you, Amy. Just tell me what the old man does with you now.

S: Okay. He flips to a page and I see myself onscreen in the village I just left. It isn’t really a picture—it’s so real—it’s alive. I’m there.

Dr. N: Are you actually in the scene or are you simply observing the scene?

S: We can do both, but right now I am supposed to just watch the scenes.

Dr. N: That’s fine, Amy. Let’s go through the scene as the old man is presenting it to you. Explain what is going on.

S: Oh … we are going to look at… other choices. After seeing what I actually did at the pond where I took my life—the next scene has me back at the pond on the bank, (pause) This time I don’t wade in and drown myself. I walk back to the village, (laughs for the first time) I’m still pregnant.

Dr. N: (laughing with her) Okay, turn the page. Now what?

S: I’m with my mother, Iris. I tell her I am carrying Thomas’ baby. She is not as shocked as I thought she would be. She is angry, though. I get a lecture. Then … she is crying with me and holding me. (subject now breaks down while tearfully continuing to talk) I tell her I am a good girl, but I was in love.

Dr. N: Does Iris tell your father?

S: That is one alternative on the screen. Dr. N: Follow that alternative path for me.

S: (pause) We all move to another village and everyone there is told I am a widow. Years later, I will marry an older man. These are very hard times. My father lost a lot when we moved and we were even poorer than before. But we stay together as a family and life eventually becomes good, (crying again) My little girl was beautiful.

Dr. N: Is that the only alternative course of action you study right now?

S: (with resignation) Oh, no. Now, I look at another choice. I come back from the pond and admit I am pregnant. My parents scream at me and then fight with each other about who is to blame. I am told they do not want to give up our small farm they worked so hard for and leave the village because I am disgraced. They give me a little money to get to London so I can try to find work as a serving girl.

Dr. N: And how does this work out?

S: (bitterly) Just what I expected. London would not have been good. I wind up in the streets sleeping with other men. (shudders) I die kind of young and the baby is a foundling who eventually dies too. Horrible …

Dr. N: Well, at least you tried to survive in that alternative life. Are any other choices shown to you?

S: I’m growing tired. The old man shows me one last choice. There are others, I think, but he will stop here because I ask him to. In this scene my parents still believe I should go away from them but we wait until a traveling peddler comes to our village. He agrees to take me in his cart after my father pays him something. We do not go to London but rather to other villages in the district. I finally find work with a family. I tell them my husband was killed. The peddler gave me a brass ring to wear and backs up my story. I’m not sure they believe me. It doesn’t matter. I settle in the town. I never marry but my child grows up healthy.

Dr. N: After you are finished turning these pages with the old man and have contemplated some of the alternatives to suicide, what are your conclusions?

S: (sadly) It was a waste to kill myself. I know it now. I think I knew it all along. Right after I died I said to myself, “God, that was a stupid thing to do, now Tin going to have to do it all over again!” When I went before my council they asked if I would like to be retested soon. I said, “Let me think about it awhile.”

After this session my client discussed some of the choices she has had to make in her current life involving courage. As a teenager she became pregnant and dealt with this difficulty through the help of a school counselor and finally her mother, who was Iris in her life as Amy. They encouraged her to stand up for herself regardless of the opinions of others. In our session together my subject learned her soul has a tendency to prejudge serious events in her life in a negative manner. In many past lives there was always a nagging thought that whatever decision she made in a crisis would be the wrong one.

Although Amy was reluctant to return to Earth again, today she is a woman of much greater confidence. She spent the hundred years between lives reflecting on her suicide and decisions made in the centuries before this life. Amy is a musical soul and she said at one point:

Because I wasted the body assigned to me, I am doing a kind of penance. During recreation I can't go to the music room, which I love to do, because I need to be alone in the library. I use the screens to review my past actions involving choices where 1 have hurt myself and those around me.

When a client uses the word “screen” to describe how they view events, the setting is relevant. Small conference rooms and the library appear to have tables with a variety of TV-size books. These so-called books have three-dimensional illuminated viewing screens. One client echoed the thoughts of most subjects when she said, “These records give the illusion of books with pages, but they are sheets of energy which vibrate and form live picture-patterns of events.”

The size of these screens depends upon usage within a given setting. For instance, in the life selection rooms we use just before our next incarnation, the screens are much larger than seen in spiritual libraries and classrooms. Souls are given the option of entering these life-sized screens. The huge, shimmering screens usually encircle the soul and they have been called the Ring of Destiny. I will discuss the Ring further in chapter 9.

Despite the impressive size of the screens in future-life selection rooms, souls spend far more time looking at scenes in the library. The function of the smaller library screens is for monitoring past and cur- rent time on Earth on a continuing basis. All screens, large or small, have been described to me as sheets of film which look like waterfalls that can be entered while part of our energy stays in the room.

All cosmic viewing screens are multidimensional, with coordinates to record spacetime avenues of occurrence. These are often referred to as timelines and they can be manipulated by thought scanning. There may be other directors of this process not seen by the soul. Quite often a subject will employ mechanical contrivances in their scanning descriptions such as panels, levers, and dials. Apparently, these are all illusions created for souls who incarnate on Earth.

Regardless of screen size, the length, width and depth in each frame allows the soul to become part of a procession of cause and effect sequences. Can souls enter the smaller screens associated with books in the same way as with the larger screens found in the Ring? While there are no restrictions for time travel study, most of my subjects appear to use the smaller screens more for observing past events in which they once participated. Souls take a portion of their energy, leaving the rest at the console, and enter the screens in one of two ways:

  1. As observers moving as unseen ghosts through scenes on Earth with no influence on events. I see this as working with virtual reality.
  2. As participants where they will assume roles in the action of the scene, even to the extent of altering reality from the original by re-creations.

Once reviewed, everything returns to what it was since the constant reality of a past event on a physical world remains the same from the perspective of the soul who took part in the original event.

As the dialogue progresses in my next case, it will be obvious that an unseen entity is re-creating a past life scene, but with alterations. These adjustments are intended to elicit empathy and teach the soul in case 30. This case is an example of what some of my clients mean when they talk about entering worlds of altered time and causality through screens found in books, desk consoles and viewing theaters. Although these spacetime training exercises do not change the course of the original historical event on Earth, there may be other forces at work here.

I concede the possibility that my subject’s memories could demonstrate that they are moving through parallel universes which might nearly duplicate our own spacetime. Yet in spiritual classrooms and libraries they do not see past events on Earth as being outside the real- ity of our universe. I do have the feeling that what a soul from Earth is able to see and explain to me is regulated by the resonances of their personal guides. When they reach the life selection room, with larger, theater-type screens to look solely at the future, their perspective about a constant reality changes more to a fluctuating reality.

Events on any screen can be moved forward or backward. They can be placed into fast or slow motion or suspended for study. All possibilities of occurrences involving the viewer are then available for study, as if they were using a movie projector. One can sense from case 30 that a past event on our physical world has not been indelibly changed for this individual even though his soul is existing in the eternal now time of the spirit world. Some would call these projections “no time” for souls, because the past can be blended with future possibilities in the next life from an always-present spirit time.

Case 30

This case involves a soul called Unthur, who has just completed a life of aggressive behavior toward other people. His mentors decided to begin Unthur’s life review in the library with a scene from his childhood in a play yard.

Dr. N: When you return to the spirit world, Unthur, is there some highlight of your past life review that you particularly remember and would like to tell me about?

S: After I have time to visit with my group for a while my guide, Fotanious, escorts me to the library for some private study while my past life is still very fresh.

Dr. N: Is this the only time you will come here?

S: Oh, no. We often come here by ourselves to study. It is also a way to prepare for the next life too. I will study vocations and avocations for the new life in light of my objectives, to see if they fit.

Dr. N: All right, let’s move into the library Please describe everything you see in the order that you see it.

S: The room is in a large, rectangular building. Everything is a glowing, transparent white. The walls are lined with big thick books.

Dr. N: Has Fotanious brought you here?

S: Just in the beginning. Now I am with a woman with pure white hair who has met me. Her face is very reassuring. The first thing I notice when I enter are the long rows of tables that stretch off so far into the distance I can’t see where they end. I see many people sitting at the long tables looking at the books in front of them. The people studying are not too close to one another.

Dr. N: Why is that?

S: Oh … not facing each other is a matter of courtesy and respect for privacy.

Dr. N: Please go on.

S: My librarian looks so scholarly… we call these people the Scholastics, (to others they are Archivists) She moves to a nearby wall section and pulls down a book. I know these are my records, (in a faraway voice) They contain stories which have been told and those that are untold.

Dr. N: (with some levity) Do you have your library card?

S: (laughs) No cards are required—just mental attunement.

Dr. N: Do you have more than one Life Book assigned to you?

S: Yes, and this is the one I will use today. The books are stacked in order on the shelves. I know where mine are and they glow when I look at them from a distance.

Dr. N: Could you go into the stacks yourself? S: Mmm … no … but I think the older ones do.

Dr. N: So at this moment the librarian has brought you the book you are supposed to study?

S: Yes, there are large pedestals positioned near the tables. The Scholastic opens the page where I am to begin.

Note: We are now at the stage when each case takes on a unique quality of personal engagement with the Life Book screens. The conscious mind may or may not be able to translate into human language what the superconscious mind fully sees in the library.

Dr. N: Then she is getting you started at the pedestal before you take this book to a table by yourself?

S: Yes … I am looking at a page with … writing … gold lettering… Dr. N: Can you read this writing for me?

S: No … I can’t translate it now. . . but it identifies that it is my book.

Dr. N: Can’t you make out even one word? Look closely. S: (pause) I… see the Greek pi symbol (TT).

Dr. N: Is this symbolic of a letter in the Greek alphabet or does it have a mathematical significance for you?

S: I think it has to do with ratios, how one thing relates to another to me. The writing is a language of motion and emotion. You feel the writing as … musical vibrations. These symbols represent the causes and effects of a set of proportional relationships between similar and dissimilar circumstances in my lives. There is more, but I can’t… (stops)

Dr. N: Thank you for that. Now, tell me—what you are going to do with this book?

S: Before I carry it down to an empty space at one of the tables, we are going to do an exercise together. The writing symbols tell us where to turn the pages … but I can’t tell you how … I don’t know how to explain it.

Dr.  N:  Don’t worry  about  that.  You are  doing  a  fine  job  with explanations. Just tell me how the librarian helps you.

S: (takes a deep breath) We turn to a page which shows me as a child playing in my schoolyard, (subject now begins to shake) This … isn’t going to be fun … I’m directed to the time when I was a mean, rotten kid … I am supposed to experience this again … something they want me to see … a part of my energy… crawls into the page itself…

Dr. N: (encouraging) All right, let the scene unfold and tell me all you can.

S: (squirming in his chair) After I… crawl into the book … I am totally engaged with the scene in every respect as if it was being replayed all

over again. I’m … in grade school. 1 am a tough kid who picks on the smaller, less aggressive boys … punching them and throwing rocks at everybody when the schoolyard monitors aren’t looking. And then … OH, NO!

Dr. N: What’s happening?

S: (alarmed) Oh … for God’s sake! Now, 1 am the smallest kid in the yard and I’m being punched BY ME! This is incredible. After a while I am me again, being pelted by rocks from everyone else. OW, THIS REALLY HURTS!

Dr. N: (after quieting the subject down and moving him totally back into the library) Were you in the same time frame as you were as a child or in a form of altered reality?

S: (pause) In the same time, with altered reality. None of this happened in my early life, but it should have. So the time has been played back to me in a different way. We can relive an event to see if we can get it better. I felt the pain I inflicted upon others by my bullying.

Dr. N: Unthur, what have you learned from all this?

S: (long pause) That I was an angry kid driven by fear of my dad. Those are the scenes  1  am  going  to do  next. I  am  working  on compassion and learning to control my rebellious nature as a soul.

Dr. N: What is the significance of your Life Book and being in this whole library atmosphere?

S: By studying my book I am able to recognize mistakes and experience alternatives. Being in this quiet study area—watching all the other souls at the tables doing the same thing—well, it gives me a feeling of camaraderie with them and all we are going through together.

Later in our session we discovered that Unthur needed self-discipline and to be more considerate of people. This had been a pattern of con- duct over many lives. When I asked if it was possible to study future lives in the library I received this answer. “Yes, we can scan a variety of possibilities here on the timelines, but future events are very indeterminate and this is not the space where I would make any decisions about what is to come.”

When I hear statements such as this I do think of parallel universes where all possibilities and probabilities can be examined. In this scenario, the same event could occur from a slight to radically altered range on the same timeline in multiple spaces and you would exist in many universes simultaneously. Yet, the Source of all spacetime might well employ alternate realities without parallel universes. In later chapters, I will cite reports of multiple universes around us which are not

duplicates of our universe. In the spirit world, souls watching the orchestrated screens seem to move from past to present to future and back simultaneously in the same space.

When souls are in the library, I’m told certain event sequences of the future may look shadowy on some lines and almost disappear. On the other hand, in the classrooms with larger screens, and especially in the place of life selection, which has huge panel screens, the timelines are bolder. This allows for easier scanning and entry by the soul for future life study. Newer souls must acquire these skills by learning to blend their light waves with the lines on the screens. By concentrating their essence in this way, images come into focus that pertain to them. The timelines on the screens move back and forth, crossing one another as resonating waves of probability and possibility from the now time of the spirit world where past and future are joined and all is knowable.

Cases 29 and 30, as with all my cases, raise the question of what true reality is. Are classrooms and the library with viewing screens of past and future time real?. Everything I know about our life after death is based upon the observations of people. The observer communicates to me in trance from their soul mind through the brain. It is the observer who defines the properties of matter and ethereal substance both on Earth and in the spirit world.

Consider the last case. Unthur told me he cannot change his past by a second-time-around visitation. Yet after death he returned to the playground of his childhood as an active participant. Once again he was a boy playing with other children with all the sights, sounds, smells and feelings connected to that event. Some of my clients say these are simulated events, but are they? Unthur became part of the scene where he bullied children and then was attacked by them. He could feel the hurt and squirmed in my office chair from pain he had not received in the timeline of this boyhood. Who is to say an altered reality does not simultaneously exist for all events, where both origins and outcomes are interchangeable? The observer soul may work with many realities at a time in the spirit world while studying. All are placed in the soul’s path to teach.

We question whether our universe is all an illusion. If eternal thoughts of the soul are represented by intelligent light energy that is timeless and formless, it is not restricted by matter in our universe. Thus, if a cosmic consciousness controls what the observer mind sees on Earth, the whole concept of cause and effect within given time intervals is a manipulated illusion designed to train us. Even if we believe that everything we think is real is an illusion, life is anything but meaningless. We know if we hold a rock in our hand it is as real to us as an observer-participant in a physical world. We must also keep in mind that a divine intelligence placed us in this environment to learn and grow for a greater good. None of us are here by accident and neither are those events which affect us in our own reality at this moment in time.

Colors of Spirits

The Mixture of Colors in Soul Groups

When people in trance mentally leave the spaces ot energy rejuvenation, orientation and the library to engage actively with other souls, their contrasting colors become more evident. One aspect of understanding the dynamics of cluster groups is the identification of each soul by color. In Journey of Souls, I described my findings about the energy colors of souls. What 1 want to do in this section is to try to correct some misconceptions people have regarding color recognition. During the course of my explanations, it might be helpful to readers who have my first book to compare figure 3 in journey of Souls with figure 6 in this section.

In figure 6,1 have charted the full spectrum range of core colors that identify the level of soul development as seen by subjects in deep hypnosis. More importantly, I have attempted to indicate the subtle over- laps and mixes of energy colors within these levels. The basic core colors of white, yellow and blue generated by souls are the major markers of their growing development. As their light waves take on deeper hues from light to dark during advancement, they become less scattered and have greater focus in their vibrational motion. The transition is slow  and there is much spilling over of color tints as souls develop. Because  of this it is restrictive to lay down hard definitive rules about color transmission.

Referring to figure 6, box 1, we see the pure white tones reflected in beginner souls. It is a mark of innocence and yet this color can be seen throughout the spectrum for all souls. The universal color of white will be explained further in the next case. White is often associated with the halo effect. Guides, for instance, may suddenly charge up their nor- mally intense, steady light and surround themselves with a brilliant white halo. Souls returning to the spirit world often tell me that when they notice any soul coming toward them from a distance, they see white light.

Souls whose core level of development are in boxes 1,5, 9, and 11 are usually seen with no overlapping of other color tints in the center of their energy mass. I don’t see many clients exclusively displaying the colors shown in box 7. This may indicate we need more healers on Earth. 1 have never had a subject whose energy is totally in the violet – purple range in box 11. The color ranges beyond level V are ascended masters who do not appear to be incarnating, so the little I know about them comes only from my subject’s observations.

There are individual variables within each soul cluster group in terms of their basic core color because they are not all developing at the same rate. However, a soul's energy color may also be affected by another factor, which initially confused me. Besides the primary core colors indicating the stage of overall development, certain souls carry secondary colors. These have been called halo colors because they usually appear to the observer to be outside the core center of a soul's energy mass.
There are individual variables within each soul cluster group in terms of their basic core color because they are not all developing at the same rate. However, a soul’s energy color may also be affected by another factor, which initially confused me. Besides the primary core colors indicating the stage of overall development, certain souls carry secondary colors. These have been called halo colors because they usually appear to the observer to be outside the core center of a soul’s energy mass.

There are individual variables within each soul cluster group in terms of their basic core color because they are not all developing at the same rate. However, a soul’s energy color may also be affected by another factor, which initially confused me. Besides the primary core colors indicating the stage of overall development, certain souls carry secondary colors. These have been called halo colors because they usually appear to the observer to be outside the core center of a soul’s energy mass.

Halo colors are undiluted by tints or shades of other colors, as can be the case with central core colors. The only exception here would be if   the halo and core color were exactly the same. Reports from my subjects in distinguishing colors are made easier because this overlaying effect is not often seen. The halo colors represent attitudes, beliefs, and even unattained aspirations of the soul. Because they are learned in each life, the halo tints may fluctuate more quickly between lives than the core colors, which display a slower development of character. During a hypnosis session, these secondary halo colors are like flashing self- portraits the moment the observer sees them. Case 31, a highly  advanced level V, will describe this effect. This individual was among a group of clients who helped me decipher the color coding of halos.

Case 31

Dr. N: If I were standing in front of you in the spirit world holding up a full-length mirror, what colors would we see?

S: You would see a light blue center with goldish white at the edges of my energy—my halo.

Dr. N: And when you look at your master teacher, what does his energy look like?

S: Clandour has … a dark blue center … working outward to a pale violet… crowned with an edge halo of white.

Dr. N: What do “core energy” and “halo energy” mean to you?

S: Clandour radiates the solid state of his learning experience at the center of his energy while the violet trim is his advancing wisdom from that knowledge. The white transmits that wisdom.

Dr. N: Eventually, what do you think Clandour’s core center will be and how will it appear?

S: The deep violet of divine spirituality radiating from all positions in his energy mass.

Dr. N: Can you define the difference between core and halo color variations in soul energy?

S: The central core represents accomplishment.

Dr. N: Such as the light blue in your own energy—this would be your present learning attainment?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: And the edges—the halos—your own goldish white, what can you say about that?

S: (pause) Ah … my attributes… well, I have always tried to watch out for other people in my lives—this is who I am—but it is also what 1 wish to become … rather, I should say, I want to strive to grow stronger in this aspect.

Dr. N: You are not a beginner soul and yet you display some white in your energy. I’m curious about this bright white halo ring around so many souls with other colors to their energy.

S: The vibrancy of white energy indicates we are able to meld our vibrations easily with all others (souls) for clear communication.

Dr. N: I suppose this is why teacher-guides often display bright white halos, but how does this white differ from the solid white light of a young soul?

S: White represents the energy color base for all souls. It is the shading of white with other color mixtures which identify each soul. White is very receptive energy. The newer ones are receiving vibrations in great quantities while teachers are sending information in large amounts to be absorbed as uncluttered truths.

Dr. N: And the beginner soul has had so little experience you don’t visualize any other colors except white?

S: That’s correct, they are undeveloped.

Although there is much I don’t know about the entire matrix of soul energy color, I have learned that changes in color cores become much less evident after level IV. Over many years of research, I have kept a record of what people have told me about these secondary halo colors. The major colors each have their own range of attributes. Over 90 per- cent of my subjects agree on the qualities these colors represent in a soul. I have condensed what I have learned into three of the most commonly reported character traits for each color without regard to shade variations. Black is either tainted, damaged, or defiled negative soul energy which is generally seen in the soul restoration centers.

White: Purity, Clarity, Restlessness. Silver: Ethereal, Trust, Flexibility. Red: Passion, Intensity, Sensitivity.

Orange: Exuberant, Impulsive, Openness. Yellow: Protective, Strength, Courage. Green: Healing, Nurturing, Compassion. Brown: Grounded, Tolerant, Industrious. Blue: Knowledge, Forgiveness, Revelation. Purple: Wisdom, Truth, Divinity.

In the next chapter there will be other spiritual references to the significance of colors. This pertains to the colored garments council members wear as perceived by the souls who come before them. In addition, I will show how the designs of certain emblems worn by these Elders, some of which are gemstones, convey certain meanings through color.

Figure 7 is a representation of a level II soul group displaying both core and halo colors. I have deliberately avoided charting a case where the same core color of development also appears as a halo color. To avoid contusion, figure 7 shows no white, yellow, or solid blue halos. There are twelve members of this primary soul group, including my subject, a level II male. The diagram indicates relationships of family members in their current incarnation. A more typical primary soul group would not all incarnate in one family.

Under hypnosis, this subject (3B) is looking at the eleven souls in his primary group who are members of his current family in this life plus a best friend. His sister has a core color that is almost solid yellow because she is moving into level III. If she also had a strong protective side to  her of yellow, instead of the blue (knowledge) that she actually has, it would have been harder for my subject to report that fact based on  color alone because her halo and core color would have been nearly the same.

Besides his sister, other aspects of figure 7 indicate that the subject’s grandparents and son are slightly more advanced than other members, while his father and aunt are slightly less so. The grandfather and mother of this family are healers. Note that almost half the group have no secondary halo colors. It is not at all unusual for me to encounter groups with none. My subject’s bright red halo over an energy core mass of white and reddish pink confirmed his fiery, intense nature. His son in this life has similar behavioral traits. His wife is more contemplative, with an open, trustful nature. His daughter is nonjudgmental and very spiritual. When I asked this subject to give me his thoughts about the red in his energy, here is what he had to say:

Because of my intense nature I have a problem with anger  in my lives. I often choose bodies which are high-strung emotionally because they match my character. I don't like passive bodies. My guide doesn't mind these choices because she says I will learn to control myself by relaxing the brain of these bodies. This sort of control is hard because of my own impulsive reactions and passion in difficult situations.  It has taken many centuries of past lives, but I am getting better at self-discipline. In the past I have too easily entered into aggression and now this is slowly changing. I also have the help of my soulmate (current wife).
This chart indicates the currently incarnated relatives and one
friend of subject 3B. The boxes for each relative are keyed to
figure 6 for both core and halo colors. Numbered boxes 2,3,4, and
5 are primary core colors. Lettered boxes A, B, C, and D arc
secondary halo colors displayed by group members.
This chart indicates the currently incarnated relatives and one
friend of subject 3B. The boxes for each relative are keyed to
figure 6 for both core and halo colors. Numbered boxes 2,3,4, and
5 are primary core colors. Lettered boxes A, B, C, and D arc
secondary halo colors displayed by group members.

This chart indicates the currently incarnated relatives and one friend of subject 3B. The boxes for each relative are keyed to figure 6 for both core and halo colors. Numbered boxes 2,3,4, and 5 are primary core colors. Lettered boxes A, B, C, and D arc secondary halo colors displayed by group members.

It sometimes happens that I will encounter souls who are anomalies in the way their development progresses. This becomes evident to me when clients describe souls in their groups with core colors that seem out of place. A prime example is the white lights of younger souls. The following case involves a group of level III to IV souls. I had  just finished reviewing all the yellow-blue members of this group when this subject disclosed there was a soul who was mostly white standing next to her.

Case 32

Dr. N: What is a white light doing in your group of advanced souls?

S: Lavani is in training with us because of her gifts. It was decided that although she is young, without much experience, she should not be held back.

Dr. N: Isn’t Lavani rather lost in your group? How can she keep up?

S: She is being tested right now and, to be honest, Lavani is a little overwhelmed.

Dr. N: Why was she assigned to your group?

S: Our group is rather unusual because we have a high tolerance for working with inexperienced souls. Most groups of our type are so busy they would probably ignore her. I’m not saying they would be unkind, but after all she is still a child and looks to us like a child with her small, wispy energy patterns.

Dr.   N:   I suppose most advanced groups would not want this responsibility?

S: Quite right. Developing groups are very absorbed with their own work. To a child, they can appear almost disdainful.

Dr. N: Then explain to me why Lavani’s guide permitted her to come over here with your people.

S: Lavani has great talent. We are a group of quick learners and our

lives have been immensely difficult and fast paced, (my subject has only spent 1,600 years on Earth) Despite our rapid advancement we have a reputation for being very modest, some say overly so. We are studying to be teachers of children and Lavani is good for us, too.

Dr. N: I am very puzzled by this. Has Lavani been cut off from association with her own group at this early stage of her existence?

S: Oh my, no! Where did you get that idea? She is with her own group most of the time (laughs) and they do not know about her adventures with us. It is better that way.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Oh, they might tease her and ask too many questions. She is very attached to them and we want Lavani to have a normal association with her own friends even though we know she will be moving out of her group early because of her gifts. They are not yet motivated by the same desire.

Dr. N: Well, if souls are telepathic and know everything about each other, I don’t see how Lavani could hide all this from her friends.

S: It is true the whites are not able to set up blocks as we do about certain private things. Lavani has been taught to do this, I told you she had potential, (pause, and then adds) Of course, everyone respects the private thoughts of others.

It is not uncommon to find that when souls such as case 32 do incarnate, the younger souls they are working with ask to be their children in life. Lavani is the child of this subject today. The reverse may also be true where it is the child who is the advanced soul living with a parent having the younger soul.

There are instances when I hear about a soul whose color is described as being in retrograde. Most of us in our existence have slipped backward after some lives, but when our color regresses to any great extent it is due to a condition that is both serious and prolonged. Here is a statement from one client which carries a poignant message for all of us:

It's a shame about Klaris. His green used to be so brilliant. He was a great healer who became corrupted by power. For Klaris things were almost too easy—he was so talented. His downhill slide happened over a number of lives involving many abuses. He loved the veneration and adulation so much, his vanity became a disguise from himself. Klaris began losing his gifts and we noticed his color fading and growing more muted. Finally, Klaris became so ineffective he was sent down for retraining. We all expect he will eventually come back.

Colors of Visitors in Groups

Once in a while I hear that a color presentation from one or two souls in a group appears to be out of place with everybody else. I have learned this may signify temporary visits by a highly specialized guest or a soul from a nearby group. Once in a while, I hear about a visitation by an interdimensional traveler whose experience far exceeds that of the group. I have a condensed quote from an interesting report about such visitors:

When we look at advanced beings who come to visit our group through other dimensions that are not familiar to us, it is like they have passed through a screen, which we call the Lens of Light, to reach us. They come once in a while at the invitation of our guide, Joshua, because they are friends of his. We see these souls as having the silver of flowing water as they pass in front of us. To us the silver stream is ... a cloak of passage ... the purity of a translucent interdimensional intelligence. They are elastic beings with the ability to pass through many physical and mental spheres and function well. They come to help push away the darkness of our ignorance, but these beautiful beings never stay long.

I should add that these colorful characters who briefly appear in soul groups have a profound effect. In the case above, when I asked my client to give a specific example of an insight gained from the teachings by these silvery beings I was told,

"They widen our vision to see more probabilities in making choices by becoming astute at reading people. This skill develops critical thinking and allows for informed decisions based upon larger truths."

Human versus Soul Color Auras

There is another misconception about color I have encountered since journey of Souls was published. Many people seek to find comparisons between my color classifications with souls and that of human auras. I believe these assumptions can lead to the wrong conclusions. Color and energy vibrations are closely linked in souls and are reflective of the nonmaterial environment of the spirit world. Thus, in a physical environment the frequency of the same soul energy is altered. The human body changes the color of these energy patterns further.

When healers identify color auras around human beings, these colors are largely reflections of physical manifestations. Besides thoughts  from a human brain, which are influenced by our emotional makeup, central nervous system and chemical balances, all the vital organs of  the body are involved in human auras. Even muscles and skin play a part in creating the physical energy around us. Certainly, there are correlations between the soul mind and our bodies, but physical and mental health are the prime determinants in human auras.

I should state that I do not see human auras. All my information about them comes from specialists in this field and from my subjects. I am told that as we go through life our temporary body fluctuates rap- idly and this affects the external color arrangements of our energy. It takes many centuries for soul colors to change. Eastern philosophy holds, and I agree, that we have a spirit body which exists in conjunction with the physical and that this etheric body has its own energy out- line. True healing must take into account both the physical and subtle body. When we meditate or practice yoga we work to unblock our emotional and spiritual energy through various parts of the body.

On occasion, when I am talking to a subject in trance about the distribution of light energy from other souls in their group, I will be told about stronger energy patterns emanating from particular areas of  what seems to be a human shape. Just as we may bring imprints from a former life into our current life, we can also take body imprints into the spirit world as silhouetted energy reminders of our physical incarnations. For a while, during my questioning in the next case, I wondered if this subject was letting her conscious memory about chakras seep into her unconscious explanations. Chakras are supposed to be vortex  power sources that emanate from within us outward at seven major points on the human body. This subject felt that chakras were a spiritual expression of individuality through physical manifestations.

Case 33

Dr. N: You have said that Roy is one of the members of your family in this life who is in your soul group. When you look at Roy’s focal point of energy, what do you see?

S: I see a concentration of pinkish-yellow coming from the middle of his body form—the place where the solar plexus would be.

Dr. N: What body form? Why is Roy presenting a physical body to your group?

S: We show the features of the bodies we have occupied that pleased us in life.

Dr. N: Well, what does an energy concentration from the stomach area mean to you?

S: Roy’s strongest point of personal power in his lives is his gut, regardless of his body. He has nerves of steel, (laughs) He has other appetites in this area, too.

Dr. N: If Roy’s metabolic energy rate shows that attribute, can you pinpoint a distribution of extra light energy coming from certain places of the body in other members of your group?

S: Yes, Larry has his greatest development from his head. He has been a creative thinker in many lives.

Dr. N: Anyone else?

S: Yes, Natalie. Her power essence is developing faster from the heart  area  because  of her  compassion. 

Dr.  N: How about yourself?

S: Mine comes from the throat, because of my communication skills through speech in some lives and singing in my current life.

Dr. N: Do these energy points have anything to do with the projection of human color auras?

S: As far as color, not generally. As far as strengths in energy concentration, yes.

Spiritual Meditation Using Color

The healing properties of multicolored lights for energy rebalancing in a recovery area were quoted in the last chapter from a soul called Banyon. People who have read my work about the spirit world have asked if this sort of information about color can be useful for physical healing. Spiritual meditation as a means of getting in touch with our inner self is of great benefit in healing the body. There are many good self-help books on the market which explain the various forms of meditation. Since color transmission is the expression of a soul’s energy and that of our guides, perhaps I ought to cite one example of meditation using color.

The six-step meditative exercise I have chosen comes from a mixture of my own suggested visualizations and those of a courageous fifty-four- year-old woman I worked with whose weight dropped to sixty-nine pounds during her fight with ovarian cancer. She is now in remission after chemotherapy and the speed of her recovery baffled doctors.

A number of my clients generate a sense of spiritual empowerment by the use of meditation with colors. Those who have severe physical  health problems tell me the best results come from meditating once a day for thirty minutes or twice a day for fifteen to twenty minutes. Please know I do not offer these steps of meditation as a cure for physical ailments. The power of each person’s mind and their ability to concentrate is different, just as is the nature of their illness. Nevertheless, I do feel one’s immune system can be boosted by connecting with our higher Self.

  1. Begin by calming your mind. Forgive people for all the real and imagined wrongs that have hurt you. Spend five minutes cleansing, where you visualize all negative thought energy— including fears about your illness—as a black color. Think of a vacuum cleaner moving from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, sucking up and pushing out of your body all the darkness from the pain and hurt of your disease.
  2. Now, create a light blue halo above your head that represents  your spirit guide, whom you call upon for help while sending out loving thoughts. Then spend another five minutes concentrating on your breathing while counting the breaths. Measure your breaths carefully while thinking comfort in and tightness out. You want to harmonize your breathing with the rhythm of the body.
  3. At this point, start to think of your own higher consciousness as  an expanding white-gold balloon to help protect your body. Say in your mind: “I want that part of me which is immortal to defend the mortal.” Now begin your deepest concentration. You will pull the purity of white light from the balloon and send it as a power beam into your body organs. Since your white blood cells represent the strength of your immune system, visualize them as bubbles and move them around your body. Think of the white bubbles as attacking the black cancer cells and dissolving them with the power of light over darkness.
  4. If you are receiving chemotherapy, support this treatment by sending out a lavender color as you would see from an infrared heat lamp to all parts of your body. This is the divine color of wisdom and spiritual power.
  5. Now, send out the color green for healing these damaged cells from the effects of the cancer. You might blend this color with the blue of your spiritual guide intermittently during the most difficult periods. Pick your own shade and think of the green as a flowing liquid mending your insides.
  6. Your last step is to once again create the blue halo of light around your head to sustain mental strength and courage over a weakened body. Expand it around the external parts of your  body as a shield. Feel the healing power of this light of love both inside and outside. Think of yourself in a state of suspension and close by repeating a mantra such as “Heal, Heal, Heal.”

Meditation as a daily discipline is hard work which pays big dividends. There is no right way to meditate. Each person must find a program which links their intellectual and emotional systems in a framework that suits their needs. Deep meditation brings us into a divine consciousness and a temporary release of the soul from personality. With this liberation one is able to transcend into a different nondimensional reality where everything in the focused mind is unified into a single whole.

The woman with ovarian cancer was able to help her doctors by bringing total mental concentration to bear on healing her body. When the mind is in a pure, centered state we can find who we really are— that essence we may have lost somewhere along the road of life. Daily meditation is also beneficial as a means of connecting with the presence of loving spirits.

Forms of Energy Color

Besides the effects of color, another external means of investigating souls in groups is to compare their shapes. These energy forms would include symmetry versus irregularity of shape, brightness or dimness of light configurations and the qualities of motion, all of which provide spiritual signatures of the group members. When observing other souls, many people in a trance state are aware of a soul’s vibrational resonance. After I review the nuances of color tone with a client, together we will study the pulsation and vibrational rates of motion of their soul companions.

In discussing the energy form of any soul, my first question is, “How much energy was left behind in the spirit world before the current incarnation?” This question has much to do with the activity or passivity of the soul and relates to brightness and dimness of energy. Despite the amounts of energy, however, all manner of energy generation is identified by character, capacity and mood of the soul. These are variables that can change after a series or lives.

During my prehypnosis intake interview with a new client, I inquire about the cast of characters in their current life. I make notes about all their relatives, friends and past loves as well. This is because I will have a front-row seat in the play that is about to unfold from their minds  and I want a theater program. My client will be the leading actor in this drama, with others in supporting roles.In the case excerpt which follows, it can be seen how quickly information is gained through questions involving both color and form about a supporting cast member within a client’s soul group. During my intake interview with Leslie, my client, I learned of her sister-in-law, named Rowena, who was a real thorn in her side. Leslie, whose spiritual name is Susius,  described herself as someone who seeks security in her lives and tends to be around peaceful people. In her current life this subject remarked, “Rowena seems to enjoy confronting me and challenging all my convictions.” What follows is the opening scene of Leslie’s mental picture of her spirit group.

Case 34

S: (very upset) Oh, I don’t believe it! Rowena is here—or rather it’s Shath—that’s Rowena.

Dr. N: What’s wrong with seeing the soul of Rowena in your spirit group?

S: (frowning, with a tightening of the mouth) Well, Shath is one of the … disruptive ones …

Dr. N: Disruptive in what way?

S: Oh … compared to those of us who have smooth, unruffled energy vibrations.

Dr. N: Susius, as you observe your sister-in-law, how is she different in terms of color and shape?

S: (still verifying the recognition of Rowena) There she is, all right!

Her orange energy is pulsating rapidly—the usual sharp, jagged

edges—that’s Shath. Sparks—that’s what we call her.

Dr. N: Does the form she presents to you indicate she is as antagonistic to you here in this spiritual setting as in your current life?

S: (Leslie is now adjusting to Rowena’s presence and her voice softens) No … actually she draws us out… she is good for our group … I can see that.

Dr. N: I want to consider how her projections are different from your own energy in color and form. What can you tell me about yourself in the spirit world?

S: Mine is soft white with rose variations … I am called Bells by my friends because they see my energy as fluid droplets of steady rainwater which give off an echo … of faint tinkling bells. Shath has a sharp clarity to her energy and I sec tints of gold. Her energy is bright and very overpowering.

Dr. N: And what does all this mean to you and your group?

S: We just can’t be complacent around Sparks. She is so restless—a swirl of constant motion—there are always questions from her and challenges about our performance. She enjoys taking parts in our lives which shake our complacency.

Dr. N: Do you think she is less abrasive in the spirit world than in her current body as Rowena?

S: (laughs) You bet. She chose a high-strung body with a short fuse, which amplifies everything. This time (current life) she came as my husband’s sister. Shath can be so annoying but now that I see who she really is, I know her motives come from love and wanting the best we have to give, (laughs again) We help her to slow down, too, because she has a tendency to jump into fires without looking.

Dr. N: Is there anyone in your inner circle of friends whose energy is similar to Shath—to Rowena?

S: (grins) Yes, that would be my best friend Megan’s husband, Roger. His name here is Siere.

Dr. N: How does his energy appear to you?

S: He sends out geometric, angular patterns that zigzag back and forth. They are sharp waves—like his tongue—and from a distance his energy reverberates like crashing cymbals in an orchestra. Siere is a daring, intrepid soul.

Dr. N: Based on what you have been telling me about energy shapes, could Shath and Siere—Rowena and Roger—have a compatible match-up in life?

S: (bursts out laughing) You must be joking! They would kill each other. No, Rowena’s husband is Sen—my brother Bill—a peaceful soul.

Dr. N: Please describe his energy.

S: He has a grounded energy which is greenish-brown. You know Vines is around when you hear a gentle swishing.

Dr. N: Vines? I don’t understand what that means.

S: In our group when you get a nickname, it sticks. Sen has vibrational waves which look like a vine … with the patterns forming braided strands—you know—as with long hair.

Dr. N: Does this energy pattern identify Sen—your brother Bill—in some way?

S: Sure. Complex but constant—very dependable. It reflects his ability to weave a variety of elements together in lovely harmony. Vines and Sparks blend beautifully because Rowena never lets Bill get too complacent and he gives her an anchor in life.

Dr. N: Before I go on, I have noticed that the spirit names you have given for your soul group all start with the letter S. Does that mean anything? I’m not sure I am even spelling them correctly.

S: Don’t worry about that—it is the sound which gives off the into- nations of their energy motion. That reflects who my friends really are.

Dr. N: Sound? So besides the color and form of your group’s energy, their waves have sound linked to each of them as we might hear on Earth?

S: Well… sort of… with us, it’s energy resonance we identify with Earth, although you could not hear these vibrations with a human ear.

Dr. N: Could we go back to your best friend, Megan? You mentioned her, but I don’t know her vibrational pattern color.

S: (with a warm smile) Her wispy, pale yellow energy is like flickering sunlight on a field of grain … smooth, even and delicate. Dr. N: And her character as a soul? S: Absolute, unconditional compassion and love. Before going further with the issue of sound and the similarity of some spiritual names, I should explain the karmic link between my client, Leslie, and her best friend in this life, Megan. To me it is an emotionally compelling story. During my intake with case 34, Leslie explained to me that she was a professional singer and that occasionally her throat and larynx were especially tender. I regarded this as simply an occupational hazard and thought no more about it until we reached the death scene in her past life. It was then necessary to deprogram a former body imprint directly related to Leslie’s throat.

In their past life, Megan was Leslie’s younger sister. As a young girl, Megan had been forced by her father to marry a wealthy, brutal, older man called Hogar, who beat and sexually abused her. After a short while, Leslie helped Megan escape from Hogar in order to run away with a young man who loved her (Roger). An enraged Hogar found Leslie that night and dragged her to a secluded place where he raped and beat her for hours to learn the whereabouts of her sister.

Leslie told Hogar nothing until he began to strangle her for information. She then bought her sister more time to get away safely by giving Hogar the wrong directions. Hogar strangled Leslie to death and rushed away, but he never found Megan again. Later in our session Leslie had this to say. “Singing in this life is an expression of love because my voice was silenced over love in the last life.”

Sounds and Spiritual Names

We have seen how color, form, movement and sound are individual markers of souls in their groups. These four elements appear to be interrelated, although light energy, vibrational shapes and their wave movement, as well as the resonance of sound, are not uniform among soul group members. However, there are resemblances with these elements between certain souls, and sound can be the one most obvious to the spiritual regressionist.

There is a language to sound in the spirit world that goes beyond the systemization of spoken language. I am told laughing, humming, chanting and singing exist, as do the sounds of wind and rain, but they are indescribable. Some subjects pronounce the names of souls within their group as if they were balancing musical chords in order to harmonize them with each other. Case 34 is an example of how the pronunciation of spiritual names within an inner circle of friends has an affinity of sound with the letter S. In case 28, two spiritual teachers were called Bion and Relon. There seems to be rhythmic interplay between certain soul energies in a cluster group manifested in this way.

Some hypnosis subjects have difficulty in producing spiritual names. These subjects say the names of souls in their minds consist of a vibrational resonance which is impossible to translate. It gets more complicated. One client stated, “In my experience, our real soul names are something similar to emotions, but they are not the emotions of humans so I can’t reproduce our names by any sound.” There is also vocal symbolism connected to names, which may have hidden meanings that  a client is unable to decipher in human form.

Nevertheless, for many clients who are struggling to remember a spiritual name, the use of phonics and a cadence of sound may serve them well. A subject might use vowel sounds to characterize members of  their cluster group. I had a client who named three souls in his group as Qi, Lo and Su. It is not at all uncommon for me to have cases, such as the last one, where group names emphasize one letter of the alphabet. For some reason, many spiritual guides have an A ending to their names.

I do have subjects in trance who find it easier to spell spiritual names for me rather than try to pronounce them. Yet these same clients will state that the spelling doesn’t mean as much to them as the sound. My probes of spiritual names can also elicit shortened versions of the actual name. One client said, “In my spirit group, the nickname for our guide is Ned.” Not satisfied with this, I persisted and eventually had this guide’s full name down on paper. The result was Needaazzbaarriann. I got the message. During the rest of this session we stayed with Ned.

Privacy is also a factor when I have a client who feels that giving me the name of the spirit guide would somehow compromise that relationship. I must respect their concerns and be patient. As the session progresses this uneasiness might wear off. For instance, a client told me her guide was called Mary. Then she added, “Mary is letting me call  her by that name in front of you.” I accepted this and we continued on for a while when, abruptly, the guide’s name became Mazukia. There are moments in a regression when it is not appropriate to push too hard for information.

Finally, I should report that our own soul names can change a little as we evolve. I had one highly advanced subject tell me her name as a young soul was Vina, which had now changed to Kavina. I asked why, and Kavina replied that she was now a disciple of a senior guide called Karafina. When I inquired as to the significance of the similar phrasing of these names in the spirit world, I was told it was none of my concern. There are clients who have no reticence in closing down questions in a hurry if they feel I have stepped over the line of privacy.

Soul Study Groups

In my first book, 1 devoted whole chapters to examining beginner, intermediate and advanced groups of souls and their guides. I also gave case examples of group energy training where souls learn to create and shape physical matter such as rocks, soil, plants and lower life forms. It is not my intention to repeat myself on these topics except when, by doing so, I can further the reader’s knowledge of other aspects of life in soul collectives.

In this section I am going to examine the relationships between learners within soul study groups as opposed to the structural aspects  of schoolhouses and classrooms reviewed earlier in this chapter. Spiritual learning centers are not necessarily visualized by my clients as hav- ing a classroom or library atmosphere. Quite often these centers are described as simply “the space of our home.” Even so, the pictures of spiritual learning environments can change rapidly in the minds of clients discussing their instruction periods.

When my research into our life between lives was published, some people were critical of my analogies of human schoolhouses and class- rooms as spiritual models for the instruction of souls. One Colorado couple wrote me to say, “We find your references to schools in the afterlife to be distasteful, and this is probably due to your own bias as a former educator.” Others have told me that for them, schools were a long series of bad experiences with bureaucracy, authoritarianism and personal humiliation at the hands of other students. They did not want to see anything resembling human classrooms on the other side.

I know there are readers who have had bitter memories of the time they spent in school. Sadly, schools on Earth, as with other institutions, contain shortcomings wrought by human beings. Teachers and students can be guilty of arrogance, petty tyranny and indifference to the sensitivities of others. Wherever learning takes place, there is scrutiny. Nevertheless, many of us remember having caring teachers who gave us essential information while we formed lifelong friend- ships with fellow students as well.

The functional aspects of acquiring spiritual knowledge are translated by the human mind into learning centers and I am sure our guides have a hand in creating visualizations of earthly edifices for souls who come to our planet. People in hypnosis talk about the similarities of form and structure to Earth in some respects but there are great differences in other aspects of their reports. My clients tell me about the overwhelming kindness, benevolence and infinite patience of everyone in ethereal study areas. Even the analysis of each soul’s performance by fellow students is conducted with total love, respect and a mutual commitment to make things better in the next incarnation.

Soul groups appreciate individualism. It is expected that you will stand out and make contributions. There are forceful souls and quiet souls but no one dominates, just as no one is obtrusive. Individualism is appreciated because each soul is unique, with strengths and weak- nesses that complement others in the group. We are assigned to certain soul groups for our differences as well as similarities. These differences in character are honored because souls who share their lives bring a rich personal wisdom to every lifetime experience.

Souls love to tease and use humor in their groups but always they show respect for one another, even with those who have been in bodies that have hurt them in life. More than forgiveness, souls exercise toler- ance. They know that most negative personality traits connected to the ego of the body of the person who brought them sadness and  heartache were buried when that body died. At the top of the discarded list of negative emotions are anger and fear. Souls volunteer both to teach and learn certain lessons and karmic plans may not always work out in the way they were intended, given the variables of earthly environments.

1 remember after one of my lectures, a psychiatrist raised his hand and said, “Your discussion about soul groups reminds me of tribalism.” I responded that soul groups do appear to be tribal in their intense loyalty and mutual support for each other in a spiritual community. However, soul groups are not tribal in their relationships toward other groups. Earth societies have a nasty habit of mistrusting one another at best and demonstrating bitterness and cruelty at worst.

Societies in the spirit world are inclined to be rigorous, moderate, or compliant in their interpersonal relationships but I see no evidence of discrimination or alienation either within or between soul groups. Unlike human beings, all spiritual beings are bonded together. At the same time, souls strictly observe the sanctity of other groups.

When I was a part-time evening college teacher, I found that some of my students, including the adults in my classes, would confuse facts

with their own value patterns. While struggling with conceptual prob- lems, there were times when they argued from a false premise and even contradicted themselves. This, after all, is the nature of students. Even-

tually, they learned to extrapolate and synthesize ideas more effectively. From this background, my introduction to instruction in the spirit world gave me perspective.

During the early years of my hypnosis research, I was astounded by the total lack of self-deception in spiritual classrooms. I saw that teacher-guides seemed to be present everywhere, although not always in a manifested form. Our teachers come and go in spiritual study sessions but never interfere with self-discovery. Although souls themselves are not yet omniscient, by having infinite knowledge of all things, they have no doubts about karmic lessons and the part they played in past life events. An axiom of the spirit world is that souls are always hardest on themselves in terms of performance.

Within soul study groups there is a wondrous clarity of rational thought. Self-delusion does not exist but I must say that the motivation to work hard in every life is not uniform among all souls. I have had clients tell me, “I’m going to skate for a while.” This can mean slowing down their rate of incarnations, picking easy incarnations, or both.

Although the soul’s teachers and council may not be happy with this decision, it is respected. Even within the spirit world, some students choose not to give their best at all times. I believe they are a distinct minority of earthbound souls.

To the Greeks the word “persona” was synonymous with “mask.” This is an appropriate term for the way in which the soul utilizes a host body for any life. When we reincarnate into a new body, the soul’s character is united with the temperament of its host to form one persona. The body-is the outward manifestation of the soul but it is not the total embodiment of our soul Self. Souls who come to Earth think of themselves as becoming masked actors on a world stage. In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the king prepares for death by telling us, “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.” In some ways this famous line describes how souls feel about their lives on Earth, the difference being that once the play has begun most of us don’t know we are in a play until it’s over, due to a variety of amnesiac blocks.

Thus the analogy of a play, like that of a schoolroom, befits what my clients see in a deep hypnotic trance state. I have had clients tell me that when they return to their soul groups after a particularly hard life there is clapping and shouts of “Bravo!” from their friends. The applause is for a job well done at the end of the last act of the play of life. One sub- ject said, “In my group the major cast members of our last play in life will go off in a corner to study the individual scenes we played after it has ended and before rehearsals begin for the next play to come.” I  often hear my subjects laugh about being offered a certain part in the next play—which is their current life—and the debates that took place before final casting decisions were made as to who would play what   part in the future.

Our guides become stage directors who go over past life scenes with us, frame by frame, of both good and bad times. Errors in judgment are presented in small bites. All possible outcomes are studied and com- pared by designing new scripts for these scenes with different sets of choices that could have been made in each circumstance. Behavioral patterns are minutely dissected with each player, followed by a review  of all the roles in the script. Souls might then decide to switch roles with each other and replay key scenes all over again to test the results with a different actor from their group or by someone recruited from a nearby group. I encourage my subjects to tell me about these role substitutions. Souls gain perspective from being witnesses to their own past performance through other actors.

Re-creations of past life alternatives present a psychodrama 1 find useful as a therapeutic tool in a soul’s current life. These stage analogies by soul groups do not trivialize what they go through on Earth as simple impersonations. They offer the soul an objective means of comprehension and foster a desire to improve. The system is ingenious. Souls never seem to get bored in these educational exercises which invite creativity, originality and a desire to triumph over adversity by acquiring wisdom from human relationships. Always, they want to do better next time. Whatever the format, spaces of learning provide a fascinating chessboard for souls when they go over all the possible moves for the best solutions after the game is over. Indeed, some of my subjects call the whole process of reincarnation “the Game.”

The outcome of one’s performance in the play may range from very satisfactory to acceptable to unsatisfactory. I realize some readers  might conclude this sounds suspiciously like educational grading on Earth, but this is not an idea of my origination. I’m told that in soul groups, the evaluation of performance by our peers is not threatening; rather, it encourages motivation. Most souls appear to me to be driven by a desire to review the last game of life they have played in order to better preview the next one. Like champion athletes, they want to try and improve with each performance. Ultimately, they know at a certain level of development and proficiency this aspect of the game will end with the closing of the play and their physical incarnations. This is the goal of souls who come to Earth.

As I stated at the beginning of this section, instruction in learning centers is not limited to reviewing past lives. Besides all the other activities, energy manipulation is a major part of training. The acquiring of these skills takes many forms in classroom work. I have said before that humor is a hallmark of the spirit world. The student in the next case gives us a sense of the whimsical when she explains how one of her creation classes got a little out of hand:

Case 35

Dr. N: You have explained about how your group has gathered into an enclosure resembling a school classroom but I’m not sure what is going on here.

S: We have gathered for practice in creation training with our energy.

My guide, Trinity, is standing at a chalkboard working on a drawing for us to study.

Dr. N: And what are you doing now?

S: Sitting at my desk with the others—watching Trinity.

Dr. N: Give me a picture of this. Are you lined up in a row with the others at a long desk, or what?

S: No, we have our individual desks—they have tops which open up. Dr. N: Where are you sitting in relation to your friends?

S: I am off to the left. Ca-ell, the mischievous one (my subject’s brother in her current life), is next to me. Jac (subject’s current husband) is just in back of me.

Dr. N: What is the mood in this room right now?

S: Laid back—very relaxed—because this assignment is so easy it’s almost boring, watching Trinity drawing.

Dr. N: Oh, really? What is Trinity drawing?

S:  He  is  drawing  …  ah,  how  to  make  a  mouse  quickly…  from different energy parts.

Dr. N: Are you going to break up into groups to combine your energy with others for this assignment?

S: (with a wave of her hand) Oh, no. We are way past that. We will be tested individually.

Dr. N: Please explain the test.

S: We are to rapidly visualize a mouse in our minds … as to the necessary energy parts to create a whole mouse. There is an order of progression with how energy should be arranged in any creation.

Dr. N: So the test is the proper steps in creating a mouse?

S: Mmm … yes … but… actually, this is a test of speed. The secret of efficiency in creation training is rapid conceptualization— knowing which part of the animal to start with first. Then you

tackle the amount of energy to be applied. Dr. N: This sounds difficult? S: (with a big grin) It’s easy. Trinity should have picked a more complex creature …

Dr. N: (doggedly) Well, it seems to me that Trinity knows what he is doing. I don’t see … (cuts me off with gales of laughter and I ask what is going on)

S: Ca-ell has just winked at me and opened his desktop and I see a white mouse scurrying out. Dr. N: Meaning he is getting ahead of the assignment? S: Yes, and showing off. Dr. N: Is Trinity aware of all this?

S: (still laughing) Of course, he misses nothing. He just stops and says, “All right, let’s all do this quickly if you are so ready to begin.”

Dr. N: Then what happens?

S: There are mice running all over the room, (giggles) I put larger than normal ears on mine just for fun to liven things up even more.

I will close this section with a more serious case example of group energy usage. It represents a type of lesson I have not reported on before. Case 36 involves an inner circle of three companions who wish to help a fourth member who has just incarnated on Earth. Unlike the higher level of soul capability in the previous case, these souls are part of a learning group that has recently entered level II.

Case 36

Dr. N: As your mind visualizes all the meaningful activities going on in your study group, please take me to a significant exercise and explain what you are doing.

S: (long pause) Oh … you want that… well, my two friends and I are doing our best to help Kliday with positive energy after he entered the body of a baby. We want this to work because soon we are all going to follow him into life.

Dr. N: Let’s go slowly here. What exactly are the three of you doing at this moment?

S: (takes a deep breath) We are sitting together in a circle—our teacher is in back of us directing things. We are sending a united beam of energy down into the mind of Kliday’s child. He has just arrived and well… uh … I don’t want to violate confidences, but he is not having an easy time.

Dr. N: I see … well, perhaps talking about it might clarify things. Don’t you think it would be all right to discuss what you are doing a little further?

S: I… I guess so … I don’t see the harm …

Dr. N: (gently) Tell me what month after conception did Kliday join the baby?

S: In the fourth month, (pauses and then adds) But we started to help Kliday in his sixth month. It is such hard work to continue to the ninth month.

Dr. N: I can understand that—the necessary concentration and all. (pause) Tell me why Kliday needs help from the three of you.

S: We are trying to send him encouraging energy shaped in such a way to assist Kliday in making a better adjustment to the temperament of this child. When you join with a baby it should be like placing your hand into a glove which is the exact size for you and the child. Kliday’s glove is not fitting well this time.

Dr. N: Does this knowledge come as a surprise to you and your teacher?

S: Ah … not really. You see, Kliday is a quiet soul—peaceful—and this baby has a restless, aggressive mind and … the mesh is diffi- cult for Kliday, even though he knew what to expect.

Dr. N: Are you saying he wanted a certain kind of challenge before this baby was chosen?

S: Yes, he knew he needed to learn to cope with this sort of body because he has had trouble before with not being able to control aggression.

Dr. N: Is this child going to be a hostile person? Perhaps one with few inhibitions … emotional conflicts and so forth?

S: (laughs) You got it—that’s my older brother.

Dr. N: In your current life, you mean? S: Yes.

Dr. N: What roles will the other two souls you are working with at the moment assume in Kliday’s life, besides yourself?

S: Zinene is his wife and Monts, his best friend.

Dr. N: Sounds like a good support team. Can you explain a bit more why Kliday needs this sort of type A personality in a body?

S: Well, Kliday is very thoughtful. He ponders a lot and is tentative. He doesn’t jump into situations. It was felt this body would help him expand his capabilities and assist the child, too.

Dr. N: Was Kliday’s last life a problem?

S: (shrugs) Problems, problems… the same sort of body… he was caught up in obsessions and addictions … little control. He abused Zinene too.

Dr. N: Then why—?

S: (breaking in) We really studied that last life … reviewing everything over and over … Kliday wanted another chance in the same kind of body. He asked  Zinene if  she  would be his  wife again  and  she agreed, (subject begins laughing)

Dr. N: What amuses you?

S: Only this time I’m going along as his younger brother to help keep him in line with a very strong body.

Dr. N: Let’s finish with your current energy beam exercise. Explain how you and  your two companions use your energy in helping Kliday.

S: (long pause) The alignments of Kliday’s energy and that of the baby are scattered.

Dr. N: The baby has scattered emotional energy and Kliday is having trouble melding with that?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: Does this involve the patterns of electrical impulses from the brain, or what?

S: (pause) Yes, the thought processes … from nerve endings (stops and then continues) we are trying to help Kliday in tracking this.

Dr. N: Is the baby resisting Kliday as an intruder?

S: Ah, no … I don’t think so … (laughs) but Kliday thinks he got another primitive brain in some respects.

Dr. N: Where in the baby’s body is your combined energy beam going?

S: We are being directed to work up from the base of the skull, starting at the back of the neck.

Dr. N: (I bring client into the past tense) Were you successful in this exercise?

S: I think we did help Kliday, especially in the beginning, (laughs again) But my brother is still a headstrong person in this life.

Additional illustrations of soul group interaction will be cited in later chapters. In chapter 9, under the section describing the body-soul partnership, I will go into more detail about the physiological aspects of our struggle with the primitive side of the human mind mentioned in the last case. The next chapter is devoted to the higher spiritual assistance we receive as an adjunct to soul study groups.

The psychological ramifications of future life choices actually start with our first orientation upon returning to the spirit world. Ideas involving past performance and future expectations are brought into sharper focus with a soul’s first council meeting.

The Council of Elders

Human Fear of Judgment and Punishment

ot long after souls return to their spirit groups they are called before a gathering of wise beings. A step or two above our guides, these ascended masters are the most advanced identifiable entities my still- incarnating clients see in the spirit world. They give them different names such as the Old Ones, the Sacred Masters, the Venerables, and pragmatic titles like the Examiners or the Committee. The two most common names I hear to describe these highly evolved masters are council and Elders, so I use these designations to describe this body.

Because the Council of Elders does represent authority in the spirit world, there are people at my lectures who immediately become suspicious when I talk about robed beings who wish to question souls about their past life performance. One man in Toronto couldn’t contain himself and loudly proclaimed to everyone in the audience, “Ah ha, I knew it! A courtroom, judges, punishment!” Where does this fear and cynicism about the afterlife come from in the minds of so many people?

Religious institutions, civil courts and military tribunals give us codes of morality and justice which impact the conduct of millions. There is crime and punishment and cultural traditions of harsh judgment for human transgressions that have been with us since our tribal days. The positive effects of a code of behavior and ethics connected to all religions down through history have been enormous. It has been argued that fear of divine retribution is what keeps the masses at bay with better   conduct than they would otherwise have. Nevertheless, I feel there is a downside to any religious doctrine that creates personal anguish over facing a harsh final authority and maleficent spirits after death.

Organized religions have only been with us within the last five thousand years. Anthropologists tell us that in the millennia before, primal people were naturists who believed all animate and inanimate things had good and bad spirits. In this respect, the old tribal practices were not so different from the idolatry of historical religions. Many gods of old were wrathful and unforgiving while others were benevolent and helpful. Human beings have always been uneasy about forces beyond their control, particularly with divinities who might rule their lives after death.

Since fears about survival have always been a part of our lives, it fol- lows that human beings would find death to be the ultimate danger. Throughout our long history the brutality of life meant that judgment, punishment and suffering would likely continue in some way after death. Many cultures around the world have fostered these beliefs for their own purposes. People were led to believe that all souls, good and bad, would pass through a dark underworld of danger and trial right after death.

In the West, purgatory has long been pictured as a lonely way station  for souls trapped between heaven and hell. In recent decades the non- evangelical churches have a more liberal definition of purgatory as a state of isolation for the purification of sins and imperfections before the soul can enter heaven. With Eastern philosophy, especially among the canons of Hinduism and the Mahayama Buddhist sects, there has been a long tradition of spiritual prisons of lower, defiled planes of existence, which is also being liberalized. This concept is another reason why I am against the use of concentric circle imagery of multiple astral planes as a map for describing soul travel after death. Historically, they were designed to show multi-purgatorial cells in an underworld of judges, courts and demons.

Seekers of truth who turn to the ancient metaphysical traditions of the East find a confusing mix of superstitions, just as with Western the- ology. While reincarnation has long been embraced by the East, there has been the retention of the doctrine of transmigration. In my travels through India, I found transmigration to be an intimidating concept which has been used io control behavior. Under this credo, a wide variety of sins are met with the very real possibility of the soul being trans- migrated back to a lower subhuman form of life in its next cycle of existence. In my research, I have found no evidence to support transmigration of souls. My subjects indicate the soul energy of different forms of life on Earth do not appear to intermingle their energy in the spirit world. For me, the intimidation and fear transmigration engenders is a coercion of karmic justice. I have found the souls of humans on other worlds in prior incarnations to be in host bodies slightly more or less intelligent than our own species. I have never had a client assigned to another world where they were not the most dominant intelligence on that particular planet. This is by design.

Rather than stages of punishment, we go through stages of self- enlightenment. Yet large segments of human society are unable to shake off the nagging feeling, built over thousands of years of cultural conditioning, that judgment and punishment must exist in some form in the afterlife as it does on Earth. Maybe it won’t be a hell with torture by the forces of darkness, but it’s something unpleasant. It is my hope that what I have to say in this chapter will bring comfort to people inclined  to be fearful about the possibility of punishment after death. On the other hand, there will be those who feel accountability to a Council of Elders may not be all that comfortable either. The Epicureanists of this world—those devoted solely to uninhibited pleasure in life while paying little attention to the plight of others—might also not be happy with this chapter. Neither will the Iconoclasts, who are opposed to authority of any kind, moral or otherwise.

The spirit world is a place of order and the Council of Elders exemplifies justice. They are not the ultimate source of divine authority, but they appear to represent the last station of beings responsible for souls still incarnating on Earth. These wise beings have great compassion for human weakness and they demonstrate infinite patience with our faults. We will be given many second chances in future lives. They won’t be lives of easy karmic choices, otherwise we would learn nothing by coming to Earth. However, the risks of life and sanity on this planet are not designed to cause us any further pain after death.

The Setting for Soul Evaluation

My subjects state they appear before their council right after an incarnation and many report they will visit them a second time just before rebirth. Of the two assemblages, the first seems to have the most impact on the soul. During this meeting, the major choices we made in the life just lived are reviewed with us. Behavior and accountability for our actions at important forks in our karmic path are evaluated carefully. At the first conference we are acutely aware of our mistakes, especially if we have hurt others. If there is to be a second visit as the time draws close for reincarnation, it is more relaxed with discussions centering around potential life choices, opportunities and expectations for the future.

Our guides notify us when it is time to go before the council and usually they will escort us to the chambers of these ascended masters. To the average client, guides don’t appear to play a large role at these hearings. However, when a more advanced soul tells me they go to this meeting alone, it is not unusual for them to see their guide sitting on the council while they are there. When our guides do appear with us in front of the council, they are rather quiet. This is because behind-the- scene discussions about our last life have already taken place between guides and council members.

As our primary teacher and advocate, guides may want to interject a thought for our clarification, or interpret some concept for us if they think we are confused at any point during the proceedings. It is my feeling that guides do far more at these hearings than many of my  clients realize. The descriptions about the form and procedure of  council meetings are very consistent among all hypnosis subjects. When I begin this part of a client’s session, my usual approach is to ask them what happens when the time arrives to go before a group of wise beings. Here is an example of a typical response:

The time of my expectation has arrived. I am to see the Holy Ones. My guide, Linil, comes and escorts me from my cluster group down a long corridor past other classrooms. We move into another area with a larger hallway that is lined with marble columns. The walls are textured with what looks to be frosted glass panels of many colors. I hear soft choir music and string instruments. The light is a subdued, golden tone. Everything is so relaxing, even sensual, but I am a little apprehensive. We come to an atrium filled with beautiful plants and a bubbling fountain of water. This is the waiting area. After a few moments, Linil takes me into a round room with a high domed ceiling. There are rays of light shining down. The Holy Ones are seated at a long crescent-shaped table. I move to the center of the room in front of the table while Linil stands behind me to my left.

When I first heard about the council meetings, I wondered why it was necessary for them to be seen in any sort of authoritarian setting. Why not a simple countryside scene, if they are so full of benevolence? While the younger souls told me that this setting “was right and proper for their examinations,” the older souls explained that there was a major reason for a domed enclosure. With this design, a higher Presence effectively focuses its light energy on the entire proceedings from above. I will discuss the powerful impact of this Presence later in this chapter.

A great majority of my subjects visualize a dome design for the chamber of the Council of Elders, as shown in figure 8. They see the chamber structure as a manifestation of a holy place on Earth. This ‘celestial shell of compassion,” as one client called his council chamber, is symbolic of temples, mosques, synagogues and churches. Figure 8 shows the central table (D), which is usually long in front and may curve around at the edges to accommodate larger numbers of Elders. Some clients report that they see this table on a slightly raised dais just above eye level. I have learned these nuances in setting relate to what the soul feels is necessary for a particular meeting to be most effective for them. If a soul sees its council in more of an authority mode, there might be reasons for this which I will then probe with a client about the life just lived.

Subjects who are regressed to the spirit world do not readily volunteer details about the scope of a specific inquiry from the Elders. They must feel comfortable that the hypnosis facilitator knows their way around a council chamber. On an unconscious level, this confidence in the spiritual regrcssionist seems to give them mental permission to  speak about their sacred memories. This is the reason why my research into human memory of the spirit world took so many years. It was like fitting the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together. Small pieces of information about the spirit world led to larger implications which would never have occurred to me to ask about in a whole context. For instance, the reason behind a raised dais in the council chamber was one small detail that expanded into a larger meaning. Another was the position of a client’s guide, particularly at the first hearing.

As can be seen in figure 8, the position of the guide (C) in this illustration is on the left. For a long time I did not understand why guides were usually positioned behind and to the left of most of my clients being questioned. If the soul has two guides, occasionally the junior guide will enter the room and stand on the right side. Most of the time we have just our senior guide in attendance and only a low percentage of my subjects tell me this guide stands on the right. Whenever I asked why this was so, I received rather vague answers such as, “Oh, it is less restrictive” or “It is customary for our communication” or “We all stand in certain places out of respect.” For a long time I simply stopped asking this question.

Then came the day when I was working with a very perceptive advanced subject who told me about the importance of distinguishing all council communication. I revived my question about guide position and received this answer.

Figure 8: The Council Chamber. A typical structural design where Elders meet souls. This spacious room appears to most people as a large rotunda with a dome ceiling. Souls enter the chamber at the end of hallway (A), or from an alcove. The soul is positioned in the center (B), with their guide in back, usually on the left (C). The Elders generally sit at a long crescent-shaped table (D), in front of the soul. The table may appear to be rectangular.
Figure 8: The Council Chamber. A typical structural design where Elders meet souls. This spacious room appears to most people as a large rotunda with a dome ceiling. Souls enter the chamber at the end of hallway (A), or from an alcove. The soul is positioned in the center (B), with their guide in back, usually on the left (C). The Elders generally sit at a long crescent-shaped table (D), in front of the soul. The table may appear to be rectangular.

Case 37

Dr. N: Why is your guide standing behind you on the left?

S: (laughs) Don’t you know? With most human bodies the right side of the head is not as predominant as the left.

Dr. N: What does that have to do with his position? S: The left side-right side thing… not in sync.

Dr. N: Are you talking about an imbalance between the left and right brain hemispheres in humans?

S: Yes, my problem—and that of many others recently returned from Earth—is a slight weakness of energy reception on our left side. It doesn’t last too long.

Dr. N: And, as you stand in front of the council, you are still feeling the effects of your human body? You still have that physical imprint with you?

S: Yeah, that’s what I am telling you. We don’t shake off these effects by the time of our first council meeting. It seems like only a few hours since my death. It takes a while for us to get rid of the density of the physical body… the constrictions of it… before we are completely free. This is one reason why I don’t need Jerome (guide) so much at the second meeting.

Dr. N: Because … ?

S: By then, we are sending and receiving telepathic communication more efficiently.

Dr. N: Please explain to me what Jerome actually does to help you by standing on your left side.

S: In most humans the left side is more rigid than the right. Jerome assists in the energy reception coming into my right side from the council by blocking thoughts which might escape out the left.

Dr. N: Are you saying your energy aura is like a sieve?

S: (laughs) Sometimes it seems like it—on the left. By serving as a blocking agent for thoughts which might escape he serves as a backboard, bouncing thought waves back into me for better retention. This assists in my comprehension.

Dr. N: Do you think he adds his own thoughts to this process? S: Sure he does. He wants it all to penetrate and stay with me.

Subsequent questioning with other clients confirmed the backboard effect case 37 told me about. At the beginning of their incarnations, while souls are learning to utilize unique and complex circuit patterns, they find that most human brains are not balanced between the right and left hemispheres. I am told that no two host bodies are the same in the way our brain hemispheres are linked to process critical judgment, creativity and language communication. This is a primary reason why the wiser souls join the fetus of a new body early rather than late in a mother’s term.

Past life regression therapists work with the physical body imprints of former lives that may be disabling to their client’s current body. Typically, these people come to us after traditional medicine has not given them relief. For example, a physical problem may be referred discomfort from a violent past life death. Part of our job is to deprogram these carryovers whenever they become debilitating to the client.

In chapter 4, we saw how body imprints also affect souls who cross back into the spirit world with physical energy damage. I must say that before case 37 I never imagined a human body imprint could affect communication at council meetings. I was aware that during the course of these hearings, council members might communicate with each other in a rapid pitch of high and low vibrations. The average soul misses  most of this sort of intercommunication between Elders. The  scrambling effect here is apparently intentional. I think it is safe to con- clude that any conversation at council meetings requiring interpretation is usually handled by our guides.

I have a rather unorthodox but effective procedure for a spiritual regressionist to use that relates to communication and the council.  When I am working with a subject in front of their council, I frequently tell them to ask the Elders and attending guide if they know my spirit guide. The client usually answers in the affirmative, saying something to the effect that all masters know each other in the spirit world. I will then follow up with a question about why the client thinks these masters, their guide, and my guide conspired to bring them to my office on this particular day. The answers can be very revealing since my clients feel synchronicity is at work. Within this process of hypnosis method- ology, more often than not a subject will remark, “You know, I see your guide suspended over your left shoulder helping you and laughing at your efforts to acquire more information about the spirit world than you need to know.”

Souls who come before their respective councils have been debriefed during orientation sessions with their guides. However, it is in front of the council where souls feel most vulnerable about their past performance. The object of council meetings is not to demean the souls who come before them or to punish them for their shortcomings. The purpose of the Elders is to question the soul in order to help them achieve their goals in the next lifetime. Every soul has an awareness of the inquiry format for their life review, although they know that no two council visits will be the same. At the meetings for the younger souls, I have noticed both guides and council members are especially indulgent and solicitous. During my early research on council meetings, 1 learned that directed questioning by these spiritual masters toward my subjects was both firm and benevolent at the same time.

I’ll admit that when I initially heard about these hearings there were doubts in my mind. I felt that if a soul was summoned to appear before  a body of higher beings, there were going be certain punitive aspects to  a karmic review. This was due to my own cultural conditioning. Finally, I came to the realization that going before a council has many facets.  The Elders are like loving but firm parents, managing directors, encouraging teachers and behavioral counselors all rolled into one.  What souls feel for their council is reverence. Actually, souls themselves are their own severest critics. I find evaluations by our soul group companions to be far more acerbic than any council Elder, although our peers do lace their criticism with humor.

During the time when souls are moving toward the space where their council is waiting, there are mixed reactions. I have had subjects say they are looking forward to seeing the Elders to get a higher perspective on their progress. Others are apprehensive, but this soon passes once  the proceedings begin. The Elders have a way of making the souls who come before them feel welcome almost at once. One of the most obvious differences between a courtroom on Earth and a spiritual gathering of grandmasters is the fact that everyone in the chamber is telepathic. Thus, all in attendance know the whole truth about every aspect of our conduct and the choices we made in the last life. Deception is impossible. There is no need for rules of evidence, defense attorneys or juries. So that they can properly plan for our future, the Elders want to make sure that we totally understand the consequences of our actions, particularly toward others.

I he Elders ask us how we leel about major episodes in our lite and our courses of action. Desirable actions and those that were counter- productive are discussed openly with us without acrimony or finger pointing. Regardless of the number of times we continue to make the same mistakes, our council has enormous patience with us. We have much less patience with ourselves. I believe if the councils of all the souls from Earth I have worked with were not so indulgent, the average soul would simply give up and not come back. Souls have this right of refusal to return to Earth.

The Elders probe for answers of how we think our host body served or hindered development. The council is already considering our next potential body and future environment. They wish to know how we feel about another incarnation. Many subjects have the sense that their council has not yet made up their minds about future lives for us. Nothing about this meeting appears to be rubber-stamped.

Our intent in life is of utmost importance at council meetings. The Elders know all about us before we appear, but during the deliberations how our soul mind interfaced with a human brain is carefully analyzed. They know our past record with other host bodies. This includes the control, or lack of it, we exercised over the baser natures and negative emotions of bodies on Earth. Compulsions, illusions and attachments  are never offered as excuses by souls for their conduct. I am not saying souls don’t complain about their difficulties in front of councils. However, rationalizations about life’s trials are not substituted for brutal honesty.

The council is looking to see if the inner immortal character of our soul maintained its integrity in terms of values, ideals and action during incarnation. They want to know if we were submerged by our host  body, or did we shine through? Did our soul effectively merge as a part- ner to the human brain as one harmonious outward human personality? Council members question souls about the use of power. Was our influence positive, or corrupted by the need to dominate others? Were we led by the convictions of others, demonstrating no personal power,  or did we make original contributions? The council is not so concerned about how many times we fell down in our progress through life, but whether we had the courage to pick ourselves up and finish strong.

Appearance and Composition of the Council

The word Elder is considered appropriate by many clients because the advanced beings who sit on their councils are visualized as elderly men. They are frequently depicted as having bald heads, or white hair and perhaps beards. In questioning people about the gender of these beings, I have come to some conclusions. The high predominance of older males seen on the councils is a cultural stereotype. Wisdom is associated with age and men are seen more often than women because of our long history of male dominance in positions of authority.

There are two factors that create these stereotypical images: One, what is projected to you from the council is intended to impact your own experiences and conceptions as a soul from Earth. Two, memory recall in regression involves an overlaying process. While subjects relive their experiences in front of the council in a pure soul state, they are also communicating to me from their current body with all the cultural influences which exist in life today.

We are under the same influences as discarnates when we project a set of facial features from a past life to members of our spirit group. This reflects both our character and mood at the moment, as well as creating a form of instant recognition to souls who might not have seen us in a while. I am certain that regression therapists who perform my sort of work in future years will find as many women as men on these councils. Bear in mind that when I review a council meeting, it is usually between former lives in past centuries. I always take timelines into consideration when evaluating the reality of a spirit world scene in the mind of a client.

Having made this statement about gender bias, I must add that most of my advanced clients, along with large numbers of intermediate souls, see their councils as androgynous. An Elder may appear as sexless or be of mixed gender, flashing both male and female images to the soul. Nevertheless, since almost all my clients either cannot or will not give me the names of their council members, they tend to call them he rather than she, despite a genderless appearance. Spirit guides, on the other hand, are represented equally as male and female between clients.

Returning to figure 8, the reader will notice that the position of the council table (A) is toward the back of the rotunda. The soul (B) stands directly in the center of the room. Most of my clients say, “We stand out of respect.” I’m not sure they have a choice. I have had more advanced souls actually sit at one end of the table with their council, but this is quite uncommon and considered presumptuous by the average soul. When I am told that there is no table and the Elders wish my client to join them informally, I know I am working with a highly developed soul who is approaching guide status.

The very young soul, who has been to Earth less than five times, sees their council differently than all my other subjects, as the following quote illustrates:

There are four of us who play a lot. We do silly things when our teacher, Minari, is not around. My friends and I hold hands when it is time to be taken to see two important people. We go to a place which has bright colors everywhere. There is a man and woman sitting in two high- backed chairs with big smiles on their faces. They have just finished with a small group of kids who wave at us on their way out. This couple are in their early thirties, I would guess. They could be our parents. They are loving and kind and beckon us forward. They just ask a few questions on how we are getting along and what we would like to do in our next life. We are told to pay close attention to everything Minari tells us. It's like Christmas in a department store with two Santas.

The fact that more than one soul would appear before a council meeting is a dead giveaway that my subject is still considered a “child soul.” I learned that this individual had only been to Earth once before his current life. In my experience, somewhere between the second and fifth life this sort of council scene is altered. One client who had just made such a transition exclaimed:

Oh, how things have changed! This meeting is more formal than last time. I am a little anxious. There is a long table and I am being asked by three older people to describe my progress to them. It's similar to having just finished an exam and now it's time to find out how you scored.

The typical client sees between three to seven members on their council. An advanced soul might have from seven to twelve Elders. This is not a hard and fast rule by any means. However, as souls develop and become more complex they appear to require more specialists on their panels. I do find that less-developed souls are frequently unable to differentiate between individual council members, except for their chair- person and perhaps one other Elder at the table. These two Elders seem to be most engaged with the case while those Elders who are not  directly questioning the soul are rather hazy in the background.

It strikes me that there is some sort of protocol connected with council seating arrangements. The members arrange themselves in a row with the less-active participants located at the ends of the table. Almost always, there is a chairperson seated at the center, directly in front of the soul. This Elder is the primary questioner and may also be referred to as a director or moderator. The number of council members who attend these meetings can change each time we see them, depending upon the circumstances of the life just lived and the one to come. Our chairperson, and perhaps one or two other Elders, are normally present over great spans of time between many lives. Another curious aspect of this procedure to me is that members of the same soul group usually go before different councils. I suppose this is due to the different character aspects of each soul and their state of development. My clients are unable to explain why this is so.

When I am told by a client that a member of their council has just reappeared on the panel after an absence involving a number of lives, or if a new member has appeared, I take notice. A male client told me:

After my last life I saw a new female member on my council. She was not unkind, but gently critical of my continued insensitivity to women in my past lives. She is here to help me develop a plan to overcome my tendency to shut women out of my life. This is hindering my development.

Apparently, specialists come into our panels at certain times to lend their expertise if we continue to fall into the same ruts. While facing three Elders a subject remarked:

Only the director in the center speaks to me. The Elder on my left emanates warm, benevolent energy toward me while the one on the right sends me serenity. It is as if I needed tranquillity at this moment because we are talking about my coping with angry emotions in life.

Another client of mine explained what had been happening at her recent council meetings in this way:

After many of my recent lives, my council has changed  from three members to four, then back to three, then four. I noticed this fourth member appears to be a bright silver color while the others have deep hues of violet. I call him  my counselor for confidence. Invariably, when I see him sitting on my panel I know I am going to get a lecture on  my lack of confidence. He tells me I'm a reticent soul,  afraid to push myself with others even when I know I'm right. 1 tell him how fearful I am on Earth and he gently explains that when I extend myself I become greatly loved and appreciated. I am afraid of confrontation and lives of adversity. He says, "We never give you more than you can handle; keep extending yourself, you have much to offer."

This subject chose to be a woman of small stature and ordinary features in her current life, rather than accepting a tempting offer of another body choice as a dazzling beauty. She told me there was the expectation that this silver counselor of confidence would be happy with this added challenge, along with her also accepting a life with parents who belittled and devalued her while she was growing up. 1 asked this client what single statement from the silver council member was most sustaining to her over the last few centuries. She replied, “That which you gain from each difficult life, you gain for all eternity.”

Where a personal guide will review how we prioritized our objectives and analyze each step after a life, our Elders ask more overview-type questions. The council just doesn’t inquire into our most immediate past life. Lines of questioning follow across the sum of all our lives and cover the larger picture of our progress toward self-fulfillment. The Elders wish to explore if we are developing to our potential. I have come to believe that the committee is carefully balanced by certain Elders whose character and background have some sort of common ground with the souls who come before them. Sometimes I see a personal affinity between an Elder and one of my clients. Individual Elders seem to identify with a soul’s character, strengths and weaknesses, interests and purposes.

Despite what I have just said, I must add that the vast majority of people in hypnosis do not feel really close to the Elders on their councils. They have reverence and veneration for them but not the deep affection they display toward their spiritual guides. This is why the following case is so exceptional.

Case 38

Dr. N: Do you see any new faces on your council since the last time you went before them?

S: (with a sudden gasp, then a deep sigh of pleasure) AT LAST!

Rendar has come back. Oh, am 1 glad to see him again.

Dr. N: Who is Rendar? Note: Subject is shaking and does not respond.

Dr. N: Now, take another deep breath and relax for me so together we can discover what is going on. Where is Rendar sitting? S: To the left of center at the table, (still musing) It’s been so long …

Dr. N: How many Earth years have passed since you last saw Rendar?

S: (tearfully, after a long pause) Some … 3,000 years …

Dr. N: This must represent a multitude of lives for you—why has Rendar been away so long?

i S: (still tearful,  but  regaining  composure)  You  don’t understand the significance of his coming back on my council. Rendar is very old and wise … he is so … peaceful… he was with me before my Earth cycles (past lives) had numbered so many. Rendar told me I was showing great promise and developing rapidly— I  was receiving assignments of importance—and then … (subject stops, choking up again)

Dr. N: (softly) You are doing fine. Please go on and tell me what happened to you.

S: (after another long pause) I… fell from grace. I fell into the traps that so many of us do here. I grew too confident with my power. Assuming positions of authority over others was fun. It didn’t matter what kind of body I had. I became self-indulgent and selfish in life after life. Rendar warned me about slowing down my progress and I made promises to him I did not keep. So many lives … wasted … I squandered away opportunities… and corrupted my knowledge and power.

Dr. N: Well, obviously you have turned things around recently or Rendar would not be here?

S: I have been working so hard to improve in the last 500 years. To care about others—to engage in service to others—to feel compassion—and now my reward. Rendar is BACK! (subject begins to shake violently and cannot talk)

Dr. N: (after a break where I do my best to compose this client) What does Rendar first say to you at the moment you see him after his long absence?

S: He gives me a warm smile and says, “It’s good to be working with you again.”

Dr. N: Just like that? That’s it?

S: Nothing else is necessary. I feel the power of his great mind and know that once again he has confidence in my future.

Dr. N: What do you say to him? S: I vow not to slip back again.

Rendar’s color was reported as a phosphorescent violet robe. The garment worn by both guides and council members is almost always a robe, sometimes described as a tunic. Spirits don’t need clothes any more than they require buildings as places to live in the spirit world. As with so many other images people have of their spiritual life, this too is metaphoric. As pure energy, Elders have deep shades of purple but the colors of their robes may be different. The symbolism of wearing robes confers dignity, honor and a sense of history in the minds of people who report on them. People associate robes with the fields of law, academics and theology in human society.

There are many clues a therapist can gain from questioning hypnosis subjects about the colors of the robes worn by each Elder on their council. These robes appear for the edification of souls from Earth. When I began to gather information about the variety of robe colors, I assumed that these differences conferred some sort of status or rank to an Elder in the minds of people. During my early investigations into this aspect of the spirit world, I asked questions based upon my faulty assumptions about authority. I found the garments worn by these beings, their seating positions at the table, and the degree of participation by each council member was not hierarchical.

White and purple are the most common robe colors seen by my clients. Since they are at opposite ends of the color spectrum this may seem incongruous. However, as case 31 explained, white is receptive energy to beginners while it is also a color of transference or intervention by advanced senders of thought. The white energy of younger souls denotes a process of continual self-cleansing and renewal. For the more advanced, it signifies purity and clarity. The reason white robes are seen so frequently on council members—and with guides at the gateway to the spirit world—is that here white represents the transmission of knowledge and wisdom. White energy robes, or white as a halo aura on an enlightened being, signifies harmonizing and aligning thought with universal energy.

Purple is the color of wisdom and deep understanding. Council members with purple and violet robes reflect their ability to govern the affairs of the souls who come before them with benevolence and love born out of vast experience. These energy colors reflected on an Elder’s robe have an idealistic quality of perfection bestowed upon the wearer by my clients. Black robes are never seen, but once in a while an apprehensive subject will call the Elders “judges” when they initially enter the council chamber. Once inside, though, no soul visualizes this meeting space as a courtroom.

Hoods, four-square hats and skull caps, all having an antiquarian flavor, may be seen on the Elders. Hoods are usually thrown back from the head, which is less ominous to the viewer. These visualizations remind me of religious orders, such as the Dominicans, who wear hoods with white robes.

These earthly influences of robes and tunics made out of cloth go back a long way in our history. The garments and other accoutrements reported by my subjects on Elders are trappings which engender respect and reverence to wise beings who, like oracles, interpret events in a soul’s existence. The next case is a level I soul who has just entered the council chamber after his last life ended in 1937.

Case 39

Dr. N: How many Elders do you have on your council?

S: I prefer to call them the Wise Ones. There are six sitting at the table.

Dr. N: Explain to me what each Wise One is wearing and give me your impressions of what you see.

S: (pause) Well, the one in the center is wearing a purple robe and the others are white mixed with purple … ah … except the one on the far right… she is mostly white with a touch of yellow. She is more animated toward me than the others.

Dr. N: What do all these colors mean to you?

S: It kind of depends upon the life I have just lived. The Wise One in white on the right wants me to see things more clearly. The yellow- robed person … has something to do with my giving and receiving support… but I don’t know what that has to do with me right now. I remember someone else was in her place two lives ago who wore a crimson robe. That was when I returned home (to the spirit world) after being physically crippled.

Dr. N: What did you think of when you saw her red robe two lives ago?

S: It’s physical—a body-oriented color. The crimson One dealt with karmic influences involving that body. I was really worn down and angry after that life. There was a Wise One wearing green then, too, which I don’t see now.

Dr. N: Why green?

S: They are skilled at healing … mental and physical.

Dr. N: And do you usually see all these colors in the robes worn by the Wise Ones?

S: As a matter of fact, no. Mostly, I see them all wearing about the same purple color tones. This time I’m supposed to be getting some special messages.

Dr. N: Let’s talk about the purple-robed being in the middle. Do you think this is someone important?

S: (laughs at me) Hey, they are all important!

Dr. N: Okay, someone more significant to you than the others. S: Yeah, he’s the leader. He sort of directs things.

Dr. N: Why is that, do you think?

S: Because the others seem to defer to him. He conducts things.

Mostly, the others seem to speak through him.

Dr. N: Do you know his name?

S: (laughs) No way! We don’t circulate in the same social circle around here.

Dr. N: How does the meeting open for you?

S: The director says to me, “Welcome, we are glad to have you with us again.”

Dr. N: What do you say?

S: “Thank you”—but I’m thinking, “I hope this goes all right.”

Dr. N: What kind of thoughts do you pick up then from the chairman who seems to be running things?

S: He doesn’t want me to feel the Wise Ones are so superior that I can’t talk to them. This meeting is for me. Then he says, “How do you feel about your progress since we saw you last? Did you learn anything new we can talk about?” (pause) This is the way these meetings open. They want to hear what I have to say.

Dr. N: Do you feel more relaxed now? S: Yeah.

Dr. N: Give me an idea of how things proceed from here?

S: (pause) We start with what I did right. I had a successful company which employed many people in my past life. I’m turning this over in my mind. I want to make a good impression by telling them about my charity contributions—you know, my good acts, (pause) Then things drift into the way I ran my company … my inability to avoid conflicts—disagreements and anger with my employees, (subject grows agitated ) It’s so frustrating … and I’m working on this… but then … (stops)

Dr. N: Please go on. Does your guide assist you in any way with this?

S: My guide Joaquin speaks from behind me. He sums up the main parts of my life and my objectives to contribute to society by employing people during the Depression.

Dr. N: Sounds good to me. Are you happy with the manner in which Joaquin is presenting you to the Wise Ones?

S: Well, yes. He states what I wanted to do and then what actually happened. His tone is even. Joaquin does not defend or praise me— he simply relates my participation in the events during a bad time in America.

Dr. N: Do you think of Joaquin as your defense attorney? S: (abruptly) No, that’s not the way things are here.

Dr. N: Is Joaquin objective in his summation of your lite?

S: Yeah, but we’ve hardly started. I’m forming my thoughts about how well I provided for my family but this kind of gets mixed up with my professional life … I can’t get how I treated my employees out of my mind. This really bothers me. Joaquin is quiet now—he doesn’t want to interfere with my thoughts.

Dr. N: Then let’s stay focused with the thoughts between you and your council of Wise Ones. Please continue.

S: I’m trying to anticipate their questions. I know I enjoyed accumulating material possessions in my life. They want me to tell them why and I say that it made me feel valuable as a person, but 1 stepped on people. Then they bring up similar actions on my part from former lives … and if I feel I am doing better.

Dr. N: Do you think their thought probes about your past are jeopardizing the summary of your current life in some way?

S: No, there is no harsh edge to their questions. I’m okay with this but now my mind is racing and I think of my charity work again as something I should stress … then … (stops)

Dr. N: (encouraging) You are doing just fine with this, tell me what happens next.

S: The Wise One in the center… his powerful mind envelops me. Dr. N: What does he communicate to you exactly?

S: (slowly) This is what I hear in my mind: “Emmanual, we are not here to judge you, punish you, or to override your thoughts. We want you to look at yourself through our eyes, if you can. That means to forgive yourself. This is the most challenging aspect of your time with us because it is our desire that you accept yourself for who you are with the same unconditional love we have for you. We are here to support you in your work on Earth. Toward that end, we would remind you of the bus stop incident.”

Dr. N: The bus stop incident—what does that mean?

S: (pause) I was confused myself when he said it. I look back at Joaquin for assistance.

Dr. N: Explain what happens then, Emmanual.

S: The Wise One in the center… his thoughts come to me once more: “You do not remember this incident? The woman who you helped one day while she was sitting at the bus stop?” I said, “No, I don’t.” Then, they wait for my memories to kick in and someone sends a picture into my mind. I’m beginning to see … there was a woman once … I was walking toward my office with my briefcase. I was in a hurry. Then I heard this woman crying softly to my left. She was sitting at a bus stop next to the sidewalk. It was during the Depression, people were desperate. I stopped. Then on an impulse, I sat down next to her and put my arm around her, trying to comfort her. This was a very unnatural thing for me to do. (pause) My God, is this what they are interested in? I was with this woman for only a few minutes before the bus came. I never saw her again.

Dr. N: How do you feel now about the Wise One bringing up this incident during your hearing?

S: It’s so crazy! An entire lifetime of giving money to charity and they are interested in this! I gave this woman no money, we only talked…

As my client and I evaluated this meeting I reminded him why I thought the smiling female council member on the far right wore a robe of yellow. This might be to acknowledge his spontaneous act of support to a stranger at the bus stop. Less developed souls standing in front of their councils often have entanglements of memory as they purge themselves. While they are self-absorbed, they may miss what is important. Emmanual felt sorry for the woman at the bus stop. Although he was in a hurry to get to his office, he sat down next to her.

His brief, compassionate gesture did not last long. Yet in those moments, I learned that Emmanual reached her pain, looked into her eyes, and told her she was going to make it through her troubles because he was confident she could be strong. She stopped crying and when her bus came she stood up and told him she would be all right. Then he hurried off and forgot this brief act of kindness for the rest of his life.

The bus stop incident in this case appears to be a small thing when stacked up against a lifetime of other acts. It was not a simple act to the council. As we move through life, there are many gestures between people that are uplifting. They may be so momentary that we are not conscious of them at the time. In the spirit world nothing is insignificant. No act goes unrecorded.

There are no hard and fast rules about the meaning behind every color the Elders might choose to show the souls who come before them. For instance, the red robe worn by the council member in the last case related to the need of Emmanual to sustain the passion for life within a broken host body in a former life. In the next section I will explain the meaning behind other symbols worn by council members. A red robe, or red stone on a medallion or ring displayed by an Elder, can have several meanings depending on the setting. Red is the color of passion and intensity and Emmanual saw a crimson robe after one of his lives with physical disabilities. However, in another case an Elder could display a ruby medallion to denote the need for a soul to have a greater passion for truth than was shown in a former life. The subtle variations of color translation at council meetings are unique to every soul’s own perceptions. As one of my subjects said:

The wearing apparel of my council shows their mastery  over a certain discipline. The colors they display in different forms also relate to the topic under discussion. These represent gifts of awareness to me as I face my council. No Elder is greater than the other because each is an aspect of ultimate perfection.

Signs and Symbols

From the dawn of human history our race has sought hidden spiritual meanings through interpretations of what we see around us. I remember how I felt climbing into the cave sanctuaries of Paleolithic humans along the Dordogne Valley in France. Inside these caves, one is taken back to the Stone Age by the symbolic art along the walls. They are among the earliest representations we have of human spiritual consciousness. For thousands of years primal cultures around the world used rock pictures and diagrammed pictographs to represent ideas relating to magic, fertility, sustenance, courage and death.

Indeed, down through the long centuries since that time, we have sought personal revelation through signs from the supernatural. The earliest signs were taken from the animal kingdom, from stones and the elements. We use symbols of all sorts as embodiments of power and instruments of insight and self-development. Ancient cultural attachments to mystic symbolism were often associated with a desire for transfiguration of our higher Self over the primitive side of human nature. The rites and symbols of secret mystical societies, such as the Gnostics and Kabbalists, may well represent soul memory on Earth and human memory in the spirit world.

Perhaps I should not have been surprised to have found emblems   with meaningful signs in the spirit world. As with all physical objects visualized by subjects in hypnosis, the emblems they see worn by some Elders are grounded in past life experience. Conversely, why shouldn’t we carry messages from the council to Earth within our soul mind as well? Anthropologists who have studied clay tablets, seal stones, scarabs and amulets from our past believe that their influence to both wearer and observer went beyond physical life into the realm of disembodied souls. This custom continues today with engraved pendants, rings and charms. Many people who wear these symbolic talismans believe they protect but are also reminders of personal power and opportunity. The following cases may shed some light on the origins of our feelings about prophetic signs.

About half my subjects see medallions hanging around the necks of one or more Elders on their council. The other half see no objects at all. Frankly, I have found no correlation between these two groups of  clients in any way, including their level of development. When a medal- lion is seen by people, some 85 percent of them visualize a circular design. The others may see squares, rectangles, triangles, and starlike designs, some of which are seen in three dimensions. All these medallion shapes, in association with the designs on them, are significant and represent a continuity of spirit, both morally and spiritually, to the evolving soul.

The medallions typically hang from a chain or sometimes just a cord. Usually the metallic disk is gold but they can also be silver or bronze. Most clients are focused on only one medallion on the council, which is almost always worn by the chief questioner. This Elder is generally positioned directly in front of the soul.

Case 40

Dr. N: How many members of your council are sitting in front of you? S: Five.

Dr. N: How are they dressed? S: They all have white robes.

Dr. N: I want you to look carefully—do you see any of these wise beings wearing anything on their robes? If you don’t see anything, fine, don’t worry about it, I’m just curious.

S: (pause) Well, the one in the center has something around his neck. Dr. N: Please describe what you see.

S: I don’t know. It’s on a chain. Dr. N: What is on a chain?

S: Something round, a metal disk.

Dr. N: (I always ask this question) Is it close to the size of a grape- fruit, orange, or walnut?

S: (the usual response) An orange. Dr. N: What color is this ornament? S: Gold.

Dr. N: What do you think this gold medallion means?

S: (the normal response) Oh, probably some sort of badge of office, or maybe his particular area of expertise.

Dr. N: Really. Do you think it is necessary for council members to wear emblems to signify to each other what their position is, or any particular talent they may have?

S: (confused) Well… I don’t know… I mean, how could I know?

Dr. N: Let’s not give up on this so easily. We might learn something together.

S: (No answer)

Dr. N: Describe what you see on the gold medallion. S: (the usual response) 1 can’t see it very well.

Dr. N: I want you to move closer so you can see the emblem more clearly.

S: (reluctant) I’m not sure I should.

Dr. N: Let’s look at this logically. If you were not supposed to see the emblem, your chairperson would not allow you to see it. Think about this. Does it make sense that these highly developed beings would openly display adornments on their robes which you are not supposed to see? And why would they need to display them for each other?

S: I suppose you’re right, (still reluctant) 1 guess it would be okay for me to move a little closer.

Dr. N: Just so you know, talking to me about this is not a violation of confidentiality. Look at the expression on the face of the Elder wearing the emblem. He knows what you are thinking. Tell me what you see?

S: A kindly expression … helpful to me.

Dr. N: Then I am sure he would not want you to miss anything pertaining to this meeting. Move forward and tell me what you see on the metal disk.

S: (now more confident) 1 can’t make out the writing around the side, it looks like filigreed lace, but on the raised part of the disk in the center I see a big cat with its mouth open.

Dr. N: Give me more details about the cat. Is it a house cat?

S: (more forcefully) No, it’s a profile of a mountain lion with a fierce face and large teeth.

Dr. N: Anything else?

S: (with recognition) Oh, there is a hand holding a dagger under the lion’s neck, (long pause) Ah … yes …

Dr. N: You know now what this is all about, don’t you? S: (quietly) Yes, I think I do. It is from my Indian life. Dr. N: We haven’t talked about that life. Tell me when and where this life took place and how the big cat fits in.

This client, whose spirit name is Wan, proceeded to explain that in 1740 she was a young Indian woman in North America. She was out in the forest one day digging roots with her two children. The men of her village were off hunting. Suddenly, she saw a big cat jump out of a tree and move toward the children. Wan dropped her basket and ran directly at the cat. She said, “There was only time to pull out my stone knife—then he was on top of me. Just before the lion killed me I was able to thrust up deep into his neck. Later the men found me and the lion dead, but the children were safe.” When I asked Wan why she was being shown this emblem of the cat, she said, “To signify I displayed courage here and I must use it more in other lives.”

I always verify the design of medallion carvings with a posthypnotic suggestion at the end of my sessions. I have my clients draw me a picture of what they saw. Wan’s visual picture of this event is shown in figure 9A.

Medallion carvings 1.
Medallion carvings 1.
Medallion Carvings 2.
Medallion Carvings 2.

Figure 9 (A-H): Medallion Designs Worn by Council Members

These designs are not drawn to scale. Souls see them in different sizes and colors but they are almost always round and hang from an Elder’s neck. All emblems are illustrated with the usual double-circle edge etched with indecipherable linguistic markings

The depiction of Wan’s hand killing a mountain lion on the medallion was intended to send a strong message of capability and courage. My client came to me because she was fearful of dying at age thirty-nine because her brother had died two years before in his thirty-ninth year while driving recklessly. She just had her thirty-ninth birthday and we found there was a tenuous quality about her existence.

In the course of our session my subject learned that in the life fol- lowing her Indian life, she and her two children had been abandoned by her trapper husband in a Wyoming cabin during a harsh winter in the nineteenth century. This husband, who was her brother today, was restless and wanted his freedom from family responsibilities. Thus, this case involved a karmic transference of roles by an unsettled soul in Wan’s spirit group who went from an errant past life husband in the nineteenth century to a rather wild brother in the twentieth.

As the trapper’s abandoned wife, Wan told me she did not fight hard enough to save herself and the children by putting on snowshoes, a backpack, and trying to get out to civilization while she still had food. She was afraid, and rationalized that her husband would return before she and the children starved. The council showed Wan the cat medal- lion not only as a counterpoint to the lack of resolve in the Wyoming life but also for her fearfulness today. I’m glad Wan saw the contemporary message of this symbol of courage in our session because the soul of her brother had volunteered for the probable short life to test my client again and deal with his own karma of abandoning people.

I know it seems odd that these ethereal beings on the council would be seen by souls as having a body of light energy in human shape wearing robes with ornaments. When I initially detected the medallions I did wonder if they were chains of office. I learned that these pendants and their designs had nothing to do with an Elder’s status on the council but everything to do with offering a message of inspiration to the souls who come before them. As with so many aspects of the spirit world, these symbols did not reveal themselves easily to me.

In the early stages of my inquiries into medallions, my questions would elicit enigmatic responses to the effect that an emblem’s meaning was unfathomable, or that the Elder was sitting too far away to make it out. For too long I accepted these explanations. Then I changed tactics. As can be seen from the last case, I now tell subjects that it does not make sense that Elders would wear an insignia for personal recognition with each other. Since these wise beings already know everything about each other, these medallions have to be lor the benefit ot the soul they are interviewing. They might be changed over time after a karmic lesson is learned; however, some scenes appear not to change at all.

Once a person in hypnosis realizes the emblems are not symbols of a secret society belonging only to their particular council, they open up. This allows the client to make the mental distinction between an observer caught up in an event over which they have no control to that of an active participant. Responses improve by giving the client permission to recognize what essentially already belongs to them as a soul. The therapy 1 am able to utilize in their current life from this aspect of interlife council meetings is worth the effort. The passages from the next case are unusual because the subject knows the names of three council members, all of whom have medallions. The chairman’s emblem design is figure 9B.

Case 41

Dr. N: As you look more closely at the emblem worn by your chair- person, please describe it to me.

S: Drit wears the head of an eagle. It is turned sideways on the gold disk in bold relief. Its beak is wide open. 1 can see the bird’s tongue.

Dr. N: Okay, what does all this mean to you?

S: Drit is giving me a message to fly high and scream into the silence.

Dr. N: Can you tell me more?

S: Drit says I must engage with my silence in life. I can’t live in my own world all the time. Unless I break out and rise above life’s circumstances, I will not progress. Dr. N: And how do you respond

to Drit’s message? S: I just don’t accept this—I tell Drit that there was enough noise

by others in my past life. I didn’t need to add to it. Dr. N: What does Drit answer?

S: He says I could have made the world louder—but better—by being more vocal in what I knew to be the truth.

Dr. N: Do you agree with his assessment?

S: (pause) I suppose … 1 probably could have participated more … to engage others… and fought for my convictions.

Dr. N: Do you always see the eagle design after your lives?

S: No, only when I fall into my old patterns of silence. Sometimes his disk is blank.

Dr. N: Are you having trouble with this same issue in your current life?

S: Yes, that’s why I came to you and why Drit has now reminded me of this lesson.

Dr. N: Does anyone else on your council wear an emblem? S: Yes, that would be Tron. He sits to the right of Drit.

Dr. N: Please describe the design on Tron’s medallion for me.

S: He wears an emblem engraved with a cluster of golden grapes.

Dr. N: Are you saying the grapes are gold, rather than appearing in their natural colors?

S: (shrugs) Yes, they are gold because the disk is that color. The emblems are always metallic.

Dr. N: Why is that?

S: I’m really not sure. For me, they represent objects that are precious and long-lasting.

Dr. N: What does the symbol of a cluster of grapes mean to you? S: (pause) Tron wears the sign of… the fruit of life … which can be eaten … ah, absorbed … that is, to grow with knowledge. Dr. N: Why a bunch of grapes rather than, say, an apple?

S: The cluster of grapes represents—not a single fruit—but multiples of the same fruit… to absorb different aspects of the same whole.

Dr. N: Would you care to expand on this message by ‘Iron?

S: That by absorbing this symbol—each grape—into myself I will grow and flourish from every experience.

Dr. N: Do any other members of your council wear emblems?

S: (pause) Shai, she wears the emblem of the key as a reminder to open the door of knowledge and by doing so accept the fact that the answers to my problems lie within my abilities to solve them.

With case 41, it was the eagle design which had the greatest prominence. Birds on medallions are not unusual. One man told me that his chairperson had an emblem of bird leathers with a thistle in the center to remind him of a number of lives in the Highlands of Scotland. He stated, “In those lives as a clansman I soared up mountain crags, fighting British oppression for the freedom of my people.”

A female client saw a swan emblem on an Elder, which denoted growth through change. She said, “I am being reminded that at birth this beautiful creature is awkward and can’t fly. This represents my own metamorphosis from an ugly duckling into someone imposing—a productive person in my last series of lives.” Occasionally, a fish is seen on a medallion. A client told me that for him, this symbol represented a creature who could swim against a current and still be in harmony  with its environment.

For some reason, human figures are rarely seen on council emblems. When I do hear of them I find their symbolic meanings to be intriguing. To illustrate the use of a human figure on a medallion, 1 refer the reader to figure 9C. This represents the case of a thirty-year-old  woman called Noreen who came to me because she did not want to live anymore. Her husband had committed suicide some months before and she wanted to follow him. During the session we found out this soul- mate had lost his life in a logging accident at age twenty-six in their previous life together.

Couples in life each have their own karmic paths which may involve different issues from each other. However, these issues are frequently intertwined when souls from the same cluster group agree to work together, especially in a marriage. Noreen did not do well as a young widow in her last life, particularly in her refusal to open her heart to anyone else. For the remainder ot that life, Noreen was inconsolable and died in bitterness from self-inflicted emotional wounds.

Facing her council at the end of this past life, she was told by the chairperson, “You didn’t let your spirit grow, did you?” Apparently, the same lesson has been presented to Noreen in her current life to see how she will handle it. I want to stress that this was not why her husband committed suicide. I have had cases where a spouse will intentionally choose a body that has a high probability of dying young from a variety of natural causes to allow the surviving spouse to again work through grief in a more healthy fashion. Suicide is not one of these options. Suicide by a physically healthy young person is not a prearranged karmic option for anyone. From my experience, I believe the odds are that if Noreen’s husband had not committed suicide he probably would have died young from some sort of accident.

At the time of our meeting, my client believed it was not possible to go on without the man she loved. Her extreme despondency also carried feelings of guilt that somehow she might have been responsible, although her husband’s suicide note carried just the opposite message.   1 feel that taking this client back to her last council meeting and viewing once again the medallion she saw is making a difference in her life today.

Case 42

Dr. N: I want you to tell me exactly what design you see on the chairman’s medallion.

S: The first thing I see is an animal… a deer. No, I think it is a gazelle. It is jumping in mid-flight.

Dr. N: Good, and do you see anything else you can talk about?

S: (pause) There is a human on its back. This really stands out boldly in the center.

Dr. N: I see. Is it similar to a bas-relief carving?

S: Yes, the gazelle and human figure are turned sideways to me. You know, like I’m watching them from an angle as they race across a plain.  The human is faceless, but has long hair and the delicate body of a woman. The one leg I can see is bent… she is riding. One arm is raised, holding up a torch.

Dr. N: (a shift to present time, and then a command) All right, what I want you to do is rediscover the meaning of what you are seeing. It is no accident that we are here today discussing this emblem together. It represents something you need to remember. You are a young widow for the second time in two successive lives. Ask for assistance from your guide if necessary.

S: (after a long pause, she responds tearfully) I know the meaning. The  human  is  me  and  I  am  riding  east  into  the  sunrise.  The direction signifies the dawn of a new day.  This animal would normally never trust a human to be near it, much less ride on its back. The gazelle trusts me and I must trust myself to go where the animal takes me because we must travel swiftly.

Dr. N: And why must you travel swiftly?

S: (after some prompting from me and few false starts) Because in life there is danger. Parts of this danger lie within us, our weakness— the way we sabotage—and this prevents us from reaching a destination. It is easy to get bogged down.

Dr. N: Are you saying the gazelle represents a liberating force?

S: Yes, I must have the courage and strength to continue on with my life with a greater sense of purpose. The gazelle also represents freedom to conquer fear and have faith in myself.

Dr. N: What about the torch you are carrying on the emblem? S: (softly) Always … the light of knowledge. Our search for wisdom. This flame is never extinguished or made ineffective by shadows.

Dr. N: Do you see anything else on the pendant?

S: (still in a state of reverie) Oh, it is not important to me, I think. I am unable to read the Greek letters within the circle around the edge.

Unfortunately, I must report that none of my subjects who see medallions can decipher the strange symbols between the two outer rings near the edge. The secret writing remains a mystery in my research and I have reluctantly come to the conclusion this is one feature of the emblems that my clients and I are not supposed to know about. 1 should also add that much of what souls see and hear at their council meetings cannot be re-created in my office. Over the years of my work, I have come to expect that people in hypnosis cannot adequately explain all that happens in their spiritual lives because of human limitations in communication and translations which must be processed through the human brain. My subjects do not know why they cannot decipher the “squiggles” on medallions. They refer to them as hieroglyphics, cuneiform writing, runes and even mathematical symbols. The script does not seem to be translatable. It could be pictorial or ideogrammic. Perhaps it is an unspoken spiritual language.

I suspect the same types of symbols appear on the Life Books in spiritual libraries, such as the Greek pi symbol on the front of the book described by case 30. While the Life Books are very personal and undoubtedly used as a chronicle of the soul’s past by their guides and councils, the writing around the edges of an Elder’s medallion may  have nothing to do with the soul. I have come to the conclusion that if my subjects were supposed to know about this writing while in a trance state, their spiritual guides would assist them. Regardless of whether the symbolic marks they see represent sounds, ideas or words of some sort, there may be a good reason why people cannot translate them, which has nothing to do with the client. One had this to say, “I think I’m not supposed to understand their meaning because this is a message to my Elder from a higher .Source. Maybe this is his lesson wheel that he must decipher for his own goals.”

I divide what is seen on council emblems into two general categories. The first involves living or natural objects. These symbols could also include minerals, such as gemstones. The second category is the geo- metric designs, such as circles and straight line drawings. Gemstones may appear on both types of medallions. Council medallions are symbolic of pain and purpose, triumphs and shortcomings of the souls who go before them. The colors of the gemstones presented to the soul relate to both the Elder presenting them and also to the soul observer. The general design of a medallion involves soul attributes, accomplishments and goals. Like the oracles of old, the Elders may show a sign as a warning of impending trouble if what we strive for in life is set aside.

The case examples that follow are of clients who saw geometric designs and gemstones on their council emblems. The deciphering of line drawings in geometric designs is not quite as readily discernible as with objects of nature, which include gemstones. There are cultures, such as in Japan, where personal emblems involving line drawings have heraldic overtones. In the Orient, these family symbols worn on clothing could be of natural objects or geometric designs to identify members of a specific clan. As opposed to Japanese clan traditions, members of a soul group would not likely see exactly the same emblem displayed by their respective councils.

I find the meaning behind swirl designs on geometric emblems to be particularly intriguing. There is a universal aspect to some of them,  such as with the next design listed under figure 9D. I have personally seen minor variations of this swirl design on rocks in such diverse locations as Europe, North Africa, Australia and in the deserts of North America. Many archeologists call it the life source design. When I   asked the subject who saw the design in figure 9D about its meaning at  a council meeting, I was told, “The council woman who wears the swirl design is reminding me that—starting from within the core of the spirit world—we spiral outward in development and will someday return to the Source of our origins.” When a swirl, or concentric circle design appears on a medallion, the meaning usually relates to a soul’s existence within the continuum of life. This sign projects a connotation of spiritual protection, as well.

In figure 9E the lines are crooked. Here is what the client who saw this design on an Elder had to say:

There are four rippled lines which come from the outer edges of the insignia from different directions. They con- verge within the circle of unity, indented in the center of the disk. The crooked lines represent different pathways toward our goal. They are not straight paths because we are imperfect souls. The lines make the insignia look fractured just as most every life seems to be disjointed at times. We may take many turns in our travels, but eventually we will all arrive at the same place in the center.

I have also been told about celestial signs with star, moon and sun symbols. After a long while of keeping records of all medallion signs, I realized that a crescent moon design was seen more often than other celestial designations. Figures 9E and 9G (which I will present in case 44) represent different variations of the crescent moon design in the minds of two clients:

The sun gives us golden rays of life-giving light while the partial moon is a symbol of growth for me. This silver light represents the forces of my potential. As it grows, so does my higher Self.
I am an interdimensional traveler between lives. The upside-down moon represents the covering and contain- ment of the spirit world, which has jurisdiction over the Earth, our universe, and the dimensions around it. The lines at the top of the emblem are pivotal points of my soul travel, which epitomize grounding me to my work. At the bottom of this emblem is the atom-star, the purifier light and connector of universes.

Generally, when a client speaks of seeing a crescent moon on a medallion it represents the increasing power of the soul on Earth. My subjects say this is a waxing moon, which is growing, as opposed to a waning moon. The sign is often reported to be silver on a gold disk. Straight lines which are looped, angled, horizontal or vertical have countless meanings. For instance, figure 9G has five straight, angled lines at the top of the medallion. One subject who saw such lines all the way around a disk with no other markings said, “The great-star design of these long lines converging down to the center of the disk means I am supported on all sides by the Elders on my council.” I find it impossible to classify the large variety of signs and symbols I hear about because each is so individual to the soul.

I will offer one more medallion design as figure 9H. This last design combines a geometric pattern with a gemstone. This emblem was reported by a woman, whose spiritual name is Unz, who lives in constant pain from fibromyalgia, a disease which inhibits muscle function.

Case 43

Dr. N: Explain to me what you see on the robe of your chairman?

S: Kars wears a gold medallion for my observation. For as long as I can remember it has had intertwined circlets all around the face of the disk.

Dr. N: Tell me, Unz, what does this design mean to you?

S: The circlets are a reminder to me that each life we live fits together with all our other lives in a continuum toward fulfilling our primary purpose. Dr. N: Do you see anything else on the disk worn  by  Kars?  S:  (joyfully)  Yes,  yes—I  have  graduated  to  the emerald stone, which is in the center. Dr. N: And what does this stone mean to you? S: (with great satisfaction) It is the stone of the healer. Dr. N: Does this have anything to do with your having fibromyalgia in your current life?

S: Absolutely. I specifically asked for a body in this life which would be subjected to incurable pain.

Dr. N: (with surprise in my voice) Can you expand upon why you did this?

S: I chose this path long ago. I found that whenever I was suffering myself with a malady that generated pain, it helped my healing art. When one is in constant pain, even of low-grade intensity, it presents an opportunity—especially for a healer.

Dr. N: To do what?

S: To experiment with the vibrational levels of pain with the body. You can learn the fine art of adjustments in energy to relieve sections of pain. By working with my own energy in this way I learned to assist others more skillfully.

Dr. N: What else can you tell me about this experience?

S: Being in constant pain keeps one grounded, anchored to the human experience. For pain relief one must be completely focused. It helps to have confidence that there is a higher purpose in learning to work through pain. I pay a lot of attention to other human beings who suffer from physical infirmities in life. I am able to help those who are receptive to the use of mind control for relief.

Dr. N: It seems to me you feel quite proud of having earned the emerald stone as presented by Kars.

S: The stone represents the lineage of the wearer as a healer. It is an embodiment of my personal character and that of Kars, who has been assigned to monitor the progress of my trials through the ages. It represents my attainment.

Dr. N: Is it fair for me to assume that you arc being shown this stone by a master healer who has the expectation that you will carry on this work to become a teacher specialist yourself?

S: Yes, and Kars’ confidence in me is empowering.

Case 43 is what I would call an accelerated soul. Unz has only been incarnating on Earth for some five thousand years, a very short time considering her advancement. This is because she never skates in any of her lives. She accepts no healthy bodies, which really astonished me. In her life today, Unz is a Science of Mind minister who incorporates an eclectic mix of spiritual disciplines. Through her ministry, she assists many people with health problems through the use of guided imagery and meditation.

Another aspect of case 43 that I found interesting was that Unz only began to see the green stone on this medallion in the last four or five lives. Before that there was an amber stone in the center of the disk. Unz told me this was the color of nurturing and protection for the weak and sick, which came before the green stone. She called this gemstone “my growing-up stone,” and added, “The green emerald displays my current placement.” This indicates to me Unz is a level IV soul. Further questioning revealed something else. Unz said in her early lives on Earth the circlets I loops) had no stone at all in the middle of the emblem.

I remember a level V who told me, “There are five jewels on my overseer’s emblem, a diamond, ruby, amber, emerald and sapphire, which symbolize my achievements over different levels of development.” Thus, it is not the gemstone itself as a mineral of value that has significance on a spiritual medallion but rather the color of attainment the jewel represents. Gemstone metaphors reported by people in trance offer useful parallels with earthly traditions. The ancients of the Middle East, India and China thought that certain colors represented in gems and semiprecious stones possessed a kind of living personality of their own. For example, the Sumerians believed the wearer of a blue lapis stone had their personal spirit god with them “who must be listened to.” Most of my clients see their spirit guides as dark blue light. The ancients also felt that amethyst-purple conferred transcendental knowledge and wisdom. This gem color represents level VI souls and above.

Of those hypnosis subjects who do see medallions worn by their council members, some see only gemstones. They may not be shown on a disk. I have had cases where the stones—or glowing balls of colored energy—appear on necklaces, rings, or are simply held in an Elder’s hand and exhibited to the souls who come before them. Essentially, the displaying of certain colors of light energy represents different aspects of our physical and spiritual life. Certain colors emanating from an Elder as a halo, robe, or medallion can also indicate an Elder’s specialty area, which might directly relate to what the soul in front of them hopes eventually to achieve.

The hypnosis facilitator must be cautious about their own preconceptions about color meanings. Color interpretations on images presented to the hypnosis client visualizing council meetings won’t have quite the same meaning for everyone. Nevertheless, I think it is fair to say that to people in a trance state, signs and symbols presented to them through soul memory relate to the effects of forces over which they wish to exert some control in their current lives. My subjects associate all the medallions I have talked about on their councils with perception and wisdom. Their meanings are intensely personal things, and are displayed with the intention to instruct and motivate souls from Earth to an awareness of Self. The impact of viewing these signs and symbols under hypnosis is so compelling with some clients that after their sessions they have ordered duplicates on personal jewelry to remind them of their karmic path.

The Presence

“When you take people into the spirit world, do they sec God?” This is a question I am frequently asked about at lectures and there is no short answer. I can .say my subjects do feel the Source of their origins all about them in the spirit world. The more advanced explain that all souls will eventually coalesce back into conjunction with the Source of purple light. However, is there someplace in the spirit world where a being superior to the Elders is evident to the still-incarnating soul? The answer is yes, at council meetings.

During the time we are meeting with the Council of Elders there is  the overwhelming feeling of an even higher force which is simply called “the Presence.” Many subjects state, “This is as close to God as we  get.” My more advanced clients, who are nearing the end of their regular incarnations, indicate that they don’t think the Presence is God, exactly. To them it is a deified entity, or entities, with capabilities immensely superior to those on the council. Everyone agrees that the Presence is there to assist the work of the council.

Typically, people who come to me do not like to use the word God in describing a higher Presence, which they feel more than see in the spirit world. They prefer to use such words as Source, or Oversoul, because the word God has been too personalized on Earth. As many souls approach the more advanced stages of development, the Presence may become pluralized in their minds as a part of the many divine forces in the spirit world with infinite knowledge. They feel this higher force does influence council meetings but might not be the ultimate Creator. My subjects see the greatest evidence of the Presence at council meetings. Even so, the Presence is equated with a larger omnipotent and omnipresent energy force in the spirit world.

After reviewing hundreds of case notes describing the Presence, I decided to offer a few of them in a series of quotes. In their sessions, each subject speaks of the Presence in just a few sentences. I hope the list of quotes I have selected will capture the flavor ot what the average soul feels about this aspect of their council meetings:

I do not actually see the Presence, but feel it as the ultimate energy. It is there for the council, but mostly for me. The Elders don't serve as intermediaries between myself and this Source of power. I feel a direct connection with the divine purple light.
When I am in the council chamber the Presence oversees the Elders with its pulsating violet light. Sometimes it turns to a bright silver to calm and purify my mind.
The Presence is above and in back of the council. Only with difficulty can I look up at this power. I feel its sanctity so strongly that I don't think I should try to look at it directly during the council meeting. If T did, I could not stay focused on the Elders.
The council seems to acknowledge the Presence without being too deferential to it in such a way as to slow down the proceedings. I think it intended that my council and I pay attention to each other. Still, I have the impression that the magnitude of all this combined intelligent energy is designed just for me at this moment. My guide, the Elders, and the Presence are keepers of the wisdom behind my experiences.
The Presence represents a purity of energy which assists the council on my behalf. I believe that the council needs the help of the Presence because it has been so long since they themselves incarnated in biological form. The pure wisdom of this energy allows both the council and myself to see more clearly where we all should be going.
The brilliance and drawing power of the Presence is a calling ... an eagerness . . . directed at everyone in the chamber for all of us to join it someday. It is like a parent waiting for us to grow up and unite with it in adult understanding.
When you stand in the council chamber and feel the Presence it is like a penetrating resonance in your mind. Even my master guide encounters the sense of bliss that I do. I know this is why she really enjoys coming to council meetings with me. It is a fountainhead of love and understanding. When my time with the council is over and I leave the Presence ... there is such a yearning to go back and be close to it once more.

People have asked me if I have ever had anyone who could shed some light on what it is like to be a council member and be closer to the Presence. I have had very few subjects with such experience who are in transition from level V. However, one individual stands out in my mind.

Chinera was one of the most advanced clients I have ever had. No one has taken me closer to the Presence than this soul. Chinera trained in another dimension before coming to Earth several thousand years ago. Today, this client is an acupuncturist who practices a variety of healing arts. The medallion worn by Chinera’s council chairman is shown in figure 9G. Further details about the interdimensional travel capabilities of souls will be examined with the Explorer Soul specialists in chapter 8.

Case 44

Dr. N: When your work as a personal guide is completed, do you expect to be assigned to the Council of Elders?

S: No, this won’t happen yet. I must become a master teacher working with younger teachers … helping them get in touch with their students on many levels.

Dr. N: How do you know this?

S: Because I am still in training here (incarnating), learning more about Earth’s biological life forms.

Dr. N: Chinera, it is my belief we are together today to help each other understand certain things. Let’s begin this part of our discussion by my asking you about your relationship with the Elders on your council. Begin by telling me how many you sec.

S: I have twelve members on my council right now. After my last life, the four in the center of the table were the ones who questioned me about becoming more centered on Earth. I still have some blocks which need adjustment. The four on the right-hand side are from my original dimension. They are here to assist in the better utilization of the energy I brought with me into Earth’s universe.

Dr. N: What about the last four members of your council?

S: The four on the left-hand side of the table act as stabilizers of universal light and sound between all the dimensions around the Earth universe. They  act  as  a  pivotal  point  to ground me in  a physical world.

Dr. N: Can you give me some idea of what blockages are hindering your progress on Earth?

S: Primarily, the council wants me to enlarge my influence with more people. I have been resistant to extending myself. I complain to them that it would dilute my power. They disagree with my arguments about spreading myself too thin.

Dr. N: I know the feeling. Do you accept this evaluation?

S: (long pause) I know they are right but I still feel sometimes I am an alien on Earth.

Dr. N: Tell me, Chinera, have you ever appeared with members of your council to discuss certain students you work with?

S: Yes, I have briefly.

Dr. N: Then perhaps you can help me understand the progression of soul advancement. Where would you classify yourself?

S: I’m working on being a master teacher.

Dr. N: Would the next elevation above this level of a guide be a position on the council?

S: Not necessarily. There are many other choices for specializations. One might not be suited to be on a council.

Dr. N: Let’s say you were suited and were given a seat on the council and were effective there. Where could you go next as a soul? S: (hesitates in responding) To the place of the Oneness. Dr. N: Is this represented by the Presence at council meetings? S: (vaguely) Into that essence, yes. Dr. N: Describe the Oneness—is it an oversoul?

S: I believe it is many who are One … it is the creation center as I know it… it is where the creators of new souls shape light energy for certain functions.

Dr. N: Chinera, please describe this process further for me.

S: I… can’t tell you too much … it is where the energy of new souls is sparked off the oversoul. Where we help the young ones grow, to find their unique identity.

Dr. N: Is the Oneness what we call God? S: It is a divineness.

Dr. N: Since you have said this divinity could be composed of many who are  One,  are  they  the  ultimate  deity  of  all  universes  and  all dimensions connecting these universes, including our spirit world?

S: (long pause) I don’t think so.

Dr. N: Where do you think the essence of the Presence comes from? S: (faintly) Everywhere … (stops)

Dr. N: How do you know of these things?

S: I have a mentor on the council… we talk a lot… my friends and I have flashes of thought… and we ask questions about the ultimate reality.

Dr. N: When you talk to your mentor and your friends of a force that might be above even the Presence, what have you heard and felt?

S: It may be the same force of which the Presence is a part, I don’t know … it is… massive, but soft… powerful… yet gentle. There is a breath … a whisper … of sound … so pure …

Dr. N: (placing the palm of my hand on the subject’s forehead) Stay with these thought fragments, Chinera. Float with them as far as they will take you toward the sound, (speaking in a whisper myself) Is this sound created by some sort of light energy?

S: No, the sound creates all… including light and energy.

Dr. N: Move closer as if you were floating without effort—closer toward the origin of the sound, (a command) NOW, WHAT DO YOU SEE AND HEAR?

S: I’m at the edge … I can’t…

Dr. N: (loudly) KEEP GOING CHINERA!

S: (quietly, with great difficulty) I… with my friends… when we have unified our minds to the sound we see pictures in our minds… they are… geometric designs… aligned in patterns…

(stops)

Dr. N: (now softly coaxing) A little further … just beyond … what is there?

S: I… feel… the sound holds this structure … and … makes it move … shifting and undulating … creating everything. It is a reverberating deep bell… then a high-pitched pure humming … like an echo of… (stops)

Dr. N: Reach in, Chinera, one last effort. An echo of what?

S: (a deep sigh) A mother … full of love … singing to her child.

I pushed Chinera hard for information because I knew, in my lifetime, I probably would never have another client to quite match her. This individual, and other highly advanced subjects, have indicated that the Council of Elders exists within a reality of deeper meaning beyond the conception of souls still coming to Earth.

The Chain of Divine Influence

To many of my clients, the Presence seems not to be a “Who” but that which “Is.” For others, the Presence is an entity who functions as an equalizer, harmonizing the greater awareness of Elders to the lesser awareness of the souls who come before them. This effect causes the council chamber to breathe with synchronized energy. A handful of my level Vs have actually had the chance to briefly participate as members of a council as part of their guide training. When I asked one of them what this experience was like, I received the following response:

When I sat on a panel it was like being inside the soul in front of you. What you feel is much more than empathy toward someone who has just come back from a life. You are really in their shoes. The Presence gives you the power to feel everything the soul feels at the moment. The prism of light from the Presence touches every council member in this way.

Does the same Presence move from council to council, is there more than one entity, or is “It” simply God, which is everywhere? These questions, of course, I cannot answer. Despite the overlapping of jurisdiction between soul groups, how many councils must exist who are responsible for all the souls just from Earth? This too is impossible for me to gauge, but the numbers must be immense. If it is true that other worlds in our universe have souls needing councils and other universes that the spiritual masters must manage, their task is beyond conception.

Unlike the highly advanced souls, such as case 44, most of my clients are unable to recognize that the Elders could be fallible beings them- selves. Other than fleeting moments with a more powerful and loving Presence, the Council of Elders is the highest authority people directly encounter in their spiritual visions. As a result of what they see in a trance state, my subjects do have the sense of a vertical tier effect of soul attainment in the spirit world. This perception of the cosmos is not a  new belief system in human civilization.

Indian, Egyptian, Persian and Chinese texts of the past speak of “the agencies of God” who were personified as metaphysical entities, some of whom were even anthropomorphic. Early Greco-Hebrew religious philosophy also identified with a stair-stepped concept of spiritual masters, each one more divine than the last. Many cultures believed that while God is the Source of all creation and is totally good, the management of our universe was delegated through a combination of lesser beings who were mediators of reason and the purveyors of divine thought between a perfect being and a finite world. They were considered to be emanations of the Creator, but beings who were less than perfect. Perhaps this helped explain the imperfections of our world with God still being the First Cause.

The pantheistic view is that all manifestations in the universe are God. Over a long span of time the spiritual philosophy of some cultures evolved into a conception that the divine forces which govern our lives were essentially words of wisdom, analogous to the reasoning powers of human beings. In other societies, these forces were thought of as Presences capable of influencing our world. The Christian church found the whole idea of intermediaries emanating from a supreme Source to be unacceptable. The position of Christianity is that a perfect being would not delegate a less than perfect being—who could make mistakes—to run our universe.

The Old Testament God spoke through prophets. In the New Testament, the word of God comes through Jesus who, Christians believe, is the image of God. Still, the prophets of all the major religions are reflections of God to their followers. I feel the acceptance of prophets in many religions around the world has its roots in our soul memory of sacred intermediaries—such as guides and Elders—between ourselves and the creator Source. In our long history on this planet there have been many cultures with mythological figures having cosmological functions as mediators between the unknowable God and a hostile world. I don’t feel we should relegate myths, as a means of explaining the world, to primitive thought. What we rationally know today still does not answer the mystery of creation any more than in the past.

In terms of the First Cause, I have found both old and new spiritual concepts can be reconciled in one significant way. Souls are able to create living things out of an energy source provided for them. Thus, souls are able to make something out of something in a variety of settings. In religious theology, divine creation is making something out of nothing. There are those who believe that the Godhead does not create physical matter but only the conditions which allow highly advanced beings to do so.

Is Earth a laboratory created by higher forms of energy for the lower to advance through many stages of development? If so, these higher beings are our Source but not the Source. In Journey of Souls, I wrote about the possibility of a creator lacking full perfection and having the need to grow stronger by expressing its essence. However, it could have the need to do this even if it was perfect. The philosophy of a divine stair-stepping authority validates the belief of many people that Earth and our physical universe is far too chaotic to have been formed by ultimate perfection. In my view, this whole idea takes nothing away from a perfect Source somewhere who set everything in motion for all souls eventually to become perfect. Our transformation from total ignorance to perfected knowledge involves a continual process of enlightenment by having faith that we can be better than we are.

Processing Council Meetings

There comes that time during a hypnosis session when the subject tells me their council meeting is over and they are ready to leave the chamber and return to their soul group. It is a moment of intense reflection and together, we will evaluate the information received. Above all else,  ppearing in front of our spiritual council involves matters of account- ability for the life just lived and I want to use the relevant portions of this evaluation in my client’s current life.

Within the texture of any soul evaluation by one’s council there runs the thread of divine forgiveness. The Elders provide a forum of both inquiry and compassion and display their desire to bolster the confidence of the soul for their future endeavors. One departing soul had this to say:

When the Elders are finished with me I feel they told me much more about what I did right than where I went wrong. The council knows I have had critical meetings with my guide about my performance. They don't patronize me, but I think part of their job is to raise my expectations. The council says they foresee great things from me. The last thing the Elders said was to stop looking to others for self- validation. When I leave them, I feel they have absorbed all my self-doubt and cleansed me.

People ask me if souls feel remorse both during and after the council meeting if they were involved in acts of cruel wrongdoing. Of course they do, but often I must remind those who ask this question that accountability for wrongdoing frequently comes with the selection of the next body for the payment of karmic debts. Souls are directly involved with this selection process through their council because this is what they want for themselves. Although karma is associated with justice, its essence is not punitive but one of bringing balance to the sum of our deeds in all past lives.

There is another follow-up question I am asked about regarding the conclusion of these council meetings. “Is it all sweetness and light for those souls who have not been involved with cruel acts, or do some souls come away unhappy with the general temper of the meeting?” I answer these queries by explaining that I have had a few clients who left the council chamber a little unsettled. These are souls who feel they could have presented themselves a little better to a particular Elder. There are other uncommon cases, especially with young, rebellious souls, where I have had the impression they are fighting what they call “an  act of contrition” by standing in front of the Elders. The following quote is an example:

I get a little upset with the All-Knowing Ones. They lull you into complacency because they want you to spill your guts out to them. Sure, I made a lot of mistakes but it's their fault in sending me to Earth in a body that got me into trouble. When I complain about Earth they don't level with me completely. They are stingy with information. I tell them that life makes you take risks, and my director talks to me about moderation! I said to him, "That's all very well for you to say sitting here safe and comfortable while I'm fighting to survive down in a war zone." These immature souls do not realize that to be on a council, an Elder has survived many war zones. By contrast, the next quote comes from an old, advanced soul nearing the completion of her incarnations on Earth:
As my session with the council comes to an end, the Elders stand and close around me in a circle. Once in position, they raise their arms—outstretched like a giant bird— enfolding me with wings of unification. This is their accolade for a job well done.

I don’t believe I have ever had a client come away from visualizing themselves attending a council meeting without some sense of awe, penitence and the need for atonement. They carry these sentiments back to their soul groups. For this reason, I was unprepared to learn about the Law of Silence.

I will cite a case excerpt involving privacy of the mind which extends not only to soul groups but also to my own questioning of clients about council meetings. There are aspects of council meetings that are out o( the scope of current reality for my subjects. For a variety of personal and spiritual reasons, people are unable to recall all the details of these meetings. Some parts of this blockage can be deliberate on the part of the client. In case 45, the subject evidently knows what he wishes not to tell me. With other subjects, they don’t know why they can’t remember.

Case 45

Dr. N: I now want to move forward to the most significant part of your discussion with the Elder sitting to the right of the chairperson on your council.

S: (uneasy) I’m not comfortable with this. Dr. N: Why?

S: I don’t want to break the Law of Silence. Dr. N: You mean with me?

S: With anyone, including members of my group.

Dr. N: Don’t group members exchange information on everything?

S: Not on everything, especially with very private and personal communication from the council. The Law of Silence is a way of testing us to see if we can hold the truths of that which is sacred.

Dr. N: Could you be more specific here?

S: (laughing at me) Then I would be telling you!

Dr. N: I don’t want to violate anything you consider too sacred to discuss but, after all, you came to see me for a reason.

S: Yes, and I have gained much. It is just that I don’t wish to share with you all that I am now seeing in my mind.

Dr. N: I respect that. However, I find it curious that you don’t wish to share this with your soul companions.

S: Most of them have a different council than I do,  but there is another reason. If we share all our knowledge, it can create havoc if that person is not ready for certain things. The profound may be improperly used and thus by violating the Law of Silence we generate interference with another soul.

Dr. N: I understand, but does this law also have to apply to our conversation about your growth and personal aspirations?

S: (smiling) You just don’t give up, do you?

Dr. N: If I was easily dissuaded from asking questions about life in the spirit world, I would know very little and would be less effective in helping people.

S: (sighs) I won’t talk to you about certain sacred things which pertain to me.

The larger implications of what this case had to say about mental privacy between souls in groups has been corroborated by others. It seems very odd to me that souls would not want to compare notes with their friends about all that happened to them in council meetings. Per- haps this is one reason why members of the same soul group are rarely given the same council. Here is another example of privacy:

I don't discuss my panel with anyone other than two of my friends. Even the three of us arc careful about discussing what transpired at our meetings. We talk in a general way, like, "I know I need to do this or that because an Elder said so-and-so about me."

Considering that our life between lives is in a telepathic world, early in my research I wondered how souls could keep any thoughts hidden from each other. I found that young souls have great difficulty in mask- ing thoughts from the more experienced souls, especially their guides. By level III, mental telepathy becomes an art form, and this includes

blockage for privacy. Without the emotional restrictions of the human body, such as shame, guilt and envy, there is no motivation for subterfuge. In a telepathic world, the paramount consideration between souls is their respect for personal privacy. Souls live in communities with intense group socialization where they work on their own lessons and those of others. They open their minds to each other to such an extent it seems impossible to conceal intent. This fosters complete openness on karmic matters which affect those souls who will be connecting on Earth.

How are telepathic souls able to engage in selective mind screening and blockage? This is a process I know little about but I have discovered a few details. From what I can gather, every soul has a distinctive mental vibrational pattern, like a fingerprint. The pattern is similar to a tightly woven basket with interlocking energy strands surrounding an individual core of character. The strands are motion pictures of thought where transference is voluntary to the soul. These involve ideas, concepts, meanings, symbols and personal distinctions particular to that soul. With experience, the soul has the ability to mask any picture frame at any moment. Thus, while nothing is hidden in a general way, no strand opens to the core to release a fine distinction of thought unless a soul wishes another to enter.

Having said all this, I find it is usual for guides and Elders to probe below a particular mental threshold of the less-advanced souls. This is for the benefit of these souls. I know this sounds ominous. It would be, if all this was taking place on Earth. Our teachers also engage in selective mind screening toward souls who wish to mind-probe them. This is because guides don’t wish to burden the younger souls with concepts they are not yet ready for, particularly those involving the future.

Everyone respects the sanctity and wisdom of their council. The information is considered privileged and very personal. Upon returning to their individual groups from these meetings, souls don’t want their peers to be tempted to second-guess certain meanings derived from the Elders. One client told me, “It would be like cheating on an oral exam  to tell my friends. They would be unable to resist their own interpretations of the meeting in order to help me.” On the other side of the council table, the Elders encourage silence because they know that if privacy is honored this insures greater openness with the souls who come before them. Undue interference by group peers later, however well-intentioned, might skew the Elders’ messages. The one exception I see to the Laws of Silence involves more advanced souls, training in specialized groups. They appear to enjoy sharing what they consider to be “guild information” from their council meetings.

Since the spirit world has a timeless environment, I use council meetings as a therapeutic springboard for rapid karmic reviews spanning centuries. Placing everything in the chamber on hold, I take my subject back to key junctions of their past lives involving critical choices. I direct the hypnosis subject to pick moments in their past lives that are relevant to the topic under discussion by the Elders. Many of our attitudes and ego hang-ups come from other lifetimes and seeing this in a different context gives the client a new perspective in current time. Frequently, I feel the assistance of both my guide and the client’s guide.

Through this form of therapeutic intervention, my client and I look for clues to current behavior patterns. This will open the door to healthy refraining. Reincarnation therapy is more than cognitive understanding. People need to see that the twists and turns in their lives all have meaning and purpose. I may also move clients forward to the life selection room to discuss why the Elders offered them their current bodies. If the soul is not yet supposed to know about aspects of the future in this life, it will be blocked. When I am finished I take the Elders out of suspended animation and the council meeting continues without missing a beat.

I never forget I am only a temporary intermediary in the dynamics between my client, their guides and council Elders. I know they are helping me because otherwise my subject would not be able to visualize the council meeting in trance. With the use of deep hypnosis I have the advantage as a spiritual regressionist of utilizing both the soul mind and current human ego. The superconscious mind operates within an eternal framework which the subconscious is able to process into current reality.

The importance of an awareness of our real inner Self cannot be overemphasized for a productive life. I am not suggesting that the one three-hour spiritual regression session I offer is a quick fix for disturbed people. Nevertheless, a renewed conscious awareness of our true nature, knowing about our past lives, and our immortal life in the spirit world can provide a solid foundation for more conventional therapy later in a client’s local area. On the other hand, a single spiritual regression for  the mentally healthy client can do wonders for the recognition of their inner wholeness and purpose.

This post continues to part 3 of 3. You can (and should) visit this post HERE. If you would like to go back to the start, you can do so HERE.

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A detailed look into the topography of Heaven; The Destiny of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton. (Part 1)

This post is a very detailed look at the makeup of Heaven. It is a complete study of the in’s and out’s of Heaven, Souls and humans. It is, by far, the most comprehensive and realistic study of what Heaven is outside of religious dogma. It is also free of pseudo scientific understandings enveloped in strange scientific jargon.

This is part two of a two part post. The first is…

As Dr. Newton described this work; it is the “kitchen sink”. It is everything all thrown into one singular book before he died. As such it is an amazing accomplishment. This is part two…

  • Destiny of Souls (1 of 3)

Further, due to the size of this second work, it MUST out of necessity, be divided into three posts. Thus this is the first part of three parts of the second post in this series.

Important Note
This post contains the complete reprint of the non-fiction work by Dr. Michael Newton titled “Destiny of Souls”. This HTML version of the book was transcribed from a MS Word version of a PDF file that was obtained from an EPUB file format. Thus the paragraphs tend to have odd breaks. I have also not included the very few figures that were part of the book. Aside from these issues, the book should be easy enough to read without problem. Please enjoy. Please kindly note that this is part one of a three part series.

Introduction

There are all kinds of books out there that will describe “Heaven” in all sorts of ways and in terms that may, or may not be familiar. Most are terribly inaccurate, at best.

They do NOT describe what I have experienced.

  • Some are nothing more than a single persons interpretation of what Heaven is like by reading the Bible (or other spiritual book).
  • Some are nothing more than “nonsense” and “insight” provided by “channeled” entities.
  • Some are custom-made tomes designed to fit within one of the many “spiritual” or “New Age” faddists. (It’s nothing less than a way to profit off the gullible and weak.)
  • Some are just ‘copy-cat books of other more profitable literature.
  • Some are interpretations of what Heaven must be like based upon the latest “scientific findings”.

Now, I have written about my experiences and my role within MAJestic. As such, I have provided some insight of the glimpses that I have had outside of our world-lines. Not much, just some.

I never studied this aspect of my role and involvement. It’s just that I was often too overwhelmed by the state of the world-line that I found myself in.

You know, when you get into a car accident, the last thing in the world that you will do is to check to see if the tires are scuffed up. Nope. The condition of the car tires is the last thing on your mind.

It’s sort of like that.

Never the less, the idea that our soul and consciousness is so intertwined with Heaven is strange to most people. They like to think in dualities. We are on earth in the Physical, and when we die we become spirit in Heaven. And that’s it.

Ah It’s a very simplistic narrative.

Well, Doctor Newton has compiled, what I consider to be, the most accurate description of what Heaven is based on my experiences in MAJestic.

And as such, his writings have a strong role here and deserve all the attention that I can provide. He studied this issue for many decades and wrote two books. Both of which are reprinted in Metallicman. This is the first book.

Quick Introduction to Dr. Newton.

Dr. Newton has made it his life’s goal to map out what the non-physical realm is like.

You see, way back in the 1960’s, he was very interested in stories about “regression therapy”. Which was basically, hypnotism of a person where you regressed them back to a past event, and then you walk the person through that event to try to sole emotional, mental or physical problems.

He would get patients that were suffering from PTSD from the war (either Korean, or Vietnam). He would regress them to a time where they would relive the events, in a calm and secure environment, and work with the patient to overcome their problems at what ever level was necessary.

He, like other clinical hypnotists, discovered that his patients would sometimes be regressed to other lives.

They would suddenly be talking in a strange language, or talking about events and experiences that the actual person would have absolutely no knowledge of. They would describe to him a life that they had in another place, and in another time.

This fascinated Dr, Newton. As it did many other researchers.

It also spawned a complete avalanche of related books about past-life regression. (Another subject for another time.)

But while interesting, it often wasn’t really what the patient needed to solve their problems and deal with their distress. That is, until one day. By accident, the doctor regressed a patient back to a time before they were born…

…and the patient described being in “Heaven”.

After a while, Dr. Newton decided to work with a number of patients to “map out” Heaven and see if there were any kind of commonality between the various patients.

And low and behold! There was!

He started with 25 patients in his first batch of studies, and then expanded it to thousands.

Indeed, many of the descriptions were identical. And using the similarities as the “glue” or “linkage” between people are different ages, races, societies, cultures and social-economic backgrounds, he was able to successfully map out what Heaven is actually like.

He wrote two books;

  • Journey of Souls
  • Destiny of Souls

This is a reprint of his second work; “Destiny of Souls”.

I strongly recommend that both books be read and studied. As it described what it is actually like, or at least what I have experienced as part of MAJestic. This is what the “Heaven” was like when I was between realities. It is explained brilliantly by Doctor Newton.

If you all want to know about part of you that is hidden from view, now is your chance…

Destiny of Souls (Part 1 of 3)

Contents

  • Introduction … xi
  • 1: The Spirit World… 1
  • 2: Death, Grief and Comfort… 11
    • Denial and Acceptance, 11
    • Therapeutic Techniques of Souls, 13
    • Ways Spirits Connect with the Living, 16
    • Somatic Touch, 16
    • Personification with Objects, 19
    • Dream Recognition, 22
    • Transference Through Children, 31
    • Contact in Familiar Settings, 33
    • Strangers as Messengers, 37
    • Angels or Other Heavenly Hosts, 38
    • Emotional Recovery of Souls and Survivors, 42
    • Reuniting with Those We Love, 48
  • 3: Earthly Spirits … 51
    • Astral Planes, 51
    • Nature Spirits, 53
    • Ghosts, 54
    • The Abandoned Soul, 56
    • Spiritual Duality, 62
  • Souls in Seclusion, 64
    • Discarnates Who Visit Earth, 69
    • Demons or Devas, 74
  • 4: Spiritual Energy Restoration … 85
    • Soul Energy, 85
    • Standard Treatment at the Gateway, 86
    • Emergency Treatment at the Gateway, 87
    • Recovery Areas for the Less Damaged Soul, 90
    • Regenerating Severely Damaged Souls, 93
    • Souls of Solitude, 104
    • Energy Healing on Earth, 109
    • Healers of the Human Body, 109
    • Healers of the Environment, 113
    • Soul Division and Reunification, 116
    • The Three Stations, 120
  • 5: Soul Group Systems … 125
    • Soul Birthing, 125
    • Spiritual Settings, 134
    • Memory, 136
    • Community Centers, 138
    • Classrooms, 144
    • The Library of Life Books, 150
    • Colors of Spirits, 170
    • The Mixture of Colors in Soul Groups, 170
    • Colors of Visitors in Groups, 179
    • Human versus Soul Color Auras, 180
    • Spiritual Meditation Using Color, 182
    • Forms of Energy Color, 184
    • Sounds and Spiritual Names, 188
    • Soul Study Groups, 190
  • 6: The Council of Elders … 201
    • Human Fear of Judgment and Punishment, 201
    • The Setting for Soul Evaluation, 204
    • Appearance and Composition of the Council, 212
    • Signs and Symbols, 224 The Presence, 243
    • The Chain of Divine Influence, 249
    • Processing Council Meetings, 251
  • 7: Community Dynamics… 259
    • Soulmates, 259
  • Primary Soulmates, 263
    • Companion Soulmates, 264
    • Aliated Souls, 265
    • Linkages Between Spiritual and Human Families, 274
    • Reuniting with Souls Who Have Hurt Us, 279
    • Interaction Between Soul Groups, 287
    • Recreational Activities in the Spirit World, 290
    • Leisure Time, 290
    • Recess Breaks, 291
    • Quiet Solitude as, 292
    • Going to Earth for R&R, 293
    • Creation of Earthly Settlements, 295
    • Animal Souls, 296
    • The Space of Transformation, 302
    • Dancing, Music and Games, 304
    • Four General Types of Souls, 315
  • 8: The Advancing Soul… 317
    • Graduation, 317
    • Movement to the Intermediate Levels, 320
    • Specializations, 323
    • Nursery Teachers, 323
    • Harmonizer Souls, 330
    • Masters of Design, 334
    • Explorers, 344
  • 9: The Ring of Destiny… 355
    • The Screening Room of Future Lives, 355
    • Time lines and Body Choices, 360
    • Time masters, 365
    • Free Will, 370
    • Souls of the Young, 381
    • The Loss of a Child, 381
    • New Body-Soul Partnerships, 384
  • 10: Our Spiritual Path … 395
  • Index… 403

Introduction

Who are we? Why are we here? Where are we going? I endeavored to answer these age-old questions with my first book, Journey of Souls, published  in  1994  by  Llewellyn. Many  people  told  me  the  book provided a spiritual awakening of their inner selves because they had never before been able to read in such detail about what life is like in the spirit world. They also said the information validated deep-seated feelings about their soul living on after physical death and the purpose of returning to Earth.

Once the book was in print, and later translated into other languages, I received enquiries from readers around the world asking me if there was going to be a second book. For a long while I resisted these suggestions. All my years of original research had been difficult to collect, organize and finally write as a comprehensive study of our immortal life. I felt I had done enough.

In the introduction to Journey of Souls I explained my background as a traditional hypnotherapist and how skeptical I had been about the use of hypnosis for metaphysical regression. In 1947, at age fifteen, I  placed my first subject in hypnosis, so I was definitely old school and nota New Ager. Thus, when I unintentionally opened the gateway to the spirit world with a client, I was stunned. It seemed to me that most past life regressionists thought our life between lives was just a hazy limbo that only served as a bridge from one past life to the next. It was soon evident I had to find out for myself the steps necessary to reach and unlock a subject’s memory of their existence in this mysterious place. After more years of quiet research, I was finally able to construct a working model of spirit world structure and realized how therapeutic this process could be for a client. I also found that it did not matter if a person was an atheist, deeply religious, or believed in any philosophical persuasion in between once they were in the proper super conscious state of hypnosis, all were consistent in their reports. It was for this reason that I became what I have come to call a spiritual regressionist. This is a hypnotherapist specializing in life after death.

I wrote Journey of Souls to give the public a foundation of information, presented in a tight, orderly progression of events, of what it is like to die and cross over who meets us, where we go, and what we do as souls in the spirit world before choosing our next body for reincarnation. This format was designed as a travelogue through time using actual case histories from clients who told me of their past experiences between former lives. Thus, Journey of Souls was not another past life book about reincarnation but rather broke new ground in metaphysical research which had been virtually unexplored by the use of hypnosis.

During the decade of the 1980s, while I was formulating a working model of the world between lives, I closed my practice to all other types of hypnotherapy. I became obsessed with unraveling the secrets of the spirit world as I built up a high volume of cases. This made me more comfortable with the validity and reliability of my earlier findings. While these years of specialized research into the spirit world rolled on, I worked practically in seclusion with only my clients knowing about this work and only as it pertained to them and their friends. I even stayed out of metaphysical bookstores because I wanted absolute freedom from outside bias. Today, I still believe my self-imposed isolation and not speaking out publicly was the right decision.

When I left Los Angeles to retire in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and write Journey of Souls I expected to slip into quiet anonymity. This proved to be a delusion. Most of the material presented in the book had never been published before and I began receiving a great deal of mail through my publisher. I owe Llewellyn a debt of gratitude for having the insight and courage to introduce my research to the public. Soon after publication I was sent out on road trips to give lectures   and engage in radio and TV interviews.

People wanted more details of the spirit world and continued to ask if I had additional research material. I had to answer, yes. Actually, I still had a wide variety of unreported information that I assumed would be too much for the public to accept from an unknown author. Despite the fact people found Journey of Souls very inspirational, I resisted  the idea of writing a sequel. I decided on a compromise. With the printing of the fifth edition, an index was added to Journey of Souls along with a new cover and some added paragraphs to meet requests for greater clarification about specific issues. This was not enough. The volume  of  mail  I  was  receiving  each  week  continued  to  increase dramatically with queries about life after death.

People now began to seek me out and I decided to practice again on a limited basis. I noticed a higher percentage of more developed souls. Clients must wait a long time to see me due to my semi-retirement and greatly reduced client load. As a result, I have fewer young souls in psychological crises and more cases with clients who are able to be patient. These people wish to unlock the meaning behind certain issues by tapping into their spiritual memories in order to fine-tune specific goals in life. Many are healers and teachers themselves who feel comfortable entrusting me with added information about their soul life between lives. In turn, I hope I have helped them on their paths.

During all this time the public perception remained that I had not let go of all my secrets. Eventually, my mind began to turn on how I should approach a second book. The effect of all I have described has brought about the birth of Destiny of Souls. I consider my first book to have been a pilgrimage through the spirit world on a great river of eternity. The voyage began at the mouth of the river with the moment of physical death and ended at the place where we return into a new body. I had gone upriver toward the Source as far as I was able in Journey of Souls.   

This has not changed.   Although the memory of making this trip countless times is in the mind of every person, no one who is still incarnating seems to have the capacity to take me further.

Destiny of Souls is intended to convey travelers on a second expedition along the river with side trips up major tributaries for more detailed exploration. During our travels together on this second trip, I want to uncover more of the hidden aspects of the route to give people a greater perspective of the whole. I have designed this book by topical categories rather than by progressive time and location. Thus, I have overlapped the time frames of normal soul movement between spiritual locations to fully analyze these experiences. I have also tried to offer readers a look at the same elements of soul life from different case perspectives. Destiny of Souls is intended to expand our understanding of the incredible sense of order and planning which exists for the benefit of human beings.

At the same time, it is my intention that this second tour into the wonders of the spirit world be fresh and enjoyable for the unseasoned traveler as well. For first-time readers of my work, the opening chapter will give a condensed overview of what I have discovered about our life between lives. I hope this summary will add to your understanding of what follows and perhaps encourage you to eventually read my foundational book.

So, as we begin this second journey together, I want to thank all of you who have given me so much support for the hard work necessary to unlock the spiritual doorways of the mind. These associations,  combined with the indulgence of many guides, particularly my own, have given me the energy to continue the task. I feel truly blessed to have been chosen as one of the  messengers for this significant work.

The Spirit World

At the moment of death, our soul rises out of its host body.

If the soul is older and has experience from many former lives, it knows immediately it has been set free and is going home.

These advanced souls need no one to greet them. However, most souls I work with are met by guides just outside Earth’s astral plane. A young soul, or a child who has died, may be a little disoriented until someone comes closer to ground level for them. There are souls who choose to remain at the scene of their death for a while. Most wish to leave at once. Time has no meaning in the spirit world. Discarnates  who choose to comfort someone who is grieving, or have other reasons to stay near the place of their death for a while, experience no sense of time loss. This becomes now time for the soul as opposed to linear time.

As they move further away from Earth, souls experience an increasingly brilliant light around them. Some will briefly see a grayish darkness  and will sense passing through a tunnel or portal. The differences between these two phenomena depends upon the exit speed of the soul, which in turn relates to their experience. The pulling sensation from  our guides may be gentle or forceful depending upon the soul’s maturity and capacity for rapid change. In the early stages of their exit all souls encounter a “wispy cloudiness” around them that soon becomes clear, enabling them to look off into a vast distance. This is the moment when the average soul sees a ghostly form of energy coming toward them. This figure may be a loving soulmate or two, but more often than not it is our guide. In circumstances where we are met by a spouse or friend who has passed on before us, our guide is also close  by so they can take over the transition process. In all my years of research, I have never had a single subject who was met by a major religious figure such as Jesus or Buddha. Still, the loving essence of the great teachers from Earth is within the personal guides who are assigned to us.

By the time souls become reoriented again to the place they call home, their earthliness has changed. They are no longer quite human in the way we think of a human being with a particular emotional, temperamental and physical makeup. For instance, they don’t grieve about their recent physical death in the way their loved ones will. It is our souls that make us human on Earth, but without our bodies we are no longer Homo sapiens. The soul has such majesty that it is beyond description. I tend to think of souls as intelligent light forms of energy. Right after death, souls suddenly feel different because they are no longer encumbered by a temporary host body with a brain and central nervous system. Some take longer to adjust than others.

The energy of the soul is able to divide into identical parts similar to a hologram. It may live parallel lives in other bodies although this is much less common than we read about. However, because of the dual capability of all souls, part of our light energy always remains behind in the spirit world. Thus, it is possible to see your mother upon returning from a life even though she may have died thirty Earth years before and reincarnated again.

Orientation periods with our guides which take place before joining our cluster group, vary between souls and between different lives for the same soul. This is a quiet time for counseling, with the opportunity to vent any frustrations we have about the life just ended. Orientation is The Spirit World intended to be an initial debriefing session with gentle probing by perceptive, caring teacher-guides.

The meeting may be long or short depending upon the circumstances of what we did or did not accomplish with regard to our life contract.

Special karmic issues are also reviewed, although they will be  discussed later in minute detail within our soul cluster group. The returning energy of some souls will not be sent back into their soul group right away. These are the souls who were contaminated by their physical bodies and became involved with evil acts. There is a difference between wrongdoing with no premeditated desire to hurt someone and intentional evil. The degrees of harm to others from mischief to malevolence are carefully evaluated.

Those souls who have been associated with evil are taken to special centers which some clients call “intensive care units.” Here, I am told, their energy is remodeled to make it whole again. Depending upon the nature of their transgressions, these souls could be rather quickly returned to Earth. They might well choose to serve as the victims of other’s evil acts in the next life. Still, if their actions were prolonged and especially cruel over a number of lives, this would denote a pattern of wrongful behavior. Such souls could spend a long while in a solitary spiritual existence, possibly over a thousand Earth years. A guiding principle in the spirit world is that wrongdoing, intentional or unintentional, on the part of all souls will need to be redressed in some form in a future life. This is not considered punishment or even penance as much as an opportunity for karmic growth.

There is no hell for souls, except perhaps on Earth.

Some lives are so difficult that the soul arrives home very tired. Despite the energy rejuvenation process initiated by our guides who combine their energy with ours at the gateway, we may still have a depleted energy flow. In these cases, more rest and solitude may be called for rather than celebrations. Indeed, many souls who desire rest receive it before reunification with their groups. Our soul groups may be boisterous or subdued, but they are respectful of what we have gone through during an incarnation.          All groups welcome back their friends in their own way with deep love and camaraderie.

Homecoming is a joyous interlude, especially following a physical life where  there  might  not  have  been  much  karmic  contact  with  our intimate soulmates. Most of my subjects tell me they are welcomed back with hugs, laughter and much humor, which I find to be a hallmark of

life in the spirit world. The really effusive groups who have planned elaborate celebrations for the returning soul may suspend all their other activities. One subject of mine had this to say about his homecoming welcome:

After my last life, my group organized one hell of a party with music, wine, dancing and singing. They arranged everything to look like a classical Roman festival with marble halls, togas and all the exotic furnishings prevalent in our many lives together in the ancient world. Melissa (a primary soulmate) was waiting for me right  up front, re-creating the age that I remember her best and looking as radiant as ever.

Soul groups range between three and twenty-five members, with the average having about fifteen. There are times when souls from nearby cluster groups may want to connect with each other. Often this activity involves older souls who have made many friends from other groups with whom they have been associated over hundreds of past lives. Some ten million viewers in the U.S. saw the TV show Sightings, produced by Paramount in 1995, which aired a segment about my work. Those who watched this show about life after death may remember one of my clients, by the name of Colleen, who spoke about a session we had together. She described returning to the spirit world after a former life to find a spectacular seventeenth-century full dress ball in progress. My subject saw over a hundred people who came to celebrate her return. A time and place she had loved was lavishly reproduced so Colleen could begin the process of renewal in style.

Thus, homecoming can take place in two types of settings. A few souls might briefly meet a returning soul at the gateway and then leave in favor of a guide who takes them through some preliminary orientation. More commonly, the welcoming committee waits until the soul actually returns to their spirit group. This group may be isolated in a classroom,

gathered around the steps of a temple, sitting in a garden, or the returning soul could encounter many groups in a study hall atmosphere. Souls who pass by other clusters on the way to their own berth often remark that other souls with whom they have been associated in past lives will look up and acknowledge their return with a smile or wave.

How a subject views their group cluster setting is based upon the soul’s state of advancement, although memories of a schoolroom atmos- phere are always very clear. In the spirit world, educational placement depends on the level of soul development. Simply because a soul has been incarnating on Earth since the Stone Age is no guarantee of high attainment. In my lectures I often remark about a client who took 4,000 years of past lives finally to conquer jealousy. I can report he is not a jeal- ous person today, yet he has made little progress with fighting his own intolerance. It takes some students longer to get through certain lessons, just as in earthly classrooms. On the other hand, all highly advanced souls are old souls in terms of both knowledge and experience. In Journey of Souls y I broadly classified souls as beginner, intermediate and advanced and gave case examples of each while explaining there are fine nuances of development among these categories. Generally, the composition of a group of souls is made up of beings at about the same level of advancement, although they have their individual strengths and shortcomings. These attributes give the group balance. Souls assist one another with the cognitive aspects of absorbing information from life experiences as well as reviewing the way they handled the feelings and emotions of their host bodies directly related to those experiences.  Every aspect of a life is dissected, even to the extent of reverse role play- ing in the group, to bring greater awareness. By the time souls reach the intermediate levels they begin to specialize in those major areas of interest where certain skills have been demonstrated. I will discuss these in more depth as we get further along in other chapters.

One very meaningful aspect of my research has been the discovery of energy colors displayed by souls in the spirit world. These colors relate1 to a soul’s state of advancement. This information, gathered slowly over many years, has been one indicator of progress during client assess- ments and also serves to identify other souls my subjects see around them while in a trance state. I found that typically, pure white denotes a younger soul and with advancement soul energy becomes more dense, moving into orange, yellow, green and finally the blue ranges. In addi- tion to these center core auras, there are subtle mixtures of halo colors within every group that relate to the character aspects of each soul.

For want of a better system, I have classified soul development as moving from a level I beginner through various learning stages to that of a master at level VI. These greatly advanced souls are seen as having a deep indigo color. I have no doubt even higher levels exist, but my knowledge of them is restricted because I only receive reports from people who are still incarnating. Frankly, I am not fond of the term “level” to identify soul placement because this label clouds the diversity of development attained by souls at any particular stage. Despite these misgivings, it is my subjects who use “level” to describe where they are on the ladder of learning. They are also quite modest about accom- plishments. Regardless of my assessment, no client is inclined to state they are an advanced soul. Once out of hypnosis, with a fully conscious self-gratifying mind in control, they are less reticent. While in a superconscious state during deep hypnosis, my subjects tell me that in the spirit world no soul is looked down upon as having less value than any other soul. We are all in a process of transformation to something greater than our current state of enlightenment. Each of us is considered uniquely qualified to make some contribution toward the whole, no matter how hard we are struggling with our lessons. If this were not true we would not have been created in the first place. In my discussions of colors of advancement, levels of development, classrooms, teachers and students it would be easy to assume the ambiance of the spirit world is one of hierarchy. This conclusion would be quite wrong, according to all my clients. If anything, the spirit world is hierarchical  in mental awareness. We tend to think of organizational authority on Earth as represented by power struggles, turf wars and the controlling use of a rigid set of rules within structure. There certainly is structure  in the spirit world, but it exists within a sublime matrix of compassion, harmony, ethics and morality far beyond what we practice on Earth. In my experience the spirit world also has a far-reaching centralized personnel department for soul assignments. Yet there is a value system here of overwhelming kindness, tolerance, patience and absolute love. When reporting to me about such things, my subjects are humbled by the process.

I have an old college friend in Tucson who is an iconoclast and has resisted authority all his life, which is an attitude I can empathize with myself. My friend suspects the souls of my clients have been “brain- washed” into believing they have control over their destiny. He believes authority of any kind—even spiritual authority—cannot exist without corruption and the abuse of privilege. My research reveals too much order upstairs, which is not to his liking.

Nevertheless, all my subjects believe they have had a multitude of choices in their past and that this will continue into the future. Advancement through the taking of personal responsibility does not involve dominance or status ranking but rather a recognition of potential. They see integrity and personal freedom everywhere in their life between lives.

In the spirit world we are not forced to reincarnate or participate in group projects. If souls want solitude they can have it. If they don’t  want to advance in their assignments, this too is honored. One subject told me, “I have skated through many easy lives and I like it that way because I haven’t really wanted to work hard. Now that’s going to change. My guide says, ‘we are ready when you are.'” In fact, there is so much free will that if we are not ready to leave Earth’s astral plane  after death, for a variety of personal reasons, our guides will allow us to stay around until such time as we are prepared to go home.

I hope this book will show that we have many choices both in and out of the spirit world. What is very evident to me about these choices is the intense desire of most souls to prove themselves worthy of the trust placed in them. We are expected to make mistakes in this process. The effort of moving toward a greater goodness and a conjunction with the Source that created us is the prime motivator of souls. Souls have feelings of humility at having been given the opportunity to incarnate in physical form.

I have been asked many times if my subjects see the Source of Cre- ation during their sessions. In my introduction I said I could go only so far upriver toward the Source because of the limitations of working with people who are still incarnating. Advanced subjects talk about the time of conjunction when they will join the “Most Sacred Ones.” In this sphere of dense purple light there is an all-knowing Presence. What all this means I cannot say, but I do know a Presence is felt when we go before our council of Elders. Once or twice between lives we visit this group of higher beings who are a step or two above our teacher-guides. In my first book, I gave a couple of case examples of these meetings.

With this book, I will go into greater detail about our visitations with these masters who are as close as I can come to the Creator. This is because it is here where an even higher source of divine knowledge is experienced by the soul. My clients call this energy force “the Presence.” The council is not a tribunal of judges nor a courtroom where souls appear to be tried and sentenced for wrongdoing, although I must admit that once in a while someone will tell me they feel going in front of the council is like being sent to the principal’s office in school. Mem- bers of the council want to talk to us about our mistakes and what we can do to correct negative behavior in the next life.

This is the place where considerations for the right body in our next life begin. As the time approaches for rebirth, we go to a space where a number of bodies are reviewed that might meet our goals. We have a chance to look into the future here and actually test out different bodies before making a choice. Souls voluntarily select less than perfect bodies and difficult lives to address karmic debts or to work on different aspects of a lesson they have had trouble with in the past. Most souls accept the bodies offered to them in the selection room but a soul can reject what is offered and even delay reincarnating. Then, too, a soul might ask to go to a physical planet other than Earth for awhile. If we accept the new assignment, we are often sent to a preparation class to remind us of certain signposts and clues in the life to come, especially at those moments when primary Soulmates come into our lives. Finally, when the time comes for our return, we say a temporary goodbye to our friends and are escorted to the space of embarkation for the trip to Earth. Souls join their assigned hosts in the womb of the baby’s mother sometime after the third month of pregnancy so they will have a sufficiently evolved brain to work with before term. As part of the fetal state they are still able to think as immortal souls while they get used to brain circuitry and the alter ego of their host. After birth, an amnesiac memory block sets in and souls meld their immortal character with the temporary human mind to produce a combination of traits for a new personality.

I use a systematic approach to reach the soul mind by employing a series of exercises for people in the early stages of hypnotic regression. This procedure is designed to gradually sharpen my subject’s  memories of their past and prepare them to analyze critically the images they will see of life in the spirit world. After the usual intake interview, I place the client in hypnosis very quickly. It is the deepening that is my secret. Over long periods of experimentation, I have come to realize that having a client in the normal alpha state of hypnosis is not adequate enough to reach the superconscious state of the soul mind.  For this I must take the subject into the deeper theta ranges of hypnosis. In terms of methodology, I may spend up to an hour with long visualizations of forest or seashore images, then I take the subject into their childhood years. I ask detailed questions about such things as the furniture in their house at age twelve, their favorite article of clothing at age ten, the toy they loved most at age seven and their earliest memories as a child between ages three and two. We do all this before I take the client down into their mother’s womb for more questions and then into the most immediate past life for a short review. By the time the client has passed through the death scene of that life and reached the gateway to the spirit world, my bridge is complete. Continual hypnosis, deepening over the first hour, enhances the subject’s disengagement from their earthly environment. They have also been conditioned to respond in detail to an intensive question and answer interview of their spiritual life. This will take us another two hours. Subjects who come out of trance after mentally returning home

have a look of awe on their faces that is far more profound than if they had just experienced a straight past life regression. For example, a client told me, “The spirit has a diversity and complex fluid quality beyond my ability adequately to interpret.” Many former clients write me  about how viewing their immortality changed their lives. Here is a sample of one letter:

I have gained an indescribable sense of joy and freedom from learning my true identity. The amazing thing is that this knowledge was in my mind all the time. Seeing my nonjudgmental master teachers left me in a glowing state. The insight that came to me was that the only thing of true importance in this material life is the way we live and how we treat other people. The circumstances of our life mean nothing compared to our compassion and acceptance of others. I now have a knowing rather than a feeling about why I am here and where I am going after death.

I present my findings involving the sixty-seven cases and numerous quotes in this book as a reporter and a messenger. Before I begin every lecture to the public, I explain to my audiences that what I have to say are my truths about our spiritual life. There are many doorways to the truth. My truths come from a cumulation of great wisdom from multitudes of people who have graced my life as clients over many years. If I make statements that go against your preconceptions, faith, or personal philosophy, please take what fits well for you and discard the rest.

Death, Grief and Comfort Denial and Acceptance

Surviving the loss of a love is one of life’s hardest trials. It is well known that the process of grief survival involves going through the initial shock, then coping with denial, anger, depression and finally arriving at some sort of acceptance. Each one of these stages of emotional turmoil varies in length of time and intensity from months up to years. Losing someone with whom we had a deep bond can bring such despair that it feels as though we are in a bottomless pit where escape is impossible because death seems so final.

In Western society, the belief in the finality of death is an obstacle to healing. We have a dynamic culture where the possibility of our loss of personhood is unthinkable. The dynamics of death in a loving family is akin to a successful stage play that is thrown into disarray due to the loss of one of its stars. The supporting cast flounders around over the need for script changes. Dealing with this huge hole in the story left by the departed affects the future roles of the remaining players.

There is a dichotomy here because when souls are in the spirit world preparing for a new life, they laugh about being in rehearsals for their next big stage play on Earth. They know all roles are temporary.

In our culture, we do not prepare properly for death during life because it is something we cannot fix or change. The apprehension about death begins to gnaw at us as we get older. It is always there, lurk- ing in the shadows, regardless of our beliefs about what happens after death. In discussing life after death on my lecture tours, I was surprised to find that many people who held very traditional religious views seemed to be the most fearful of death.

The fear for most of us comes from the unknown. Unless we have had a near-death experience or undergone a past life regression where we remember what death felt like in a former life, death is a mystery. When we must face death either as a participant or as an observer it can be  painful, sad and frightening. The healthy don’t want to talk about it and frequently neither do the seriously ill. Thus, our culture views death as an abhorrence.

In the twentieth century there were many changes in public attitudes about life after death. During the early decades of the century most people held traditional views that they had only one life to live. In the last third of the twentieth century in the U.S. it was estimated some 40 percent believed in reincarnation. This change in attitude has made acceptance of death a little easier for those people who have become more spiritual and are pulling away from a belief in oblivion after life.

One of the most meaningful aspects of my work in the spirit world is learning from the perspective of the departed soul what it feels like to die and how souls try to reach back and comfort those left behind. In this chapter I hope to validate that what you sense deep inside after a loss is not just wishful thinking. The person you love is not really gone. Consider, too, what I said in the last chapter about soul duality. Part of your energy was left behind in the spirit world at the time of incarna- tion. When your love arrives back home again, you will already be there waiting with that portion of your energy which was left behind. This same energy is held in reserve for unification with the returning soul. One of the significant revelations of my research was to learn that soul- mates are never truly apart from each other.

The sections that follow illustrate certain methods used by souls to communicate with those they love. These techniques may begin right after physical death and can be very intense. Nevertheless, the departing soul is anxious to get moving on their way home, as the density of Earth does drain energy. In death, suddenly the soul is released and given freedom. Yet if we have the need, souls are able to contact us on a regular basis from the spirit world.

Quiet contemplation and meditation should bring a greater receptivity to the departed and provide your consciousness with a heightened sense of awareness. No verbal messages from the other side are necessary. lust removing the blocks of self-doubt and opening your mind to even the possible presence of someone you love will assist the process of grief recovery.

Therapeutic Techniques of Souls

My opening case is that of an advanced soul named Tammano who is in training to be a student guide. He said to me, “I have been incarnating and dying on Earth for thousands of years and only in the last few centuries am I really getting the hang of how to alter negative thought patterns and calm people.” This case begins at the point in our session where Tammano is describing the moments following his sudden death after a former life.

Case 1

S (Subject): My wife is not feeling my presence. I’m just not getting through to her at all right now.

Dr. N: What is the matter?

S: Too much grief. It is so overpowering. Alice is in such a state of shock over my being killed that she is too numb to feel my energy.

Dr. N: Tammano, has this been a recurring problem for you after your former lives, or is it just Alice?

S: Right after death the people who love you are either very agitated or completely numb. In either situation their minds can shut down. My task is to attempt a balancing of mind and body.

Dr. N: Where is your soul at this moment? S: On the ceiling of our bedroom.

Dr. N: What do you want her to do?

S: Stop crying and focus her thoughts. She doesn’t believe I could still be alive so all her energy patterns are in a terrible tangled mass. It’s so frustrating. I’m right next to her and she doesn’t know it!

Dr. N: Are you going to give up for the moment and leave for the spirit world because her mind is closed down?

S: That would be the easy way for me but not for her. I care for her too much to give up now. I won’t go until she at least senses that someone is in this room with her. That is my first step. Then I will be able to do more.

Dr. N: How long has it been since your death?

S: A couple of days. The funeral is over and that is when I settle down to try and comfort Alice.

Dr. N: I suppose your own guide is waiting to escort you home?

S: (laughs) I have informed my guide Eaan that she would have to wait for me a while … which was unnecessary. She knows about all this—Eaan was the one who taught me!

This case demonstrates a common complaint I hear from newly released souls. Many are not as proficient or determined as Tammano. Even so, most souls who are anxious to depart for the spirit world will not leave Earth’s astral plane until they take some sort of action to com- fort those in distress who care about them. I have condensed this client’s narrative of how he assisted Alice in her grief recovery in order to focus on the soothing effects of soul energy patterns on disrupted human energy.

Dr. N: Tammano, I would appreciate your taking me through the techniques you use to help your wife Alice with her grief.

S: Well, I’ll start by telling you Alice has not lost me. (takes a deep breath) 1 began by throwing out a shower of my energy as an umbrella from Alice’s waist to her head.

Dr. N: If I were a spirit standing next to you, what would this look like?

S: (smiles) A cloud of cotton candy. Dr. N: What does this do?

S: It gives Alice a blanket of mental warmth which is calming. I must tell you I’m not fully proficient with this cloaking yet, but I have placed a protective cloud of energy over Alice the past three days since my death to make her more receptive.

Dr. N: Oh, I see, you have already begun your work with Alice.

Okay, Tammano, what do you do now?

S: I begin to filter certain aspects of myself through the cloud of energy around her until I can feel the point where there is the least amount of blockage, (pause) I find it on the left side of her head behind her ear.

Dr. N: Does this spot have some significance?

S: Alice used to love to have me kiss her ears, (memories of caressing points are meaningful) WTien I see the opening on the left side of her head I convert my energy to a solid beam and train it on that place.

Dr. N: Does your wife feel this right away?

S: Alice is aware of a gentle touch in the beginning but the awareness is fragmented by grief. Then I increase the power of my beam— sending her thoughts of love.

Dr. N: Do you see this working?

S: (happily) Yes, 1 detect new energy patterns that are no longer dark coming from .Mice. There are shifts in her emotions … her crying stops … she is looking around … sensing me. She smiles. Now, I’ve got her.

Dr. N: Are you finished?

S: She is going to be all right. It’s time for me to go. I’ll watch over her, but I know she is going to make it through this—and that’s good because I’m going to be busy myself for a while.

Dr. N: Does this mean you won’t contact Alice further?

S: (offended) Certainly not! I will remain in contact whenever she needs me. She is my love.

The average soul is much less skillful than even the most junior of student guides. I will discuss these elements further in chapter 4 under the sections of energy rehabilitation. Still, most souls I work with per- form rather well from the spirit world on a physical body. Typically, they choose to work in concentrated areas using the beam effect described by Tammano. These loving energy projections can be very potent, even from the inexperienced soul, to people who have sustained emotional and physical trauma.

Eastern practices of yoga and meditation include the use of chakra body points in ways that resemble how souls partition the human body with healing energy. People who practice the art of chakra healing say that since we have an etheric body that exists in conjunction with the physical, healing must take into account both these elements. Chakra work includes unblocking our emotional and spiritual energy through various points of the body from the spine, heart, throat, forehead and so forth, to open and harmonize the body.

Ways Spirits Connect with the Living

Somatic Touch

I have taken the clinical terms of “somatic bridging” and “therapeutic touch” and combined them to describe the method by which discarnate souls use directed energy beams to touch various parts of an incarnated body. Healing is not limited to the chakra body points I spoke about earlier. Souls who are reaching back to comfort the living look for areas that are most receptive to their energy. We saw this in case 1 (behind the left ear). The energy pattern becomes therapeutic when bridges are established to connect the two minds of the sender and receiver in telepathic transmission.

Bridging by thought transmissions to a body which is hurting is somatic when the methods are physiological. It involves the subtle touching of body organs while eliciting certain emotional reactions which can include the use of the senses. Skillfully applied energy beams can evoke recognition by sight, sound, taste and smell. The whole idea with recognition is to convince the person grieving that the individual they love is still alive. The purpose of somatic touch is to allow the grief- stricken person to come to terms with their loss by acquiring an awareness that absence is only a change of reality and not final. Hope- fully, this will allow the bereaved to move on and complete their own  life constructively.

Souls are also quite capable of falling into habit patterns with somatic touch. The next case is an example of a forty-nine-year-old man who had died of cancer. While the soul of this man does not  demonstrate much skill, his intentions are good.

Case 2

Dr. N: What technique do you use to reach out to your wife? S: Oh, my old standby—the center of the chest.

Dr. N: Where exactly on the chest?

S: I direct my energy beam right at the heart. If I’m a little off, it doesn’t matter.

Dr. N: And why is this method successful for you?

S: I am on the ceiling and she is bent over, crying. My first shot causes her to straighten up. She sighs deeply and senses something and looks upward. Then 1 use my scatter technique.

Dr. N: What is that?

S: (smiles) Oh, you know, throwing energy in all directions from a central point on the ceiling. Usually one of those bolts reaches the right place—the head—anywhere.

Dr. N: But what determines the right place?

S: That which is not blocked by negative energy, of course.

Compare the difference between case 2 and the next client who care- fully spreads her energy in a focused area as if she was applying icing on a cake.

Case 3

Dr. N: Please describe the manner in which you are going to help your husband with your energy.

S: I’m going to work the base of the head just above the spine. God, Kevin is suffering so much. I just won’t leave until he feels better.

Dr. N: Why this particular spot?

S: Because I know he enjoyed having the back of his neck rubbed by me, so it is an area where he is more receptive to my vibrational imprint. Then I play this area as if I was doing body massage— which I am, actually.

Dr. N: Play the area?

S: (my subject giggles and holds her hand out in front of her, open- ing up five fingers wide) Yes, I spread my energy and resonate myself by touch. Then, I use both hands cupped around each side of Kevin’s head for maximum effect.

Dr. N: Does he know it is you?

S: (with a wicked smile) Oh, he realizes it must be me all right. No one else can do what I do to him and it only takes me a minute.

Dr. N: Isn’t he going to miss this after you return to the spirit world?

S: I thought you knew about such things. I can come back whenever he really gets down in the dumps and yearns for me.

Dr. N: Just asking. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but what if Kevin eventually meets another woman in this life?

S: I’ll be delighted if he finds happiness again. That is a testimony as to how good we were together. Our life with each other—every scene—is never lost, and can be recaptured and played again in the spirit world.

Just about the time I think I am getting a complete grasp of soul capabilities and their limitations, a client will come along to dispel these faulty notions. For a long while I told people that all souls seemed to have difficulties getting past the uncontrolled sobs of the grieving  before they could go to work with healing energy. Here is a short quote from a level III whose tactical approach during the peak of the grief process proved me wrong:

I am not delayed by people who are crying hard. My technique is to coordinate my vibrational resonance with the tonal variations of their vocal chords and then springboard to the brain. In this way I can align my energy to effect a more rapid melding of my essence with their body. Quite soon they stop crying without knowing why.

Personification with Objects

I have heard some fascinating stories about the use of familiar objects, such as with the man in my next case. Since husbands usually die ahead of their wives I do hear more about energy techniques from their perspective. This does not mean male-oriented souls are more proficient with healing because they get more practice at comforting. The soul in case 4 has been just as effective in former lives—as a woman who pre- ceded her husband in death—as a husband in this life.

Case 4

Dr. N: What do you do if your efforts right after death are not having the desired results anywhere on the body?

S: When I found that my wife, Helen, was not receiving me by a direct approach, I finally resorted to working with a household familiar.

Dr. N: You mean with an animal—a cat or dog?

S: I have used them before, but no … not this time. I decided to pick out some object of value to me that my wife would know was very personal I chose my ring.

At this point my subject explained to me that during this past life he always wore a large ring of Indian design with a raised turquoise stone in the center. He and his wife often sat by the fire talking about their day. He had a habit of rubbing the stone while talking to Helen. His  wife often kidded him about polishing the turquoise down to the metal base of the ring. Helen had once reminded him that she had noticed this nervous mannerism the night they met.

Dr. N: I think I understand about the ring, so what did you do with it as a spirit?

S: When I work with objects and people I have to wait until the scene is very tranquil. Three weeks after my death, Helen lit a fire and was looking into it with tears in her eyes. I began by wrap-

ping my energy within the fire itself, using the fire as a conduit of warmth and elasticity.

Dr. N: Excuse my interruption, but what does “elasticity” mean?

S: It took me centuries to learn this. Elastic energy is fluid. To make my soul energy fluid requires intense concentration and practice because it must be thin and fleecy. The fire serves as a catalyst in this maneuver.

Dr. N: Which is just the opposite from a strong, narrow beam of energy?

S: Exactly. I can be very effective by rapidly shirting my energy from a fluid to a solid state and back again. The shifting  is subtle but it awakens the human mind. Note: Others have also told me this technique of energy shape shifting “tickles the human brain.”

Dr. N: Interesting, please continue.

S: Helen was connecting with the fire and thus with me. For a moment the grief was less oppressive, and I moved straight into the top of her head. She felt my presence … slightly. It was not enough. Then I began shifting my energy as I told you, from hard to soft in fork fashion.

Dr. N: What do you do when you “fork” energy?

S: I split it. While keeping a soft fluid energy on Helen’s head to maintain contact, I fork a hard beam at the box which holds my ring in a table drawer. My intent is to open up a smooth pathway from her mind to the ring. This is why I am using a hard steady beam, to direct her to the ring.

Dr. N: What does Helen do next?

S: With my guidance, she slowly gets up without knowing why. She moves, as if sleepwalking, to the table and hesitates. Then she opens the drawer. Since my ring is in the box I continue to shift back and forth from her mind to the lid of the box. Helen opens it and takes out my ring, holding it in her left hand, (with a deep sigh) Then I know I have her!

Dr. N: Because … ?

S: Because the ring still retains some of my energy. Don’t you see? She is feeling my energy on both ends of the fork. This is a two- directional signal. Very effective.

Dr. N: Oh, I do see—then what do you do with Helen?

S: Now, I move into overdrive with a full-power bridge between myself standing on her right side and the ring on the left. She turns in my direction and smiles. Helen then kisses my ring and says, “Thanks, darling, I know you are with me now. I’ll try and be more brave.”

I want to encourage anyone who is in a terrible state of grief over the loss of a love to do what the gifted psychics do when they want to find missing persons. Take a piece of jewelry, an article of clothing—any- thing that belonged to the departed person—and hold it for a while in a mutually familiar place and quietly open your mind, while blanking out all other irrelevant thoughts.

Before leaving this section, I want to relate my favorite story about energy contact through objects from a discarnate being.

My wife, Peggy, is an oncology nurse with a graduate degree in coun- seling, so she involves herself a great deal with grieving cancer patients and their families. Because she administers chemotherapy at a hospital, this puts her in touch with hospice personnel. A few of these women and my wife are close friends who meet regularly as a support group. One of the members of the group is a recent widow whose husband, Clay, died of cancer. Clay loved big band dancing and he and his wife would often go on road trips to where the best bands were playing.

One night after Clay’s death, his widow, my wife and the rest of the support group were in a circle in the middle of this lady’s living room floor talking about my theories of how souls reach back to comfort the people they love. The widow exclaimed in frustration, “Why hasn’t Clay made himself known in a way that would comfort me?” There was a moment of silence and suddenly a music box on top of a book shelf began to play Glenn Miller’s song In the Mood. From what I under- stand, there was a stunned silence followed by nervous laughter from the group. All the widow could say was, “That music box hasn’t been touched in two years!” It didn’t matter. I think she got Clay’s message.

Light energy has some properties of electromagnetic force, and thus can work in mysterious ways with objects. JoAnn and Jim are two for- mer clients of mine whose marriage is a very close one. After their ses- sions, we got into a discussion of the use of energy beams by the living. Sheepishly, they told me they combine their energy on the California freeways to push cars out of the fast lane in front of them when they are in a hurry. When 1 asked if they tailgate, they said, “No, we just direct a combined beam to the back of the driver’s head and then fork the beam to the right (middle lane) and back again.” They claim that over 50 percent of the time they are successful. 1 told JoAnn and Jim, half seriously, that pushing cars out of their way was clearly a misuse  of power and they had better mend their ways. I think they both know that using their gift more constructively will be much better received upstairs, although it will be a hard habit to break.

Dream Recognition

One of the primary ways the newly departed soul uses to reach people who love them is through the dream state. The grief that has over- whelmed the conscious mind is temporarily pushed out of a frontal position in our thoughts when we are asleep. Even if we are in a fitful state of sleep, the unconscious mind is now more open for reception. Unfortunately, the person who is grieving will all too often wake up from a dream that could have contained a message and allow it to slip away from memory without writing anything down. Either the images and symbols they saw while asleep didn’t mean anything at the time, or the dream sequence was chalked off as wishful thinking if, for example, the dreamer saw themselves with the deceased.

Before proceeding further, I want to offer an assessment about the general nature of dreams. My professional experience with dreams stems from listening to subjects in hypnosis explain how—as discarnates—they use the dream state to reach the living. Spirits are very selective in their use of our dream sequences. I have come to the conclusion that most dreams are not profound. In reviewing various texts about dreaming, I find even specialists in the field believe many dreams during the night are simply jumbled up absurdities caused by our circuits being on overload throughout the day. If the mind is venting during certain sleep cycles, then the nerve transmissions across our synaptic clefts are letting off steam to relax the brain.

I classify dreams in three ways and one of them is the cleaning house state. At times in the night many stray thoughts from the day are scrambled and swept out of the mind as gobbledygook. We can’t make sense of it because there is none. On the other hand, we all know there   is a more cognitive side to dreaming. I divide this state into two parts, problem solving and spiritual, with only a fine line between them. There are people who have been given a premonition about some future event as an outgrowth of dreams. Our state of mind may be altered by dreams.

One of the most stressful periods of our lives occurs during the period of mourning when the affections of someone we love are taken away from us—we think forever. About the only relief we get from oppressive grief is during sleep. We go to bed with anguish and wake up with the pain still there, yet there is enigma in between. Some mornings bring us a better idea of the initial steps to take toward coping with our loss. Problem solving through dream sequences is a process of mental incubation which has been called procedural because images appear that teach us ways to move forward. Does this insight come from somewhere other than ourselves? If the dream spills over into the spirit mode, then the Dreamweavers have probably paid us a call as prompters to assist us through our emotional distress.

Spiritual dreams involve our guides, teaching souls and soulmates who come as messengers to assist us with solutions. We do not need to be grieving to receive help in this way. Into this spiritual dream  mixture we also have memory recall of our experiences on other physical and mental worlds, including the spirit world. How many of you have dreamed you could fly or swim easily underwater? I have found with some clients that these mythic memories contain information about the lives they led as intelligent flying or water creatures on other planets. Frequently, these kinds of dream sequences provide us with metaphoric clues which open the door to comparisons of former lives with our current one. Our immortal soul character does not change much between host bodies, so these comparisons are not all that bizarre. Some of our greatest revelations come from the episodic dreams of events, places and behavior patterns emanating from experiences before we acquired our present body.

In chapter 1,1 briefly touched on the preparation class we attend in the spirit world before returning to a new life. This soul exercise is covered more thoroughly in my first book, but I mention it here because this experience is relevant to our dreams. The class is designed for recognition of future people and events. While we prepare to incarnate, a teacher reinforces the important aspects of our new lite contract. Meeting and interacting with souls from our group and other clusters who are to share parts of our new life form an integral part of the class.

Memories of this prep class might well be triggered in our dreams to light a lamp in the darkness of despair, particularly when a primary soulmate is lost in life. Jung said, “Dreams embody suppressed wishes and fears but may also give expression to inescapable truths which are not illusions or wild fantasies.” Sometimes these truths are couched in metaphoric puzzles and represented as archetypal images during our dreams. Dream symbols are culturally generalized and dream  glossaries are not immune to this prejudice. Each person should use their own intuition to delineate the meaning of a dream.

The Australian Aborigines, a culture with over 10,000 years of unbroken history, believe that dream time is actually real time in terms of objective reality. A dream perception is often as real as an awake experience. To souls in the spirit world time is always in the present, so regardless of how long they have been physically gone from your life, the person you love wants you to be aware they are still in now reality. How does a loving spirit go about helping you gain insight and accept- ance of these things in your dreams?

Case 5

My subject in this case has just died of pneumonia in New York City in 1935. She was a young woman in her early thirties who came to New York after growing up in a small midwestern town. Sylvia’s death was sudden and she wanted to provide some comfort to her widowed mother.

Dr. N: Do you leave immediately for the spirit world after death?

S: No, I do not. I must say goodbye to my mother so I want to stay around Earth for a while until she gets the news.

Dr. N: Is there anyone else you care to see before going to your mother?

S: (with hesitation, then in a husky voice) Yes … I have an old boyfriend … his name is Phil. . . I go to his house first…

Dr. N: (gently) I see; were you in love with Phil?

S: (pause) Yes, but we never married … I… just want to touch him once more. I don’t really make contact with him because he is sound asleep and not dreaming. I can’t stay long because I want to reach my mother before she hears the news about me.

Dr. N: Aren’t you being a little too rushed with Phil? Why don’t you wait for a proper dream cycle and leave a message?

S: (firmly) Phil hasn’t been part of my life for years. I gave myself to him when we were both young. He hardly thinks about me any- more … and … well… to pick up on me through a dream … he could miss the message anyway. My leaving traces of my energy is enough for now because we will be together again in the spirit world.

Dr. N: After leaving Phil, do you go to your mother?

S: Yes. I begin with more conventional thought communication while she is awake but I am getting nowhere. She is so sad. My mother’s grief at not being at my bedside is overpowering  her.

Dr. *N: What methods have you tried so far?

S: I project my thoughts with an orange-yellow light, like the flame of  a candle, and place my light around her head, sending loving thoughts. I’m not effective. She doesn’t realize I am with her. I am going for a dream.

Dr. N: All right, Sylvia, take me through this slowly. Please start by telling me if you pick out one of your mother’s dreams or if you can create one of your own.

S: I don’t create dreams well yet. It is much easier for me to take one of hers so I can enter the dream to effect a more natural contact and then participate. I want her to know it is clearly me in the dream.

Dr. N: Fine, now take me through this process with you.

S: The first couple of dreams are unsuitable. One is a muddle of absurdity. Another is a past life fragment, but without me in it. Finally, she has a dream where she is walking alone in the fields around my house. You should know she has no grief in this dream. I am not dead yet.

Dr. N: What good is this dream, Sylvia, if you are not in it?

S: (laughing at me) Listen, aren’t you seeing I’m going to smoothly place myself in the dream.

Dr. N: You can alter the sequence of the dream to include yourself? S: Sure, I enter the dream from the other end of the field by matching my energy patterns to my mother’s thoughts. I project an image of myself as I was the last time she saw me. I come slowly across the field to let her get used to my presence. I wave and smile and then come to her. We hug each other and now I send waves of rejuvenating energy into her sleeping body.

Dr. N: And what will this do for your mother?

S: This picture is raised to a higher level of consciousness for my mother.

I want to insure the dream will stay with her after she wakes up.

Dr. *N: How can you be sure she won’t think this is all a projection of her desire for you and discount the dream as not being real?

S: The influence of a vivid dream like this is very great When my mother wakes up, her mind has a vivid impression of this landscape with me and suspects I am with her. In time the memory is so real she is sure of it.

Dr. N: Sylvia, does the image of the dream move from the unconscious to a conscious reality because of your energy transfer?

S: Yes, it is a filtering process where I continue to send waves of energy into her over the next few days until she begins to accept my passing. I want her to believe I am still part of her and always will be.

Turning back to Phil’s sleep state, it was evident Sylvia did not intend to stay long to manifest her feelings within his unconscious mind. Dreams do not appear to occur in the deep delta stages of brain-wave activity where there is no rapid eye movement. REM sleep, also known as paradoxical sleep, is a much lighter and therefore more active dream state occurring mostly in the early and late stages of sleep. In my next case, the dreamer will be reached between dreams presumably because he is still in REM sleep.

The Dream weaver souls I have come in contact with all engage in dream implanting, with two prominent differences.

  1. Dream Alteration. Here a skillful *discarnate enters the mind of a sleeper and partially alters an existing dream already in progress. This technique I would call one of interlineation, where spirits place themselves as actors between the lines of an unfolding play so the dreamer is not aware of script tampering with the sequences. This is what Sylvia was doing with her mother. She was waiting for the right sort of ongoing dream to enter and initiate a smooth fit. As difficult as this approach seems, it is evident to me the second procedure is more complex.
  2. Dream Origination. In these cases the soul must create and fully implant a new dream from scratch and weave the tapestry of these images into a meaningful presentation to suit their purpose. Creating or altering scenes in the mind of a dreamer is intended to convey a message. I see as this an act of service and love. If the dream implantation is not performed skillfully to make the dream meaningful, the sleeper moves on and wakes up in the morning remembering only disjointed fragments or nothing at all about the dream.

To illustrate the therapeutic use of Dream Origination, I will cite the case of a level V subject whose name was Bud in his last life. Bud was killed in a 1942 battle during World War II. The case involves a dreamer called Walt, who was Bud’s surviving brother. Bud is adept at dream- weaving, so after his battlefield death he returned home to the spirit world and made preparations for an effective method to comfort Walt. This is one of those cases that gave me greater perspective of the subtle integration methods Dreamweaver Souls are able to use with sleeping people. During this condensed case, my subject will describe the dream techniques taught to him by his guide, Axinar.

Case 6

Dr. N: How do you plan to alleviate your brother’s grief after returning to the spirit world?

S: Axinar has been working with me on an effective strategy. It’s very delicate because we are with Walt’s duplicate.

Dr. N: You mean that dual part of Walt’s energy mass that remained behind during his incarnation to Earth?

S: Yes, Walt and I are in the same soul group. 1 begin by connecting myself to his divided nature here to more closely communicate with Walt’s light on Earth.

Dr. N: Please explain this procedure.

S: I float next to the cache where his remaining energy is anchored and meld with it briefly. This allows for a perfect recording of Walt’s energy imprint. There is already a telepathic bonding between us but I want to have a tighter vibrational alliance when I reach his bedside.

Dr. N: Why do you wish to carry an absolutely accurate print of Walt’s energy pattern with you on your return to Earth?

S: For a stronger connection to the dreams I will create.

Dr. N: But why can’t Walt’s other half communicate with himself on Earth instead of you?

S: (sharply) This does not work well. It is nothing more than talking to oneself. There is no impact, especially during sleep. It’s a washout.

Dr. N: All right, since Walt’s exact energy print is with you, what happens when you go to his sleeping body?

S: He is tossing and turning at night and really suffering a lot over my being killed. Axinar trained me to work between dreams because he does these energy transfers so well himself.

Dr. N: You work between dreams?

S: Yes, so I can leave messages on either side of two different dreams and then link them for greater receptivity. Because I have Walt’s exact energy imprint, I slip into his mind quite easily to deploy my energy. After my visit, a third dream about the first two unfolds as

a delayed reaction and Walt sees us together again in an out-of- body setting, which he won’t recognize as the spirit world but the activation of these inviting memories will sustain him.

Note: Some cultures, such as the Tibetan mystics, believe they do recognize the spirit world as an almost physical paradise to be a natural part of dreaming.

Dr. N: What were the dreams you created?

S: Walt was three years older, yet we played a lot together as boys.

This changed when he was thirteen, not because we weren’t still close as brothers, he just became attached to guys his own age and I was excluded. One day Walt and his friends were swinging on a rope tied over the branch of a big tree high above a pond near our farm. I was nearby, watching. The other boys went first and were engaged in a water fight when Walt swung too high and hit his head hard on another branch and was almost knocked out as he fell into the water. They did not see him fall. I dove into the pond and held up his head screaming for help. Later, on the bank, Walt looked up at me with a dazed expression and said, “Thanks for saving me, Buddy.” I thought this act would admit me to their club but a few weeks afterwards Walt and his friends would not let me play a game of softball with them. I felt betrayed that Walt would not stand up for us. During the game the ball was hit into some bushes and they couldn’t locate it. That evening T found their ball and hid it inside our barn. We were poor kids and this ruined their game for a while until one of the boys got another ball on his birthday.

Dr. N: Tell me the message you wanted to convey to Walt?

S: To show two things. I wanted my brother to see me crying and holding his bleeding head in my lap on the bank of the pond and remember what we said to each other after he stopped choking. The second dream about the softball game ended when I added a trailer to the dream and took him to the barn where the softball was still hidden. I told Walt I forgave him for every slight in our lives together. I want him to know I am always with him and the devotion we have for each other can’t die. He will know this when he returns to the old barn to look for the ball.

Dr. N: Does Walt need to dream again about all this after your visit?

S: (laughs) It’s not necessary as long as he recalled the location of the ball after he woke. Walt did remember what 1 had implanted. Going back to our old barn and finding the ball made the mes- sage come together. This gave Walt some serenity about my death.

Dream symbolism moves on many levels in the mind, some of which are abstract while others are emotional. The dreams of this case, involving experiential imagery, reinforced poignant memories of two brothers in a slice of recorded time. Future unification was pictured for Walt in a third, rather wispy dream of both souls happily together once again in the spirit world.

It took me quite a long while before I found an advanced subject apprenticed to a Dreammaster, a title 1 feel is appropriate for Axinar in case 6. As with any spiritual technique, some souls show more inclination than others toward acquiring advanced skills. In case 6, Bud not only originated a sequence of dreams in Walt’s mind but then engaged in the more complex technique of linking them into a central theme of love and support for his brother. Finally, Bud provided physical evidence that he was there through the use of a hidden baseball. I take nothing away from Sylvia in case 5, because she was very effective entering her mother’s dream to give her peace without disruption to the dreamer. It’s just that case 6 demonstrated more spiritual artistry.

Transference Through Children

When souls have difficulty reaching the mind of a troubled adult they might resort to using children as conduits for their messages. Children are more receptive to spirits because they have not been conditioned to doubt or resist the supernatural. Frequently the young person chosen as a conduit is a family member of the departed. This situation is helpful to the spirit who is trying to reach a surviving relative, especially in the same household. The next case is that of a man who died of a heart attack in his back yard at age forty-two.

Case 7

Dr. N: What do you do to comfort your wife at the moment of death?

S: At first I try to hug Irene with my energy but I don’t have the hang of it yet. (subject is a level II) I can relate to her sorrow but nothing I’m doing is working. I’m worried because I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

Dr. N: lust relax now and move slowly forward. I want you to explain to me how you work through this dilemma.

S: I soon realize that 1 ought to be able to console Irene a little by reaching her through Sarah, our ten-year-old.

Dr. N: Why do you think Sarah might be receptive to you?

S: My daughter and I have a special bond. She also has great sorrow over my passing but much of this is mixed with fear over what happened to me so suddenly. Sarah doesn’t comprehend it all yet. There are too many neighbors crowding around trying to sustain my wife. No one is paying much attention to Sarah, sitting alone in our bedroom.

Dr. N: Do you look upon this as an opportunity?

S: Yes, I do, in fact Sarah senses I am still alive and so she is more open to accepting my vibrations as I move into the bedroom.

Dr. N: Good—what happens next between you and your daughter?

S: (takes a deep breath) I’ve got it! Sarah is holding a set of her mothers knitting needles. I send warmth through them into her hands and she feels this right away. Then I use the needles as a springboard to reach her spine at the base of the neck and work around to her chin, (subject stops and begins laughing)

Dr. N: What is making you happy?

S: Sarah is giggling because I’m tickling her chin like I did before she went to sleep every night.

Dr. N: Now what do you do?

S: The crowd is breaking up and leaving because I have been taken out to the street and placed into an ambulance. Irene comes alone into the bedroom to get ready for a neighbor who will drive her to the hospital. She also wants to check on our daughter. Sarah looks up at my wife and says, “Mommy, you don’t have to leave, Daddy is here with me—I know ’cause I can feel him tickling my chin!”

Dr. N: And then what does your wife do?

S: Irene is tearful but not crying as hard as before because she doesn’t want to scare Sarah. So she hugs our daughter.

Dr. N: Irene does not want to indulge in what she believes to be Sarah’s fantasy about your being with her?

S: Not yet—but I’m ready for Irene now. As soon as my wife holds our daughter I jump the gap between them, sending energy flow- ing over both. Irene feels me too, although not as much as Sarah. They sit down on the bed and hold on to each other with their eyes closed. For a while all three of us are alone together.

Dr. N: Do you feel you have accomplished what you set out to do on this day?

S: Yes, it’s enough. It is time for me to leave and I pull back away from them and float out of the house. Then I am high over the countryside and sucked up into the sky. Soon I move into bright light, where my guide comes to meet me.

Contact in Familiar Settings

It may seem from the last case that once the departing soul has reached out and touched those who care about them, they go off to the spirit world without bothering to be near us again. There are people who don’t feel a soul’s presence right after death but will in the future. Sur- vivors who have reached the acceptance stage in their grief process would find solace in knowing those they have loved are still watching over them. Yet there are those who never pick up anything.

Souls don’t give up easily on us. Another way spirits touch people is through environmental settings associated with their memory. These contacts are effective to minds which may be closed to all other forms of spiritual communication. The following case illustrates this method. My subject, a woman called Nancy in her last life, died of a sudden stroke after thirty-eight years of marriage to Charles. Her husband was stuck between the denial and anger stages of grief and his emotions were so pent up that he could not accept help from their friends or seek outside professional counseling. As an engineer, his predominately analytical mind rejected any spiritual approach to his loss as being unscientific.

Nancy’s soul had tried reaching her husband in several ways for months after the funeral. His stoic nature created such a wall around himself that Charles had not really cried since his wife’s death. To over- come this obstacle, Nancy decided she could reach his inner mind through his sense of smell by connecting with an environmental setting familiar to both of them. The use of sense organs by souls complements communication with the subconscious mind. Nancy decided to use her garden, specifically a rose bush, to reach Charles.

Case 8

Dr. N: Why do you think Charles is going to react to your presence through a garden?

S: Because he knows I loved my garden. For him my plants were a take it or leave it situation. He knew it gave me pleasure but to Charles gardening was just a lot of hard work. Frankly, he helped very little in our  yard. He was too  busy with  his mechanical projects.

Dr. N: He paid no attention, then, to your yard work?

S: Not unless I drew his attention to something. I had a favorite white rose  bush bv our front door and whenever I cut these flowers I would wave them in front of his nose and tell Charles that if this sweet scent did not affect him, then he had no romance

in his soul. We used to laugh about this a lot because Charles was actually a tender lover but outwardly you would never know it. To avoid the issue, he would tease me by saying gruffly, “These are white roses, I like red.”

Dr. N: So, how did you implement a plan with roses to let Charles know you are still alive and with him?

S: My rose bush died from lack of attention after my death. In fact, my whole yard was in bad shape because Charles was not functioning well at all. One weekend he was walking around the garden in a daze and came near some roses belonging to our next- door neighbor. He caught the smell. This is what I was waiting for and I moved quickly into his mind. He thought of me and looked at my dead rose bush.

Dr. N: You created an image of your rose bush in his mind?

S: (sighs) No, he would have missed that in the beginning. Charles understands tools. I started out by getting him to picture a shovel in his mind and digging. Then we made the transition to my rose bush and the garden center in town where it could be purchased. Charles pulled out his car keys.

Dr. N: You got him to walk to the car and then drive over to this nursery?

S: (grinning) It took persistence, but yes, I did. Dr. N: Then what did you do?

S: At the nursery Charles wandered around for a bit until I was able to draw him to the roses. They were only red varieties, and that suited him. I was projecting a white color in his mind so he asked a clerk why there were no white roses. He was told red was all they had left in stock. Charles overrode my thoughts and bought a big pot of red roses, telling the clerk to deliver them to our house because he didn’t want to get his car dirty.

Dr. N: What do “overriding thoughts” mean to you?

S: People under stress get impatient and fall back on established thought patterns. To Charles, the standard rose is red. That’s his mindset. Since the store didn’t have white roses at the moment, my husband would not deal with it further.

Dr. N: So, in a sense, Charles was blocking the conflicting images between his conscious thoughts and what you were projecting in his unconscious mind?

S: Yes, and also my husband is very mentally tired from my death. Dr. N: Wouldn’t red roses suit your purpose just as well?

S: (flatly) No. It was then I switched my energy to Sabine, the woman I knew who ran the store. She was at my funeral and was aware I loved white roses.

Dr. N: I don’t think I know where this is going, Nancy. There were no white roses. Charles bought the red roses and then left for home. Wasn’t this enough for you?

S: (laughing at me) You men! The white rose is me. The next morn- ing Sabine personally drove to my house and delivered a big pot of white roses. She  told my husband that she got them from another nursery and this is what I would have wanted. Then she left Charles standing bewildered in our driveway. He  carried them over to the hole he had dug where my old rose bush had been and stopped. The roses were in his face. He smelled their fragrance—but what was more important, the wash of white was combined with the scent, (my subject pauses tearfully as she re- creates this moment)

Dr. N: (in a low voice) You are making all this very clear—please go on.

S: Charles was … feeling my presence at last. . . I now spread my energy around his torso to include the roses in a symmetrical envelopment. 1 wanted him to smell the white roses and my essence filtering through the energy field together.

Dr. N: Was this effective?

S: (softly) Finally, he knelt down next to the hole, pressing the roses to his face. Charles broke down and sobbed for a long time while I held him. When it was over he knew I was with him still.

While the spirits of husbands might use cars or sporting equipment, I find that wives often utilize garden settings to reach their mates. Another client told me about his wife applying the planting of an oak tree to make her connection. Before this widower saw me he wrote:

Even if what happened to me was not from my wife, does it matter? The main thing is that in some way I am using the emotional energy generated by my feeling she was with me to tap into my inner resources, which previously were not available. I am no longer in an abyss without a glimmer of light.

In talking with people about such experiences, which some call mystical, it is important to consider the possibility of a spiritual source. If we can feed into a highly charged state of emotion during our grief, we can both heal and learn more about our inner selves. Spirits may prefer to communicate with us in the form of ideas. Here is a quote from a letter I received from a former client about his departed wife, Gwen. I believe our session together assisted in his discovery of the best way to receive his wife’s thoughts:

I have learned we don't all have equal abilities as souls to communicate with each other. Sending and receiving messages is a skill that needs to be refined with practice. I finally recognized the imprint of Gwen's thoughts after getting nothing during my meditations. She was a literary person who used word thoughts rather than pictures to generate feeling in me. I had to learn to integrate word flashes from her into my own manner of speaking— which she knows—in order to decipher what she was telling me. I see more clearly now how I can touch Gwen with my mind.

Strangers as Messengers Case 9

Derek was a man in his sixties who came to see me from Canada to evaluate his life and try and resolve his greatest sadness. When he was a young man, he lost his beautiful four-year-old daughter, Julia. Her death was sudden, unexpected and so devastating that he and his wife decided to have no more children.

I placed Derek in deep hypnosis and took him to a scene following his last life where he appeared in front of his council. We then discov- ered that one of his major current life lessons was learning to cope with tragedy. Derek had been deficient in this area during his past two lives by falling apart and making life more difficult for family survivors who depended upon him. He is doing much better in his current life. What was especially interesting for me about this case was a single incident that happened to Derek some twenty years after Julia’s death.

Derek had recently lost his wife to cancer and was in mourning. One day, feeling very despondent, he walked to a nearby amusement park.

After a while he sat down on a bench near a carousel. Listening to the music, Derek watched the children happily going around in circles on colorful wooden animals. He saw from a distance one little girl who looked like Julia and tears flooded his eyes. Just then a young woman of about twenty appeared and asked if she could sit down next to him. It was a warm day. She was dressed in white muslin, holding a cold drink in her hand. Derek nodded but said nothing while the woman enjoyed her drink and talked about growing up in England and coming to Canada because she was particularly attracted to Vancouver. She introduced herself as Heather and Derek noticed a glow of sunlight around her that gave the young woman a shining, angelic quality.

Time seemed to be suspended for Derek as the conversation turned to family and what Heather was going to do with her new life in Canada. Derek found himself talking to her as a father and the more they conversed, the more he felt he knew her. Finally, Heather stood up and placed her hand tenderly on Derek’s shoulder. She smiled at him and said, “I know you are worried about me—please don’t be. I’m all right and it’s going to be a wonderful life. We will see each other again some day, I know.”

Derek told me that as Heather walked away and gave him a final wave he saw his daughter and felt at peace. During our session, Derek recognized that the reincarnated soul of Julia had come to him and provided the assurance he had not really lost her. When we suffer the absence of people we love they may come to us in mysterious ways, often when our minds are detached in a shallow alpha state. Take these moments as messages from the other side and allow them to bring sustenance to you.

Angels or Other Heavenly Hosts

In recent years there has been a resurgence in the popularity of angels. The Roman Catholic Church defines angels as spiritual, intelligent, noncorporeal beings who are servants and messengers of God. The position of the Christian church is that these beings have never incar- nated on Earth. We think of angels as white-robed figures with wings and a halo—theological images which have come down to us from the Middle Ages.

Many clients initially think they see angels when I regress them into the spirit world, especially those with strong religious convictions. This reaction is similar to the devotional responses of some people who have had near-death experiences. However, regardless of prior religious con- ditioning, my subjects soon realize the etheric beings they are visualizing in hypnosis represent their guides and soul companions who have come to meet them. These spiritual beings are surrounded by white light and may appear in robes.

In my work, guides are sometimes described as guardian angels, although our personal teachers are beings who have incarnated in physical form long before graduating to the level of guides. An intimate soul- mate in discarnate form can also come to the gate to comfort us in times of need. I feel believing in angels emanates from an inner desire for personal protection on the part of many people. In making this observation, it is not my intention to set aside the faith of millions of religious people in angels. For many years I lacked faith in anything beyond my own existence. I know the importance of believing in something greater than yourself. Our faith is what sustains us in life and this applies to believing that there are superior beings who watch over us. My case presentations are intended to give weight to the concept of benevolent spirits in our lives.

Our spiritual teachers have different styles and techniques, just as teachers on Earth. Their immortal character has been matched to our own essence in a variety of ways. The next two abbreviated cases illus- trate my contention that personal guides and soulmates, however they are represented, contact us from the other side if we require consolation.

Case 10

The following statements come from Rene, a forty-year-old widow who lost her husband, Harry, three months before our appointment. I waited until after our session before asking her the series of questions that follow. My intent was to have Rene contrast the conscious versus superconscious imagery she had of her guide, Niath.

Dr. N: Before our session today, have you had any contact with the being you saw in hypnosis as Niath?

S: Yes, since Harry’s death Niath has come to me during my dark hours.

Dr. N: Did Niath appear to be the same to you before and after this hypnosis session?

S: No, I didn’t see her quite the same way. I… thought she was an angel before and now I see Niath is my teacher.

Dr. N: Were her face and demeanor different to you while you were under hypnosis, compared to what you saw when awake?

S: (laughs) Today there were no wings or a halo, but bright light— that was the same—and her face and gentle manner were the same too. I also see that in our spirit group she can be… sharply instructive.

Dr. N: More of a teacher and less of a grief counselor, you mean?

S: Yes, perhaps that’s it. Right after Harry’s death she was so sweet and understanding when she came to me … (rushing on) that doesn’t mean she isn’t nice in the spirit world, just more … exacting.

Dr. N: Did you do anything to summon Niath right after Harry’s death?

S: I was crying for help after the funeral. I found out that I needed to be alone and very still… to listen …

Dr. N: Does this mean you heard Niath rather than actually saw her?

S: No, in the beginning I saw her floating over my head in my bed- room. 1 had my arms wrapped around a pillow pretending it was Harry, but I had stopped crying. She became fuzzy after 1 first saw her and I realized then 1 had to listen carefully for her voice. In the days that followed I heard Niath more than I saw her… but I had to listen.

Dr. N: Does that mean concentrate?

S: Yes … well, no … more allowing my mind to go free from my body.

Dr. N: What happens when you don’t listen properly but you want her messages?

S: Then she communicates with me through my feelings. Dr. N: In what wav?

S: Oh, I might be driving alone or out walking by myself, wondering about doing something—taking a certain action. She will make me feel good about it if I am supposed to do it—if it is right.

Dr. N: And what if the action you are considering would be wrong for you, then what?

S: Niath will make me feel uneasy about doing it. I will know in my gut it is a wrong move.

My next case excerpt involves a young man who died in a car crash in 1942 at age thirty-six. He gives us another perspective on the mythology of angels from a soul reaching back to Earth.

Case 11

Dr. N: Tell me what you did for your wife after the crash?

S: I stayed around for three days with Betty to lessen her heaviness. I positioned myself over her head so our energy fields crossed in such a way that I could soothe her by matching our vibrations.

Dr. N: Did you employ any other techniques?

S: Yes, I projected my likeness in front of her face. Dr. N: Was this effective?

S: (playfully) Initially, she thought I was Jesus. The second day she was confused and the third day Betty was convinced I was an angel. My wife is very religious.

Dr. N: Are you bothered that she didn’t recognize you because of her religious convictions?

S: Not at all. (then, after some hesitation) Oh … I suppose it would please me if Betty realized it was me but her feeling better is my main concern. Betty is convinced I am a heavenly deity—and that is okay because I do represent spiritual help for her.

Dr. N: Would she feel even better knowing it was you?

S: Look, Betty thinks I’m in heaven and can’t help her. Her angel is able to do so because it’s really me. So, I’m in disguise—what’s the difference as long as my goal to help her is accomplished?

Dr. N: Well, since Betty has not connected you with your disguise, is there any other way you can communicate on a more personal level?

S: (smiles) Through my best friend, Ted. He consoles her and gives her advice with day-to-day details. Later I hover over the both of them sending … permissive messages, (subject then laughs)

Dr. N: What do you find humorous?

S: Ted is not married. He has been in love with Betty for a long time, but she doesn’t realize it yet.

Dr. N: Is this all right with you?

S: (cheerfully, yet with nostalgia) Sure. I’m relieved he can do what I can’t anymore for her … at least until she returns home to me.

Finally, there are those angel like spirits who regularly come to Earth between lives simply to help people they don’t know who are in dis- tress. They may be healers in training, as was true with the client who said to me:

My guide and I assisted a boy in India who was drowning and consumed by fear. His parents pulled him from the river and were trying to resuscitate him, but he was not responding well. 1 placed my hands on his head to quiet his fear, sent a spike of energy into his heart to bring warmth into his body and superimposed his essence with mine for a moment to help him cough up the water and start breathing again. We were able to help a total of twenty-four people on that trip to Earth.

Emotional Recovery of Souls and Survivors

The last remarks from case 11 about his wife, Betty, and those of case 3 who talked about her husband, Kevin, touch upon the issue of later relationships by the survivor. Falling in love again after the death of a spouse sometimes causes feelings of guilt and even betrayal. In both these cases we saw that the departing spouses only wanted their surviving mates to be happy and loved. However, just because spirits want this for us does not mean that we can easily compartmentalize our expressions of intimacy to past and present loves.

People who have had long, happy first marriages and then lose a spouse make excellent candidates for a successful second marriage. This is a tribute to the first relationship. Having other relationships neither lessens nor dishonors our first love, it only validates that love,  providing a state of healthy acceptance has been reached in between. I know placing aside feelings of guilt is easier said than done. I have received letters from widows and widowers asking me if their departed spouses could actually be watching them in the bedroom with someone else.

In my summary of the spirit world, I indicated that souls lose most of their negative emotional baggage when they shed their bodies. Although it is true we may carry the imprint of some emotional trauma from a past life into the next one, this condition is in a state of abeyance until we return to a new body. Also, a great deal of negative energy is expelled during the early stages of our return to the spirit world, especially after deprogramming during orientation.

When a soul once again returns to a pure energy state in the spirit world, it no longer feels hate, anger, envy, jealousy and the like. It has come to Earth to experience these sorts of emotions and learn from them. But after departing from Earth, do souls feel any sadness for what they have left behind? Certainly, souls carry nostalgia for the good times in all their past physical lives. This is tempered by a state of blissful omniscience and such a heightened sense of well-being that souls feel more alive than when they were on Earth.

Nevertheless, I have found two sorts of negative emotions that exist within souls, both of which involve a form of sadness. One of them I would call karmic guilt for making very poor choices, especially when others were hurt by these actions. I will treat these aspects later under karma. The other form of sadness for souls is not melancholy, dejection, or a mournful unhappiness in the way life has gone on without them since their departure. Rather, sadness in souls comes from a longing to reunite with the Source of their existence. I believe all souls, regardless of their level of development, have this longing to seek perfection for the same reason. The motivating factor for those souls who come to Earth is growth. Thus, the trace of sadness I discern in souls is the absence of ele- ments in their immortal character that they must find to make their energy complete. And so it is a soul’s destiny to search for truth in their experiences in order to gain wisdom. It is important for the survivor to know that longing does not compromise a soul’s feelings of empathy, sympathy and compassion for those who grieve for them.

Since the immortal character of the soul is no longer encumbered by individual temperament and the chemistry of its last body, it is at peace. Souls have much better things to do than interfere with people on  Earth. In rare cases, certain souls are so disturbed by an act of injustice against them in life that they won’t leave Earth’s astral plane after death until they gain some sort of resolution. I will discuss more of this phenomenon under the subject of ghosts. The spiritual conflict with these souls does not include sadness over you finding happiness with someone else, unless, of course, you did something like murder your lover to be with another. The one great advantage the departed soul  has over a survivor is knowing it is still alive and will be seeing everyone who is meaningful to them again. The integrity of souls involves an all- consuming desire that those they love have the free choice to finish their lives in any way they want. If you wish a soul to come to you it probably will, otherwise your privacy is respected. Besides, a part of your energy which you left behind in the spirit world is always there for them.

Since souls lose so many negative emotions upon reentering the spirit world, it follows that their positive affections also undergo alterations. For instance, souls feel great love but this love places no conditions upon others for reciprocity because it is given freely. Souls display a universal coherence with each other that is so absolute it is incomprehensible on Earth. This is one reason why souls appear to be both abstract and empathetic to us at the same time.

I have heard of some cultural traditions which advise that survivors must let the deceased go and not try to communicate with them  because souls have more important work to do. Indeed, souls do not want you to become dependent upon communication with them to the detriment of independent decision-making. Yet many survivors   require not only solace but also some sort of approval in the forming of a new relationship. I hope my next case will help dispel the idea that  the departed are uninterested in your future. Your privacy is respected by the spirit of your love when you are content. Still, if a prospective course of action, particularly bonding with someone else, leaves you unsettled, they might try to make their opinions known. Because of the nature of soul duality they are quite capable of performing many tasks at once. This includes a soul’s quiet time in solitude where they focus energy on people they have left behind. Souls do this to bring us greater peace even when we are not calling on them for help.

Case 12

George came to me in a state of some distress over feelings of guilt about a new love in his life. He had been a widower for two vears after a long and happy marriage to Frances. George wondered if she was look- ing down on him with displeasure over his developing relationship with Dorothy. I was told Dorothy and her deceased husband, Frank, had been close friends of George and Frances. Nonetheless, George felt his increased attraction to Dorothy might be considered an act of betrayal. I begin this case at the point in our session when George sees Frances after a former life together.

Dr. N: Now that you have entered the circle of your Soulmates, who comes forward first?

S: (cries out) Oh God, it’s Frances—it’s her. I’ve missed you so much, dear. She is so beautiful. . . we have been together … from the beginning.

Dr. N: You see that you never really lost her in your current life, don’t you, and that she will be waiting for you when it is your time to go?

S: Yes … I alwavs felt it… but now I know …

Note: George now breaks down and we are unable to continue for a while. During this time I want my subject to get used to hugging his wife again and talking to her through his superconscious mind. He strongly believes that his guide and my own conspired to bring him to this junc- ture. I explain that the information he will gain should help him move on in his life with Dorothy. The catalyst for this awareness is evident when we start to identify other members of George’s soul group.

Dr. N: I want you now to identify the figures standing near Frances.

S: (brightens) Oh, really… I can’t believe … but, of course … it makes sense now.

Dr. N: What makes sense?

S: It’s Dorothy and … (becomes very emotional) … and Frank, they are standing together next to Frances, smiling at me … don’t you see?

Dr. N: What should I see?

S: That they have brought us … closer together, Dorothy and me. Dr. N: Explain why you think this is so?

S: (impatient with me) They are happy that we have found each other in … an intimate way. Dorothy has grieved a long time herself over Frank and the grief we both feel is being dispelled by having the company of each other.

Dr. N: And you see that all four of you are in the same soul group? S: Yes … but I had no idea this was true …

Dr. N: How are Frances and Dorothy different as souls?

S: Frances is a very strong teaching soul while Dorothy is more artis- tic and creative … gentle. Dorothy is a peaceful spirit and able to adapt more easily to existing conditions than the rest of us.

Dr. N: Now that you have the approval of Frances and Frank, what will Dorothy gain from associating with you as your second wife in this life?

S: Comfort, understanding, love … I can provide her with more protection because 1 am goal oriented. I challenge things Dorothy takes for granted. She is very accepting. We have a good balance.

Dr. N: Is Dorothy your primary soulmate?

S: (emphatically) No, it’s Frances. Dorothy usually matches with Frank in their lives, but we are all very close.

Dr. N: Have you and Dorothy worked together before in other lives?

S: Yes, but in different situations. She often takes the role of my sister, a niece, or close friend.

Dr. N: Why are you usually matched with Frances as a mate?

S: Frances and I have been with each other from the beginning. We are so close because we have struggled together, helping each other … she was always able to make me laugh at my serious nature—at my foolishness.

When I closed this segment of our session I felt that George had gained much insight. He was overjoyed at learning that it was no accident he and Dorothy were drawn together. All four souls knew their current timelines in advance.

I have had similar information come to me from clients who were not in the same soul group as their new love interest, but were con- nected as affiliated souls from nearby groups. I find most people know if the person they live with is not a significant soulmate. This does not mean they can’t have good relationships with souls out of their group. I will quote the statement from a client who died before his wife in their previous life together:

When I reach out to comfort my wife after my death, I do so as a friend and partner. We were not really in love. She was not an intimate soulmate for me, nor was 1 to her. I have a great deal of respect for her. We needed this relationship to work on those things which played to our individual strengths and weaknesses. So, I don't say, "I love you" into her mind because she would know it isn't true. She might then confuse my spirit with her soulmate. Our life contract is done and if she wishes, I want her to take another person into her heart.

Reuniting with Those We Love

It is fitting that I close this chapter on death with a case illustrating what it is like for soulmates who reunite on the other side. The case involves a widow who meets her husband at the gateway following a long separation.

Case 13

Dr. N: Who meets you right after death?

S: IT’S HIM! Eric … oh … at last… at last… my love …

Dr. N: (after calming my client) This man is your husband?

S: Yes, we are coming together right after I cross over—before I see our guide.

Dr. N: Tell me how everything unfolds, including the way feelings of endearment are transmitted between you and Eric.

S: We start with the eyes … from a little distance away… looking deep into each other . . . the knowing of everything flowing between our minds … of all that we have meant to each other… our energy gets sucked up into a magnetic pool of indescribable joy blending the two of us together.

Dr. N: At this moment have you both assumed the physical form you had in the last life?

S: (laughing) Yes, very rapidly we start with the first time we met— how we looked to each other—and move through the phases of body changes during our long marriage. It’s not definitive because we don’t settle on just one year of our life together. It’s more … swirling energy patterns right now. We even pick up on other bodies we had together in previous lives, too.

Dr. N: Were you usually female in those lives?

S: Mostly, yes. Later, we will revert to a mixed gender pattern because there were good times in our past lives when he was female and I was male, (pause) But it is just fun right now to be the people we were in our last life.

Note: My client asks me to please not ask her any more questions for a few minutes. She and Eric embrace and when she speaks to me again it is to describe how their energy flowed together.

S: It is an ecstasy of coalescing.

Dr. N: This spiritual passion sounds almost erotic to me.

S: Of course, but it is so much more. I can’t really describe it, but the rapture we feel for each other comes from all our contact together in hundreds of lives combined with memories of the blissful state we spend reunited between lives.

Dr. N: And how does the blending of your energy with your husband make you feel afterward?

S: (bursts out laughing) Like really wonderful sex, only better, (then more seriously) You must understand that I died as an eighty- three-year-old, sick woman. I was tired. It was a long life and I was a cold stove that needed warming up.

Dr. N: Cold stove?

S: Yes, I need energy rejuvenation. There is always a transfer of positive energy when we are met by our guides or by someone we love. Eric sparks up my tired energy. He lights a fire inside me to make me whole again.

Dr. N: When this meeting is over, what do the two of you do?

S: Our teacher comes to welcome me back and I am escorted through the mist to our center.

When a subject tells me that reentering the spirit world has the  effect of being made whole again, this requires qualification. We receive an infusion of new energy from soulmates and guides who may also transfer part of the energy we left behind back into us as well. However, as I said when discussing spiritual longing, complete wholeness will not take place until our work is done. Despite this, being restored to what  we were before the life began is like feeling whole once again. A subject put it this way: “Death is like waking up after a long sleep where you had just a muddled awareness. The release you feel is one that comes after crying, only here you are not crying.”

I have tried to show death from the perspective of the soul in order  to ease the pain of those left behind. As Plato said, “Once free of the body, the soul is able to see truth clearly because it is more pure than before and recalls the pure ideas which it knew before.” Survivors must learn to function again without the physical presence of the person they

loved by trusting the departed soul is still with them. Acceptance of loss comes one day at a time. Healing is a progression of mental steps that begins with having faith you are not truly alone.

In order to complete the life contract you made in advance with the departed, it is necessary to rejoin the rest of humanity as an active par- ticipant. You will see your love again soon enough. I am hopeful my years of research into the life we lead as souls may assist survivors in recognizing that death only exchanges one reality for another in the long continuum of existence.

Earthly Spirits

Astral Planes

When my hypnosis subjects describe their ascent into the spirit world as “rising through misty layers of translucent light,” I am reminded of the astral planes we read about in Eastern texts. I must confess that I am not at all attracted to the rigid stair-step quality of exactly seven planes of existence, from low to high, which come from Eastern spiritual philosophy. This is due to the fact that my clients see no evidence of all these planes. It is a human failing to label concepts as a means of codification. In my descriptions about the spirit world I am as guilty of this practice as everyone else. Perhaps it is best that we simply take  those precepts which make spiritual  sense to us and reject the rest, regardless of the age of certain ideas or who tells us they are true.

The reason for my objections to a rigid formula of specific planes of existence from Earth to a Godhead is that these states are unnecessary inhibitors. All my research with subjects in a higher state of consciousness indicates to me that upon death we go directly from one astral plane around Earth through the gateway into the spirit world. It does not matter if my subject is a young soul or a highly advanced older soul, right after death they all tell me their soul passes through a dense atmosphere of light around the astral plane of Earth. This light has patches of darkish gray but no impenetrable black zones. Many describe a tunnel effect. All souls from Earth then quickly move into the bright light of the spirit world. This is a single ethereal space with- out zones or barriers around it.

In the spirit world itself, all the so-called spaces or places available to the reincarnating soul are congruent. For instance, the Akashic Record traditions of Eastern thought don’t appear to my subjects as being on some fourth causal plane separate from other functional areas. My sub- jects call these records Life Books, which are stored in symbolic libraries that are seen adjacent to other spiritual places.

I acknowledge there is much beyond the spiritual experience of the reincarnating soul and therefore out of my range of inquiry. Perhaps the whole idea of cosmic planes is basically an attempt to conceptualize stages of ethereal awareness as opposed to movement prevented by barriers. Historically, specific demarcations of planes that enclose the “underworld”—designed for certain unworthy souls—have been more prevalent in human thinking. I will discuss this further in chapter 6.

When my subjects tell of traveling interdimensionally, I suppose one could interpret this as soul movement through planes. The term “plane” is not used nearly as much as the words levels, edges, borders and divisions, except when a client refers to Earth. People in hypnosis

report that within the astral plane surrounding Earth, alternate or coexistent realities are part of our physical world. Apparently, within these realities, non-material beings can be seen by some people in our physical reality. I have been told of multitudes of interdimensional spheres that are used by souls for training and recreation from the spirit world.

Spiritual boundaries can be as small as the “glasslike” divisions between cluster groups, or as large as the zones between universes. I am told all spatial zones have vibrational properties that allow for soul pas- sage only when their energy waves are attuned to the proper frequency. The more developed souls explain that absolute time as we know it does not seem to exist in these areas. Does the physical world of Earth have similar characteristics that are unseen by most of us? I had a thoughtful client who wrote me the following after his session:

Working with you has made me realize that our reality is like a movie projector showing us images on a three- dimensional screen of sky, mountains, and seas. If a sec- ond projector, with its own imprint of alternating light frequencies and space-time sequences, was synchronized with the first, both realities could exist simultaneously with material and non-material entities in the same zone.

If what people in a trance state tell me about this system has validity, etheric beings would be capable of existing in different realities within the same astral plane surrounding Earth—indeed on Earth itself. The vibrational energy forces around Earth are in constant flux. It seems to me that if these magnetic fields change density, they would produce cyclic variations over centuries of human time. Therefore, we may be more or less receptive to viewing spirits on Earth in any given century.

Perhaps the ancients really could see more than we do in the modern world.

Nature Spirits

On a national TV show, a woman reported that she had seen elves in her vineyard. She said that in the beginning she only heard them and was a little concerned about her sanity. In time she was able to talk to them and a few became visible to her. She described them as being about two feet high with pointed ears and wearing baggy pants. Of course, many people in her area thought she was crazy when this news got out. The advice she received from these beings about what to use in her soil to increase the quantity and quality of grape production over that of the neighboring farms soon caused many of them to take her more seriously. When the story was released, this woman was invited to have her brainwaves tested. When her senses were stimulated it was found that portions of her brain were capable of a much higher energy output than normal.

I had a client who also claimed to have such abilities. She was an old soul and in a deep trance state said, “Fairy folk were here long before the rise of our civilizations and have never left. Most of us do not see them today, as in ancient times, because they are so old their density has become very light, while our Earth bodies still have heavy energy.” I questioned her further and she added, “While a rock has a 1-D (den- sity), a tree would be a 2-D and our bodies are at the 3-D level. Thus,   the beings of nature would be invisible with a transparency registering between 4-D and 6-D.”

When I think of the woman who saw elves in her vineyard, I see a picture in my mind. If we could look at Earth with x-ray vision it might resemble a series of overlaid, clear plastic topographical sheets. These

vibrational energy layers vary in density and denote alternate realities to me. Certain gifted people might be able to see within these layers, but most of us are unable to do so.

It is also my belief that much of our folklore comes from the memo- ries souls have of their experiences on other physical and mental worlds. What they have to say about these experiences while under hypnosis conforms in some respects to the myths and legends of Earth. These soul associations include spirits in trees and plants as well as connections to the elements of air, water and fire. Folklore and soul memory will be explored further in later chapters.

Ghosts

Many researchers into the paranormal have written about ghosts. I do not consider myself proficient in this field, although I have had some exposure with souls as ghosts. At my lectures I am often asked how benevolent spirit guides can allow these beings to wander around lost, unhappy and alone. My contribution to the study of ghosts will be to review what I feel are some misconceptions and to explain this phe- nomenon from the perspective of the ghost rather than from those who see them on Earth.

When I began to devote my hypnotherapy practice exclusively to the study of life between lives, it took years before a client came to me who had been a ghost for an appreciable amount of time after a former life. I don’t consider short-timers ghosts in the traditional sense. For instance, I had a client who died young in a schoolhouse fire while saving the children. This teacher stayed around town for some months afterward just checking on the kids and other people who were grieving at her untimely death. When I asked what prompted her to finally leave she said, “Oh, eventually 1 got bored.” I have come to the conclusion that only a small fraction of souls have ever been ghosts, beyond the normal amount of time it takes for the new discarnate to adjust before leaving Earth. I don’t believe we are being haunted by that many ghosts around the world.

The cases which follow will demonstrate that our guides do not compel or coerce us to move into the spirit world if our unfinished business is so overpowering that we do not want to leave Earth’s astral plane. I find this is especially true if the soul has a permissive guide. Some guides have much more of a hands-off approach. Then, too, our guides typically don’t make personal appearances next to us at the moment of death at ground zero.

For most souls, the pulling sensation right after death is gentle and only grows more deliberate as we leave Earth’s astral plane. There is no question that higher beings are instantly aware of our death. Yet the wishes of the deceased are respected. Keep in mind that time means nothing in the spirit world. Discarnates don’t have a linear clock in their heads so staying behind for days, months, or years doesn’t have the same relevance as with incarnates. A ghost who has haunted an English castle for four hundred years and finally returns to the spirit world may feel in spirit time this amounted to forty days, or even forty hours.

Some people have the misconception that ghosts don’t know they are dead or how to escape their situation. Yes, in a sense, they are trapped but this is a condition of mental obstruction rather than any material hindrance. Souls are not lost in some confined astral plane and they do know they have made a transition out of life on Earth. The ghost’s confusion lies in the obsessive attachment they have to places, people and events where they can’t let go. These actions of self-displacement are voluntary but special guides, called Redeemer Masters, constantly watch for signs that the known disturbed spirits are ready to exit. We have the right to self-determination, even with our death experience. Spiritual guides will honor poor decision-making.

From what I have been able to observe, ghosts are less mature spirits who have trouble freeing themselves from earthly contaminations. This is particularly true if their stay in limbo is for prolonged periods in Earth years. The reasons for staying behind are varied. Perhaps the life ended in an unexpected manner, which caused a deviation from a major path. These souls may feel their free will has been thwarted in some  way. Quite often there was a terrible trauma connected to the ghost’s death. Perhaps they want to try and protect a person they care about from danger.

In 1994, a young woman driving at night on a road not far from my house in the Sierra Nevada Mountains tumbled down a steep embank- ment and was killed. No one had seen the accident or noticed the wreck fifty feet down the hill where for five days her three-year-old son clung to life. This accident attracted national attention when it was reported that a passing motorist saw a ghostly apparition of a nude young woman lying on the highway directly above the wreckage. This was a dramatic way for this ghost to be noticed and it worked because her child was found just in time to save his life.

I find the underlying cause behind disturbed spirits to be a sudden change in their planned karmic direction that they perceive to be not only unexpected but unjust. The most common cases of ghosts appear to involve souls who were murdered or wronged by another person in life. My next case begins as a typical ghost story but then reveals how these matters are resolved constructively for the ghost.

The Abandoned Soul

Belinda came to see me because of an overwhelming sense of sadness she was unable to comprehend based upon her current life experience. During my intake interview I learned she was forty-seven and had never been married. She moved to California from the East Coast after a stormy breakup with a man called Stuart some twenty years before. Belinda cared for Stuart but she had broken off their engagement after making a decision to change her life and come west to pursue a new career. She asked Stuart to come with her but he did not want to leave his job and his family. Stuart pleaded with Belinda to marry him and stay in the area where they had both grown up but she refused. Belinda told me that Stuart was devastated by her leaving him but he wouldn’t follow her. Eventually, Stuart married someone else.

Some years later, Belinda said she met Burt and they had an intensely passionate relationship for a while but eventually he left her for another woman. I wondered if this was the source of Belinda’s unexplained sad- ness but she told me no, she had been hurt, but that it was a good thing she hadn’t married Burt. Belinda now realized that besides his being an unfaithful lover, she and Burt were temperamentally unsuited. Belinda added that, for some reason, long before her relationships with men began she had these strange feelings of abandonment and loss.

Case 14

It is my custom to move subjects into their most immediate past life before we enter the spirit world. This hypnosis technique allows for a more natural mental passage following a death scene. I asked Belinda to pick a critical scene to open our discussion about her former life. She chose one of great mental anguish. She said she was a young woman by the name of Elizabeth living on a large farm near Bath, England, in the year 1897. Elizabeth was on her knees holding the coattails of her husband, Stanley, who was dragging her through the front doorway of their manor house. After five years of marriage, Stanley was leaving her.

Dr. N: What is Stanley saying to you at this moment?

S: (now begins to sob) He says, “I’m sorry about this but I need to get away from this farm and go out to see the rest of the world.”

Dr. N: How do you respond, Elizabeth?

S: I am imploring—begging Stanley not to leave because I love him so much and that I will try harder to make him happy here. My arms are aching from holding his coat and being dragged down the hall to the front steps.

Dr, N: What does your husband say?

S: (still crying) Stanley says, “It’s not you, really. I’m just sick of this place. I’ll be back.”

Dr. N: Do you think he means it?

S: Oh … I know a part of him loves me in some way but his need to escape this life and all he has known since he was a boy is too overpowering, (after this statement my subject’s body begins to shake uncontrollably)

Dr. N: (after soothing her a bit) Tell me what is happening now, Elizabeth.

S: It’s about over. I can’t hold him any longer … my arms are not strong enough—they hurt, (subject rubs her arms) I fall down the rest of the steps in front of the servants—I don’t care. Stanley gets on his horse and rides away while I watch helplessly.

Dr. N: Do you ever see him again?  S: No, I only know he went to Africa.

Dr. N: How do you maintain yourself, Elizabeth?

S: He left me the estate but I do not manage it well. I let most of the staff and workers go. In time we have almost no livestock and I am barely subsisting but I cannot leave the farm. I must wait for him should he finally decide to come back to me.

Dr. N: Elizabeth, I now want you to go to the last day your life. Give me the year and the circumstances leading up to this day.

S: It is 1919 (subject is fifty-two) and I am dying of influenza. I haven’t put up much resistance in the last few weeks because I have just been existing. My loneliness and sorrow… the struggle to keep the farm going … my heart is broken.

I now take Elizabeth through her death scene and attempt to bring her into the light. It is no use because she remains grounded to the farm. I soon discover this rather young soul is about to become a ghost.

Dr. N: Why are you resisting moving up away from Earth’s astral plane?

S: I won’t go—I can’t leave yet. Dr. N: Why not?

S: I must wait longer at the farm for Stanley.

Dr. N: But you have waited for twenty-two years already and he has not returned.

S: Yes, I know. Still, I just can’t bring myself to go.

Dr. N: What do you do now?

S: I hover as a spirit.

I talk to Elizabeth about her ghostly appearance and behavior around the farm. She does not zero in on Stanley’s energy vibrations to locate him anywhere in the world, as an experienced soul would do. Further questioning indicates that Elizabeth has the idea that if she can scare away any potential buyers the estate might remain in the family. Indeed, the property does sit idle with no new occupants because everyone in the district knows it is haunted. Elizabeth tells me she flies around the manor house crying over her abandonment.

Dr. N: How long do you wait for Stanley in Earth years? S: Uh, four years.

Dr. N: Does this seem like a long time for you? What do you do?

S: It is nothing—a few weeks. I cry… and moan over my sadness, I can’t help it. I know this scares people, especially when I knock things over.

Dr. N: Why do you want to scare people who have done you no harm?

S: To express my displeasure at what was done to me. Dr. N: Please explain to me how all this comes to an end. S: I am … called.

Dr. N: Oh, you have asked for a release from this sad situation.

S: (long pause) Well… not actually… sort of… but he knows I am about ready. He comes and says to me, “Don’t you think this is enough?”

Dr. N: Who says this to you, and what happens?

S: The Redeemer of Lost Souls calls to me and I move further away from Earth with him and we talk while waiting.

Dr. N: Just a minute—is this your spirit guide?

S: (smiles for the first time) No, we are waiting for my guide. This spirit is Doni. He rescues souls like me. That’s his job.

Dr. N: What does Doni look like and what does he say to you?

S: (laughs) He looks like a little gnome, with a wrinkled face and a top hat which is all beat up—his whiskers shake when he talks to me. He tells me if I want to stay longer 1 can but wouldn’t it be more fun to go home and see Stanley there. He is very comical and makes me laugh but he is so gentle and wise. He takes me by the hand and we move to a beautiful place to talk more.

Dr. N: Tell me about this place and what happens to you next.

S: Well, this is a place for grieving souls like me and it looks like a beautiful meadow with flowers. Doni tells me to be joyful and he infuses my energy with love and happiness and purifies my mind. He lets me play like a child again among the flowers and tells me to chase the butterflies while he rests in the sun.

Dr. N: It sounds wonderful. How long does all this go on? S: (rather put off by my question) For as long as I want!

Dr. N: During this time, does Doni talk to you about Stanley and your behavior as a ghost?

S: (reacts with distaste) He absolutely does not do that! The Redeemer is not Tishin (subject’s guide). Those questions will come later. This is my time to rest. Doni’s old face is so full of kindness and love, he never scolds. He just encourages me to play.

His job is to bring my soul back to health by helping me cleanse my mind.

After Elizabeth’s energy is rejuvenated, Doni escorts her to Tishin and kisses her goodbye. Then the preliminary evaluations begin as with a normal orientation for someone returning to the spirit world. I was able to access this conference with Elizabeth-Belinda and it was instructive. In the beginning she stated that her life as an abandoned wife was wasted. Certainly, Elizabeth pined away much of her life in suffering without making adjustments or accepting change. Under Tishin’s guidance she saw that this lesson was not wasted. Belinda today is a very independent and productive woman who has weathered many emotional storms.

By now, I am sure the reader has figured out that Stanley is Stuart today. When I relate this part of the story to people, some say to me, “Oh, good, she was able to turn the tables on that bastard with the same treatment to get revenge for what he did to her.” This thinking shows how we misunderstand karmic lessons. The souls of Elizabeth and Stanley volunteered to assume their roles today as Belinda and Stuart. Stuart needed to feel the emotional pain of what he had wrought on Elizabeth. As Stanley, he had made a commitment of marriage in a culture and time when women were quite dependent upon their husbands. Because his action to leave her was swift and uncompromising, it was particularly brutal. This does not excuse Elizabeth, who took no responsibility for making changes in her life. Her suffering and nonacceptance of the situation was so extreme she ultimately became a ghost.

By assuming Stanley’s role in her current life, the soul of Belinda had to learn what motivated Stanley’s feelings of entrapment in an undesirable location. Belinda was not Stuart’s wife when she left the East Coast so the commitment was not quite the same as Stuart had with her in their former life when he was Stanley. Yet in this life they were lovers again and Stuart felt forsaken by Belinda’s desire to leave their town, friends and family to seek adventure and opportunity elsewhere. Because she had the courage to do this alone, Belinda’s soul has now acquired the insight that Stanley did not leave her out of a malicious desire to inflict emotional pain. Stanley wanted freedom and so did Belinda.

Belinda has carried the mental imprint of this past life into her life today. From a karmic standpoint, Belinda has a dose of residual sorrow as Elizabeth which she was unable to comprehend until our session. Belinda told me she still thinks about Stuart and he probably cannot forget her since she was his first love. They are soulmates in the same group and I think it is likely the two of them will assume a new role together in their next life, balancing what they have learned in the last two lives.

For those of you who are curious why Belinda had to endure the brief unrequited love affair with Burt, this was a test. Burt is another member of the same soul group and he volunteered to trigger Belinda’s soul memories of being Elizabeth to see if she had learned to stand up to the emotional pain of a broken heart. Burt’s actions also served as a wake-up call for Belinda to realize in her current life how Stuart felt when she left him. The blade of karma cuts both ways.

Spiritual Duality

Some years ago a magazine article recounted the travels of an American woman who was driving through the English countryside and felt inex- plicably drawn to a small side road away from her intended destination. Soon she came to a deserted old manor house (not Stanley’s). The woman was told by the caretaker the house was haunted by a ghost who looked very much like her. Walking around the grounds she felt an eerie connection to something. Presumably she was there to help release her- self. The two portions of her soul could have been drawn to each other  in the same mysterious way that two people living parallel lives with one soul might be if there was a compelling purpose.

In chapter 1,1 touched upon the duality of souls and how they are able to divide their energy to live more than one life at a time. A portion of the energy of most souls never leaves the spirit world during their incarnations. I’ll discuss soul division further in the next chapter, but splitting soul energy is particularly relevant to the study of ghosts. In  my last case, even though Elizabeth was in limbo for a while as a ghost, another part of her energy remained in the spirit world working on lessons and interacting with other souls. That other portion may also incarnate again and move on to a new life, which is what I believe happened with the woman who found the haunted house.

I disagree with some ghost authorities who state that ghostly forms only represent an earthly shell without a soul’s core of consciousness. There are life cycles when souls choose to take less energy than they should into a human body. However, even if they become ghosts, such souls are far more than an empty shell of energy. One would think that the balance of a ghost’s energy remaining in the spirit world ought to be more helpful to their disturbed alter ego still hanging around Earth. From what I hear, most immature souls who cross over are unable to perform this transfer and integration of energy by themselves. The following excerpt is a report I received from the soulmate of a ghost. This ghost is a young level I soul who was my subject’s first husband.

Case 15

Dr. N: You have told me that your first husband, Bob, was a ghost after his last life. Please explain the circumstances here.

S: Bob became a ghost because he was killed early in our marriage in that life. He was so overcome with despair and concern for me he wouldn’t leave.

Dr. N: I see. Can you tell me approximately how much of his total energy he carried with him into that life?

S: (nods her head in assent) Bob had only about a quarter of his energy and it was not enough for him in this mental crisis … he misjudged … (stops)

Dr. N: Do you think that if Bob had taken more of his energy to allow for this contingency he might not have become a ghost?

S: Oh, I can’t answer that, but I think it would have made him stronger … more resistant to sorrow.

Dr. N: Then why did he take so little energy to Earth?

S: Well, because he wanted to be more engaged with his work in the spirit world.

Dr. N: I’m confused about why Bob’s guide didn’t just make him take more energy to Earth.

S: (shakes her head negatively) No, no! We are not pushed around that way. We are free to make our choices. And Bob didn’t have to become a ghost, you know. Bob was advised to take more but he is stubborn and he was also considering another life at the same time, (a parallel life)

Dr. N: Let me make sure I understand. Bob underestimated his capacity to function more normally in a crisis with a body having only 25 percent of his energy capacity?

S: (sadly) I’m afraid so.

Dr. N: Even though in death that body was gone?

S: It didn’t matter. The effects were still with him and he didn’t have enough strength to combat the circumstances.

Dr. N: How long did Bob stay a ghost before the rest of his energy was restored to him in the spirit world?

S: Not long, about thirty years. He couldn’t seem to help himself… lack of experience … part of his lesson … then our teacher was called by… you know… those beings who patrol Earth watching over the disturbed ones . . . to go get the rest of him to come home…

Dr. N: They have been called the Redeemers of Lost Souls by some people.

S: That’s a good name for them, only Bob’s soul wasn’t lost exactly, only tormented.

Souls in Seclusion

My next case involves a more advanced subject who provided me with details about entities who are not ghosts but won’t go home after death. As the case unfolds we will see that there are two motivating factors that drive these types of souls into seclusion.

Case 16

Dr. N: Are there people who die who are not ready to return to the spirit world?

S: Yes, some souls who are released from their physical bodies don’t want to leave Earth.

Dr. N: I suppose they are all ghosts?

S: No, but they can be if that is their desire—most are not. They simply don’t want to be in contact with anyone.

Dr. N: And their spiritual energy does not go home right after death?

S: That’s right, except there is a part of their energy which never left the spirit world.

Dr. N: So I have heard. But let me ask if you consider these secluded souls as short-timers or do they stay in limbo for a long time in Earth years?

S: It varies. Some want to return as quickly as possible in a new body.

These souls don’t want to give up their physical form for any length of time. They are different from most of us who want to rest and go home to study. Many of this type have been real front-line warriors on Earth. They want to maintain a continuity with their physical life.

Dr. N: Well, it is my understanding that our guides won’t permit us to be in some kind of holding pattern near Earth and go right into a new life. Don’t these souls know they must go through the normal process of returning back to their groups, receiving counseling, studying their lessons and taking some part in the selection of a new body?

S: (laughs) You’re right, but the guides don’t force those in extreme distress to return home until they see the benefits of doing so.

Dr. N: Yes, but they won’t give them a new body right away until after some sort of period of readjustment.

S: (shrugs) Yes, that’s true.

Dr. N: Is it also true that other disturbed souls don’t want to go back to Earth and won’t go back where they belong in the spirit  world either?

S: That’s right—another type …

Dr. N: But if both soul types don’t prowl around Earth as discarnates bothering people as ghosts, should I be calling them disturbed when all they want is to be left alone?

S: They are divergent. Their actions are the result of something unfinished … traumatic … overwhelming. They are unwilling to let go and this conduct is not usual. They won’t talk to their teachers because of the extent of their unhappiness.

Dr. N: Why don’t their guides just take charge and pull them up deeper into the spirit world despite their resistance?

S: If souls were forced to do what is right for them they would learn nothing from getting into a funk and shutting themselves up from everyone.

Dr. N: Okay, but I still wonder why the souls who want to come back right away, with no stopovers in the spirit world, can’t just be given a new body immediately?

S: Can’t you see that placing a disturbed soul into a new body would be totally unfair to a baby just starting life? These souls have a right to be in seclusion, but they will eventually make the decision to ask for assistance. They must come to the conclusion they can’t progress alone. Being given a new body won’t help them.

Dr. N: Where do the souls go who don’t want to wander the Earth as ghosts but won’t go home?

S: (ruefully) It’s any space they want to create for themselves. They design their own reality with memories of a physical life. Some souls live in nice places like a garden setting. Others—those who have harmed people, for instance—design terrible spaces for themselves like a prison, a room with no windows. In these spaces they box themselves in so they can’t experience much light or make contact with anyone. It is self-imposed punishment.

Dr. N: I have heard that disturbed souls—the ones associated with evil—are taken into seclusion in the spirit world.

S: That’s correct, but at least they are ready to face the music and have their energy healed properly with love and care.

Dr. N: Can you give me some indication of how our guides deal with all types of souls in self-imposed exile?

S: They give them time to sweat it out. This is a challenge for teachers.

They know these souls are concerned about their evaluations and the reactions from their soul groups. They are full of negative energy and not thinking clearly. It may take many reassurances by those who wish to help them before these souls agree to give up their self- imposed places of confinement.

Dr. N: I assume there are as many techniques of persuasion as there are guides?

S: Sure … depending upon the range of skill. Some teachers will not go near a disturbed student until that soul is so sick of being in seclusion they voluntarily call for help. This can take quite a while, (pause, then continues) Other teachers drop in often for chats.

Dr. N: Eventually, will all these disturbed souls release themselves?

S: (pause) Let’s put it this way. Eventually, all will be released one way or another through different forms of encouragement… (laughs) or persuasion.

Those of you who are familiar with my work know that I have strong convictions about the influence soul memory has on human thought. The isolation and solitude of souls expressed in case 16 might well give one the impression of a Christian purgatory as a place of atonement. Could this religious concept have sprung from the fragmented soul memories of seclusion in the spirit world only to be subverted on Earth? There are similarities and great differences between my findings about soul seclusion and purgatory as defined by the church.

Christian doctrine has purgatory as a state of self-purification for those who must eliminate all traces of sin before proceeding on to heaven. I hear that some souls in seclusion undergo self-cleansing while others may require energy restoration. However, we don’t come out of seclusion totally purified or there would be no need  to reincarnate again. Also, soul confinement is not banishment. In recent years the less conservative elements of the Christian church do not stress hell as much as in the past. Nevertheless, the church still rejects universalism, the belief that everyone goes to heaven. To them, souls who die in a state of unrepentant mortal sin bypass purgatory and descend into hell where they suffer the punishments of “eternal fire.” To be eternally damned, according to the church, is a separation from God as opposed to those who are blessed. The Christian churches simply do not accept the concept that everything is forgivable in the afterlife. In my experience, all souls are repentant because they hold themselves accountable for their choices.

From all I have learned, soul energy cannot be destroyed or made nonfunctional but it can be reshaped and purified of earthly contamina- tion. Souls who demand to be left in solitude after death on Earth are not self-destructing, rather some feel isolation is necessary out of con- cern for contaminating other souls with negative energy. There are also souls who don’t feel contaminated but they are not ready to be consoled by anyone.

The important thing to keep in mind is that souls have the owner- ship of their energy and most ask their guides to be taken to the centers of healing and rejuvenation in the spirit world. These are therapeutic areas away from their soul groups where there is solitude and time for personal reflection. However, this is a form of directed therapy. The dis- turbed souls case 16 talked about had not yet chosen to receive help. All my case histories indicate to me that after death we have the right to refuse assistance from our spiritual masters for as long as we wish.

I have been asked at lectures if the places of self-imposed exile are “lower planes” or “lower worlds.” I can’t help but feel these ideas come from fear-based dogma. Perhaps it’s a question of semantics. I think a better translation of this state is a self-imposed space, a vacuum of sub- jective reality designed by the soul who wants to be alone. Separated space, away from the soul’s spiritual center, is one of its own making. I don’t see these souls as being lost in some realm divided from the spirit world where others reside. The disjunction is mental.

Souls of silence know they are immortal but they feel impotent. Consider what they do in solitude without help. They relive their acts over and over again, playing back all the karmic implications of what they have done to others and what has been done to them in their last life. They may have harmed others or been harmed by them. Quite often I hear they feel victimized by events over which they had little control. They are sad and mad at the same time. They have no inter- action with their soul groups. These souls suffer from self-recrimination and restricted insight. 1 must admit these conditions fall within some of the definitions of purgatory.

Sartre said, “We have an imaginary self of the world with tendencies and desires and a real self.” To this statement I would add that of William Blake, “Perception of our true self may threaten mergence with that self.” In their space, the souls of solitude have given up their imag- inary Self for a large dose of self-flagellation. Solitude and quiet self- analysis is an important and normal aspect of soul life within the spirit world. The difference here is that these disturbed souls are not yet ready to seek relief from their torment by asking for help, moving forward and making changes. It’s a good thing that these souls make up only a small fraction of the population of souls crossing over each day.

Discarnates Who Visit Earth

There are entities who travel to Earth as tourists and have never incar- nated on our planet. Some are quite advanced while others are mal- adapts. The character of these beings has been described to me as friendly, helpful and peaceful, or distant, aggravating and even con- tentious. For thousands of years I believe they have been considered in our folklore as beings with the capacity to create both fear and enchantment. Our mythology alludes to the differences between light beings who are airy and whimsical and darker beings who are heavy with ugly temperaments. Some of these pre-Christian legends have spilled over into current religious beliefs of a light or dark tableau of grace or violence in the afterlife.

Quite a number of my subjects have told me that between their lives on Earth they travel as discarnates to other worlds both in and out of our dimension. Some explain that they see other nonphysical entities on these trips. This is why it has been surprising to me that only occa- sionally do I receive small amounts of information from clients about encountering other light beings on Earth. My clients see them when they decide to visit Earth as discarnates themselves between lives. The reports are intriguing, as the next case illustrates.

Case 17

Dr. N: Since you have described to me how much you enjoy traveling to both physical and mental worlds between your lives, I am curious what you know about other beings you might see when you come to Earth?

S: They float through our reality here on Earth just as I do in other dimensions.

Dr. N: Do you know many souls who regularly incarnate on Earth that visit here like yourself?

S: No, as a matter of fact, it’s not all that common, but I like to come.

Many of my friends enjoy a change in scenery between lives and stay away from Earth. When I come here, sometimes I see strange beings I don’t know.

Dr. N: What do they look like?

S: Odd, strange shapes, wispy or dense … not human-looking.

Dr. N: Let’s talk about this. You have told me of the ability souls have in the spirit world to project a human form. What do you and your friends look like as spirits on Earth?

S: Oh … rather the same, but on a dense world such as Earth, we shift more on the physical side … to add flavor to what we once were here.

Dr. N: You mean you are in more of a corporeal state?

S: Um … ves … sort of. On worlds such as Earth we are more defined around the edges—the way we outline a human body in a transparent fashion as soft, diffused light. In the spirit world when we assume body features, say of a former life, we glow all over with full-strength energy.

Dr. N: Can a non-physical being, even in a diffused state, be visible to living inhabitants?

S: (chuckles) Oh, yes … but only certain people can see us as apparitions and then not always.

Dr. N: Why is that?

S: It has to do with their level of receptivity—of perception—at certain moments when we are in their area.

Dr. N: If you will, please put yourself in the position of a transparent light being on Earth and tell me what you do here. I want you to include any non-human spirits you see who have had no incarnation experiences on our planet.

S: (happily) As visitors, we soar through the mountains and valleys, the cities and small towns. For us, there is a vicarious picking up of the energy of Earth’s struggles. It’s always interesting to bump into different kinds of beings who are also on tour here. They know Earth’s inhabitants are afraid of us and most of these beings would like to dispel the fear … yet… those of us from Earth know we can’t afford to get entangled with people’s lives in any major way.

Dr. N:  Meaning that some beings  from other worlds  have no such reservations?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: I assume by “entangled” you mean interfering in someone’s karmic path?

S: Well… yes.

Dr. N: But why not help people if you can?

S: (abruptly,  and maybe with  some guilt)  Look, we are not  guides assigned to Earth. We are only visitors, as are the others we see here occasionally. It’s a vacation trip for all of us. If we come across a condition going bad we might take a moment to briefly … turn a head toward a better alternative path. We do get pleasure out of… nudging people … to act in their better interest rather than turning the wrong way.

Dr. N: If you happen to be in the right place at the right time?

S: Right, to give … a gentle push in a better direction at a crucial moment (raises voice)—no fixing of major trouble spots, you understand.

Dr. N: Then you would be considered as good s p i r i t s ? S: (laughs) As opposed to what?

Dr. N: (in an attempt to draw this subject out) To bad spirits who interfere with life forms for the pleasure of doing harm.

S: (abruptly) Who told you this? There are no evil spirits, only inept ones … and those who are careless … and indifferent…

Dr. N: How about sad spirits, or ones who are disoriented, or playful spirits—can’t they cause harm?

S: Oh, yes, but it is not premeditated evil, (pause, and then adds) Not all of us are in the same category … soaring around Earth on a lark.

Dr. N: That’s what I was getting at. I’m thinking of ghosts.

S: These are spirits grounded here by their own volition. Dr. N: How about the spirits who are strangers to Earth?

S: (pause) There are other spirits who travel interdimensionally who we consider to be maladapts. They do not seem to have any sensitivity to Earth. They are not knowledgeable about human beings.

Dr. N: (coaxing) And can they cause problems for the living?

S: (edgy) Yes, sometimes … although it might be unintentional. They are not bad or evil, just clumsy, mischievous children. The younger light beings can get lost between and within dimensions. Their amusements distract them. We consider them as naughty youngsters. These pranksters think Earth is their playground where they can engage in devilish behavior with susceptible, gullible people  and scare the hell out of them. They have a hilarious time before they are caught by one of the Rovers (tracker guides) sent to recapture these truants.

Dr. N: Is this a common occurrence?

S: Actually, I don’t think so. They are like children who escape from the watchful eyes of parents once in a while.

Dr. N: So you don’t see malevolent spirits directed here by some demonic force?

S: (promptly) Nooo—sometimes we might run into a dark, heavy entity who is disoriented by the Earth sphere. This place is dense but they come from places even more dense. Anyway, they want to cling to us because they don’t know what they are doing. We call them the “heavies” because of their lack of mobility.

Dr. N: What about the spirits you spoke of who are just indifferent to people on Earth?

S: (deep sigh) Yeah, they can scare people. This is because some of them have a disruptive nature. They are not considerate.

Dr. N: Bulls in a china shop?

S: Yeah—no adaption to local customs …

Dr. N: And, in these cases with different types of spirits who might be aggravating to the people here, do you try to intervene in some way?

S: Yes, if we come across them acting like rogues we put a stop to it and try and  push them away. This is very infrequent… most out-of- worlders are serious and respectful, (pause) I want to stress that we are not philanthropists. This is our recreation time and we want to be free of responsibility.

Dr. N: Okay then, why would an inept spirit of any sort come to Earth for whatever reason and be allowed to cause trouble, even inadvertently, for the people living here? Do their guides lack good parenting skills?

S: (unruffled) Well… too much monitoring makes for dull children.

If they were on a tight leash how would they learn? They are not going to be allowed to destroy or do great harm.

Dr. N: One last question. Do you think that all the kinds of spirits we have been talking about exist in large numbers swarming all over Earth?

S: Not at all. Compared to Earth’s population, only a tiny fraction.

Judging by my own experience here, there are times when only a few are around and I may not see them at all. It is not a constant thing … it’s more cyclic.

There is a mystery to that which is invisible to the living, when only our senses tell us something is there. I wonder if spiritual travelers don’t engender memories within us of recognition of what we once were and will be again.

Demons or Devas

I think it is fitting that I close this chapter with a summary of some misconceptions we have about the existence of evil spirits, good spirits and spiritual influences on Earth. If I step rather heavily on any pet   theories of the reader, please understand that my statements come from the reports of many hypnosis subjects in my practice. These subjects do not see the devil or demonic spirits floating around Earth. What they do feel when they are spirits is an abundance of negative human energy exuding the intense emotions of anger, hate and fear. These disruptive thought patterns are attracted to the consciousness of other negative thinkers who collect and disseminate even more disharmony. All this dark energy in the air works to the detriment of positive wisdom on Earth.

The ancients thought demons were flying beings who occupied the regions between heaven and Earth and were not particularly wicked. The early Christian church elevated demons to the status of “evil rulers of darkness.” As fallen angels, they were able to disguise themselves as messengers of God rather than Satan in order to deceive humans. I think it is fair to say that within the more liberal religious communities today, demons represent our own inner misguided passions that can get us into trouble.

In all my years of working with souls, never once have I had a subject who was possessed by another spirit, unfriendly or otherwise. When I made this statement at one lecture, a man raised his hand and said,

'That is all very well, O great guru, but until you have placed everyone in the world under hypnosis don't tell me about the absence of demonic forces!" Of course, this is a valid argument against my hypothesis that such things as soul possession, evil demons, the devil and hell don't exist. Nevertheless, I can come to no other conclusion when all of my subjects, even those who came to me with conscious beliefs in demonic forces, reject the existence of such beings when they see themselves as spirits.

Once in a while a client comes to me convinced they have been possessed by an alien entity or some sort of malevolent spirit. I have had other clients who believe an evil curse has been placed upon them from some past life behavior. As my hypnosis regression session moves into the superconscious mind of these people, typically we find one of three conditions:

  1. Almost always the fear proves to be absolutely groundless.
  • Occasionally, a friendly spirit, often a dead relative, has been trying to reach them. My distraught client has misinterpreted the intent of this spirit who only wished to bring comfort and love. There has been miscommunication between the sender and receiver. Souls have little trouble with telepathy between themselves, but this does not mean all souls are adept communicators with incarnated people.
  • Very rarely, a disturbed, inept spirit has made contact because of some unresolved karmic issues they have on Earth. We saw this in case 14.

Researchers into the paranormal have come up with three more reasons which ought to be added to my own as to why certain people believe they have been possessed by a demon:

  • Emotional and physical abuse as a child, which create feelings that the adult abuser represents an evil power who has total control.
  • Multiple Personality Disorder.
  • Periodic increases in the actions of electromagnetic fields around Earth which are sufficient enough to disrupt brain activity in a disturbed individual.

The possibility that people can be possessed by a satanic being comes right out of medieval belief systems. It is fear based and the result of theological superstition that has ruined countless lives over the last thousand years. Much of this nonsense has dissipated in the last two hundred years, but it lingers with the fundamentalists. The exorcism of demons is still practiced by some religious groups. Frequently, I find that clients who come to me with concerns about possession have lives which seem to be out of their control and filled with a variety of per- sonal obsessions and compulsions. People who hear voices commanding them to do bad things are likely to be schizophrenic—they are not possessed.

Our physical world may have unhappy or mischievous spirits floating round, but they do not lock in and inhabit the minds of people. The spirit world is much too ordered to allow for such muddled soul activ- ity. Being possessed by another being would not only abrogate our life contract but destroy free will. These factors form the foundation of reincarnation and cannot be compromised. The idea that satanic entities exist as outside forces to confuse and subvert people is a myth perpetuated by those who seek to control the minds of others for their own ends. Evil exists internally, initiated within the confines of the deranged human mind. Life can be cruel but it is of our making here on this planet.

Assuming that we are born evil, or that some external force has occupied the mind of an evil person, makes malevolence easier for some people to accept. It is a way of rationalizing premeditated cruelty, preserving our humanity, and absolving ourselves of responsibility individually and collectively as a race. When we see cases of serial killers, or those of children who kill other children, we might label these people as either “born killers” or under outside demonic influences. This saves us the trouble of finding out why these murderers enjoy inflicting pain by acting out their own pain.

There are no soul monsters. People are not born evil. Rather they are corrupted by the society in which they live, where practicing evil  satisfies the cravings of depraved personalities. This emanates from the human brain. Studies of the psychopath have shown that the excitement of inflicting pain on others without remorse satisfies an emptiness they feel within themselves. Practicing evil is a source of power, strength and control for inadequate people. Hate takes away the reality of a hateful life. The warped minds of these executioners tell them, “If life is not worth living for me, why not take it away from somebody else.”

Evil is not genetic, although if a family has a history of violence and cruelty to their children, these acts are often passed on from one gener- ation to the next as learned behavior. Violence and dysfunctional behavior from one adult member of a family is an internal emotional reaction that spills over to contaminate other younger members. This can lead to compulsive and destructive behavior from children of that family. How do these genetic and environmental disruptions to the body affect our soul?

What I have found in my practice is that a soul’s energy force may, during troubled times, dissociate from the body. There are those who feel they don’t even belong to their bodies. If conditions are severe enough, these souls are prone to thoughts of suicide—but usually not taking the life of another. 1 will have more to say about this condition in upcoming chapters. Part of this turmoil stems from conflicts between the soul’s immortal character meshed to the temperament of a host brain with all its genetic baggage. There may also be influences of abnormal brain chemistry and hormonal imbalances affecting the cen- tral nervous system that might contaminate the soul.

Another element I find is that immature souls often have difficulties handling the poor mental circuitry of disturbed human beings. There is a counteraction of the soul self versus the human self. A push-me pull- you force is struggling to present a single ego to the world and not doing very well in the process. These are internal, not external forces at work. A disturbed mind does not need an exorcist but a competent mental health therapist.

Souls don’t represent all that is pure and good about a body or they wouldn’t be incarnating for personal development. Souls come to Earth to work on their own shortcomings. In terms of self-discovery, a soul may choose to act in conjunction with, or in opposition to, its own character in the selection of a human body. As an example, a soul combating tendencies toward selfishness and indulgence might not mix well with a human ego whose emotional temperament is disposed to engag- ing in hostile acts for self-gratification.

Quite often, troubled people have suffered painful environmental trauma such as physical and emotional abuse as children. They have either internalized themselves, creating a shell to hide behind their pain, or externalized by mentally moving outside their bodies on a regular basis. These defense mechanisms are a means of survival to preserve our sanity. When a client tells me that they love to “tune out” and practice astral projection because the out-of-body experience makes them feel more alive, I look for disturbances. Indeed, I may not find anything other than curiosity, but an obsession with being away from the body indicates a desire to escape from current reality.

It is perhaps for this reason I am troubled by the walk-in theory as another escape mechanism. I believe the whole idea of walk-ins to be a false concept. According to the proponents of this theory, tens of thou- sands of souls now on this planet came directly into their physical body without going through the normal process of birth and childhood. We are told that these possessing souls are enlightened beings who are per- mitted to take over the adult body of a soul who wants to check out  early because life has become too difficult. Therefore, the walk-in soul is actually performing a humanitarian act, according to devotees of this theory. I call this possession by permission.

If this theory is true, then I must turn in my great-guru white robe and gold medallion. Not once, in all my years of working with subjects  in regression, have I ever had a walk-in soul. Also, these people have never heard of any other soul in the spirit world associated with such practices. In fact, they deny the existence of this act because it would abrogate a soul’s life contract. To give another soul permission to come in and take over your karmic life plan defeats the whole purpose of your coming to Earth in the first place! It is deluded reasoning to assume that the walk-in would wish to complete their own karmic cycle in a body originally selected and assigned to someone else. If I am a senior in a high school trigonometry class, would I leave my class and go down the hall to a freshman algebra class where a student is struggling with an exam and tell him I’ll finish the exam for him so he can leave early?

This is a lose-lose situation for both students—and what teacher would permit it?

The whole walk-in theory is like suicide, although it is supposed to combat suicide by allowing the walk-out soul to escape responsibility  for straightening out their life. The walk-out soul relinquishes owner- ship of its host body so a more advanced spirit who does not want to go to all the trouble of being in a child’s body can take over. This is one of the major flaws of possession by permission. From everything I have learned about body assignments, it takes years for a soul to fully meld  its energy vibrations with that of a host brain. The process begins when the baby is in a fetal state. All the essential elements of who we really  are come from the soul assigned to a specific body from the beginning. Consider first the three Is emanating from the soul: imagination, intuition and insight. Then add such components as conscience and cre- ativity. Do you think the adult human mind is not going to recognize the loss of its partner Self to a new presence? Now, that would drive a host body insane as opposed to healing it. I tell people not to worry about losing their soul—it’s with us for the duration because there are good reasons for having the particular body you occupy.

Souls take their responsibility very seriously, even to the extent of being inside nonfunctional bodies. They are not materially trapped. For instance, a soul may inhabit a comatose host body for many years and not abandon it until death. These souls are able to roam freely across  the land visiting other souls who might be making brief trips away from their bodies during normal sleep states. This is especially true of souls in the bodies of babies. Souls are very respectful of their host body assignments, even if they are bored. They leave a small portion of their energy so they can return quickly if needed. Their wavelengths are like homing beacons who have “fingerprinted” their human partners.

When a soul’s energy does leave the human body, this does not pro- vide an opportunity for some demonic being to rapidly move in and occupy a vacant mind. This is another superstition. Aside from the nonexistence of such demonic beings in the first place, the mind is never completely vacant of a traveling soul’s energy. A malevolent entity would be unable to squeeze in, even if it did exist.

Evidently, residents of the spirit world are quite aware of our enthrallment with dark and nefarious specters who pose a danger to the soul. I have a most unusual and defining case which brought this to my attention. The ironic engagement of demonology employed in case 18 by my subject’s teacher toward his hapless student is outrageous and unconventional but effective. This case illustrates how the almost brutal use of humor can be graphically applied in the spirit world to define  our shortcomings on Earth.

Case 18 concerns the death experience of an evangelical preacher of the 1920s. This man had spent a lifetime seeing the devil in every nook and cranny of his town in the deep South. During my review of this life with the client who carried these memories, I was told, “My parish- ioners were shaken to their bones with my fiery sermons of the hell awaiting all sinful transgressors.” I will begin this case with a scene as it unfolded right after my subject reaches the gateway.

Case 18

Dr. N: You say that although things are not too clear, you are floating in bright light and someone is coming toward you?

S: Yes, I am kind of disoriented. I haven’t gotten used to things around here yet.

Dr. N: That’s fine, just take your time and let the figure float toward you as you float toward it.

S: (long pause, and then with a loud horrified exclamation) OH, GOD. NO!

Dr. N: (startled by this outcry) What’s going on?

S:  (subject’s  body  begins  to  shake  uncontrollably)  OH  …  OH  …

LORD ALMIGHTY! IT’S THE DEVIL. I KNEW IT. I’VE GONE TO HELL!

Dr. N: (grasping subject by the shoulders) Now, take a deep breath and try to relax as we go through this together, (then, softly) You are not in hell…

S: (cuts in with a shrill tone of voice) OH, YEAH—THEN WHY DO 1 SEE THE DEVIL RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME?

Dr. N: (my subject’s face is now covered in sweat and I use a tissue to wipe some of it away while continuing to reassure) Try to calm yourself, there is some misinterpretation here and we will find it soon.

S: (paying no attention to me, the subject now begins to moan while rocking back and forth) Ohooo … it’s over for me … I’m in hell…

Dr. N: (I break in now more forcefully) Tell me exactly what you see.

S: (whispering at first and then loudly) A … being… demonic … reddish- green face … horns … wild-eyed … fangs… the facial skin is like charred wood … O SWEET JESUS, WHY ME OF ALL PEOPLE, WHO SPOKE SO MUCH IN YOUR NAME?

Dr. N: What else do you see?

S: (with loathing) WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO SEE? CAN’T YOU UNDERSTAND? I’M IN FRONT OF THE DEVIL!

Dr. N: (quickly) I meant the rest of the body. Look below the head and tell me what you see.

S: (with a violent shudder) Nothing … just a wispy ghostlike body.

Dr. N: Stay with me. Doesn’t this seem unusual to you—that the devil would appear with no body? Move forward in time rapidly now and tell me what this figure does.

S: (my subject’s body jerks up violently and then with a great sigh of relief he sags back into the chair) Oh … that bastard … I might have known … it’s SCANLON. He is taking his mask off and smiling wickedly at me …

Dr. N: (now I can relax) Who is Scanlon?

S: My guide. This is his crude idea of a joke. Dr. N: What does Scanlon really look like now?

S: Tall, aquiline features, gray hair … full of mischief-making, as usual, (laughs with bravado, but still not fully recovered) I should have known. He caught me unawares this time.

Dr. N: Does Scanlon make a habit of this sort of thing? Why frighten you just as you were coming into the spirit world a little disoriented?

S: (defensively) Listen, he is a great teacher. That’s his way. He has got our whole group using masks but he knows 1 don’t like them much.

Dr. N: Tell me why Scanlon used a devil’s mask to scare you right after this life? Talk to him now.

Note: I am quiet for a few moments while my subject mentally connects with Scanlon.

S: (after a period of silence) I had it coming. Oh, I know it! I spent a lifetime preaching about the devil, scaring good people … telling Scanlon gave me a dose of my own medicine.

Dr. N: And how do you feel now about his methods?

S: (chagrined) He made his point.

Dr. N: I want to ask you a blunt question. Did you really believe what you told your parishioners about seeing demonic forces everywhere, or were you motivated by something else?

S: (intensely) No, no—I believed what I was saying about evil being everywhere in every person. I was not a hypocrite.

Dr. N: Are you sure it wasn’t false piety? You did not pretend to feel and be what you were not?

S: No! I believed it. My undoing was my method of preaching and the love of the power over others that this ability gave me. Yes, I admit that failing… 1 made life miserable for some of my flock… not seeing the essential goodness in people. I was always suspicious because of my obsession with evil and this corrupted me.

Dr. N: Do you feel part of what you became was the result of the body you chose in this life?

S: (in a flat voice) Yes, I lacked restraint. I chose a body with a feisty mind and allowed myself to be swept away. I was too confrontational as a preacher.

Dr. N: And do you know why your soul mind chose to enter into this partnership in the body of a preacher who constantly intimidated people?

S: Oh, I… shit… I let it happen because it felt good to be in control … I was afraid of… not being taken seriously enough.

Dr. N: You were worried about the loss of control? S: (long pause) Yes, that… 1 would be … inadequate.

Dr. N: By his use of a devil’s mask, do you think Scanlon demeans what you stood for in the church?

S: No, that’s my teacher’s way. I chose the body of a minister and he helped me with all this. 1 took a wrong turn—it was not the wrong path. My faith was not a bad thing but I became misguided and I

people rather than reason with them. He wanted me to feel the same fear that I gave to others.

Note: I now move my subject into a group setting to learn more about how Scanlon teaches his students through the use of masks.

Dr. N: Who is the first person who comes to you?

S: (hesitates and is wary) It’s … an angel… soft glowing white … wings

…  (then,  with  recognition)  OKAY,  I’M  ON  TO  ALL  OF  YOU. ENOUGH!

Dr. N: Who is this angel?

S: My dear friend, Diane. She has removed her angel’s mask and is laughing and hugging me.

Dr. N: I’m a little confused. Souls can assume any shape or create any features they want. Why bother with masks?

S: The mask is similar to a figure of speech, a symbol one can hold in the hand to put on and pull off for effect. Diane is offsetting Scanlon’s huge joke by being a loving angel for me while the others are laughing at what happened to me.

Dr. N: What kind of individual is Diane?

S: Very loving and full of humor. She likes practical jokes, as does most of my group. They all know I take things too seriously. I don’t like the masks very much so they tease me.

Dr. N: During your lessons, are masks used as a means of teaching about right and wrong behavior?

S: Yes, they are a means of acknowledgment of good or poor think- ing, misconceptions … they identify aspects of our character which are positive and those which are undesirable and we can role play with each other.

Dr. N: Did Scanlon originate the use of this sort of prop for your group lessons?

S: (laughs) Yes, and what he does makes an impression.

This was a strange case and 111 admit Scanlon had me going for a few minutes when 1 thought this client was taking me to a place no other had before. The treatment this subject received at the gateway by the use of a devil mask is an anomaly. Moreover, I have never encountered a guide whose behavior had such extravagance and provocation.

In the chapters ahead we will see how drama plays an important part in soul group activity. The use of masks by Scanlon’s group as a symbolic gesture to embody a belief system is rather unique in my experience. Masks do have a long tradition in our cultural life, where personification of divine and demonic power has been used to mock spirits which are feared and honor those spirits that are venerated. The devil mask has a history of tribal exorcism toward a harmful spirit. Case 18 is one where mythic spiritual practices were taken from Earth by a soul group director to serve as a wake-up call for his students.

Continued…

This post continues to part 2 of 3. You can (and should) visit this post HERE.

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Why the PTB are not concerned about the general population during the SHTF.

It’s a hard-fisted title, don’t ya think?

Well, just because your life seems to be frozen in time, doesn’t mean that the rest of the world has stopped as well. It hasn’t. It keeps on moving on.

On and on.

There seems to be a real push for robotic automation; actual robots to do things that humans cannot. This includes things such as fighting fires, exploring the deep oceans, or the surfaces of Mars or Venus, and perhaps providing police services.

The Massachusetts State Police is the first law enforcement agency in the country to utilize a robotic dog in its operations, named Spot.

Robotic technology is not entirely a new concept in the ranks of law enforcement. Particularly, Spot is touted to be an addition to the line of robotics that can potentially help prevent casualties, and provide reliable and safe services to reduce risk in day-to-day police operations.

And in other ways as well, like “pack mules” or agile transport mediums. Mediums that can fight when needed.

Why Bother?

Well, a robot can be programmed. And you cannot blame it for racism, or favoritism. Or any other excuses that are being politicized right now in America. You can program it to follow distinct rules and not worry about paying it, over-working it, pensions, or personal opinions.

You tell it what to do and it carries out your orders ruthlessly and without remorse.

It is perfect for the PTB and the Oligarchy to control people, nationalistic movements and other things that rulers find distasteful.

Technology

So…

You all realize that technology is moving forward at an incredible pace. You also know that China is leading the world in 5G technology. As well as robotics, IoT and AI (artificial Intelligence). Lately, the Trump administration has been doing everything in it’s power to stop the ability of China to procure, and develop AI chips. Have you ever stopped and wonder why?

Is it because America doesn’t want the Chinese to market better cell-phones, or is it something else?

The expression you get when you watch Boston Dynamics videos.
The expression you get when you watch Boston Dynamics videos.

Is it something else?

You know full darn well that machines and computers malfunction. No matter how well-made. There is not one reader out there out in internet-land that hasn’t see the “blue screen of death“, or have had a car that won’t start. Machines malfunction.

And even worse than that, what about “hackers”? Right now there is “ransom ware”, and software that hijacks your computer. Imagine if that occurs with police or military robots… yikes!

Important Note
The following movie is great, and it must be seen to be believed. Please kindly allow the video to fully load and watch it. It is not some kind of special effects as part of a movie. It is the state of robotic police technology today.
The nation that controls the AI chipsets control the future battlefield.

It’s a strange and dangerous new world out there. It is becoming stranger and stranger, and more and more threatening. And the sad thing about all of this, is that technology is advancing, but human nature is staying the same.

Conclusion

Sara Conner from the science fiction movie "The Terminator".
Sara Conner from the science fiction movie “The Terminator”.

There is coming a time when the rise of technology crosses the threshold of human ignorance. And at that time, the dangers of technology can be such that the entire species can be eradicated and the earth rendered uninhabitable.

Therefore, it is of critical importance that human sentience be stabilized.

A world filled with technologically adept humans of wildly divergence sentience’s will absolutely result in danger and catastrophe. The human species MUST, absolutely must have a single unified majority sentience.

It needs to happen before the technology / sentience interface is breached.

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You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
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Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you.

The Geography of Heaven; Journey of Souls (full text) by Michael Newton

What is Heaven like? Well, here you are going to find out.

As I have often discussed, what we refer to as “time” is just our consciousness moving in and out of different world-lines. Each world-line is our momentary reality.

Now, when we are not in a particular world-line we are in a “in between” phase.

During that “in between period”, our consciousness is in “wave form”, and we are in what is commonly referred to as “Heaven”.

Here, we are going to talk about what Heaven is like. We are going to discuss the geography of Heaven.

Or rather the best available study on this matter.

And it is, by far, the best study. And let’s not make any mistake, it is a pretty good and accurate summary of what Heaven actually is.

Important Note
This post contains the complete reprint of the non-fiction work by Dr. Michael Newton titled “Journey of Souls”. This HTML version of the book was transcribed from a MS Word version of a PDF file that was obtained from an EPUB file format. Thus the paragraphs tend to have odd breaks. I have also not included the very few figures that were part of the book. Aside from these issues, the book should be easy enough to read without problem. Please enjoy.

Introduction

There are all kinds of books out there that will describe “Heaven” in all sorts of ways and in terms that may, or may not be familiar. Most are terribly inaccurate, at best.

  • Some are nothing more than a single persons interpretation of what Heaven is like by reading the Bible (or other spiritual book).
  • Some are nothing more than “nonsense” and “insight” provided by “channeled” entities.
  • Some are custom-made tomes designed to fit within one of the many “spiritual” or “New Age” faddists. (It’s nothing less than a way to profit off the gullible and weak.)
  • Some are just ‘copy-cat books of other more profitable literature.
  • Some are interpretations of what Heaven must be like based upon the latest “scientific findings”.

Now, I have written about my experiences and my role within MAJestic. As such, I have provided some insight of the glimpses that I have had outside of our world-lines. Not much, just some.

I never studied this aspect of my role and involvement. It’s just that I was often too overwhelmed by the state of the world-line that I found myself in.

You know, when you get into a car accident, the last thing in the world that you will do is to check to see if the tires are scuffed up. Nope. The condition of the car tires is the last thing on your mind.

It’s sort of like that.

Never the less, the idea that our soul and consciousness is so intertwined with Heaven is strange to most people. They like to think in dualities. We are on earth in the Physical, and when we die we become spirit in Heaven. And that’s it.

Ah It’s a very simplistic narrative.

Well, Doctor Newton has compiled, what I consider to be, the most accurate description of what Heaven is based on my experiences in MAJestic.

And as such, his writings have a strong role here and deserve all the attention that I can provide. He studied this issue for many decades and wrote two books. Both of which are reprinted in Metallicman. This is the first book.

Quick Introduction to Dr. Newton.

Dr. Newton has made it his life’s goal to map out what the non-physical realm is like.

You see, way back in the 1960’s, he was very interested in stories about “regression therapy”. Which was basically, hypnotism of a person where you regressed them back to a past event, and then you walk the person through that event to try to sole emotional, mental or physical problems.

He would get patients that were suffering from PTSD from the war (either Korean, or Vietnam). He would regress them to a time where they would relive the events, in a calm and secure environment, and work with the patient to overcome their problems at what ever level was necessary.

He, like other clinical hypnotists, discovered that his patients would sometimes be regressed to other lives.

They would suddenly be talking in a strange language, or talking about events and experiences that the actual person would have absolutely no knowledge of. They would describe to him a life that they had in another place, and in another time.

This fascinated Dr, Newton. As it did many other researchers.

It also spawned a complete avalanche of related books about past-life regression. (Another subject for another time.)

But while interesting, it often wasn’t really what the patient needed to solve their problems and deal with their distress. That is, until one day. By accident, the doctor regressed a patient back to a time before they were born…

…and the patient described being in “Heaven”.

After a while, Dr. Newton decided to work with a number of patients to “map out” Heaven and see if there were any kind of commonality between the various patients.

And low and behold! There was!

He started with 25 patients in his first batch of studies, and then expanded it to thousands.

Indeed, many of the descriptions were identical. And using the similarities as the “glue” or “linkage” between people are different ages, races, societies, cultures and social-economic backgrounds, he was able to successfully map out what Heaven is actually like.

He wrote two books;

  • Journey of Souls
  • Destiny of Souls

This is a reprint of his first work; “Journey of Souls”.

I strongly recommend that both books be read and studied. As it described what it is actually like, or at least what I have experienced as part of MAJestic. If you all want to know about part of you that is hidden from view, now is your chance…

Journey of Souls

Table of Contents

  • Death and Departure
  • Gateway to the Spirit World
  • Homecoming
  • The Displaced Soul
  • Orientation
  • Transition
  • Placement
  • Our Guides The Beginner Soul
  • The Intermediate Soul
  • The Advanced Soul
  • Life Selection
  • Choosing a New Body
  • Preparation for Embarkation
  • Rebirth

Introduction

You would know the hidden realm where all souls dwell.

The journey’s way lies

through death’s misty fell. Within this timeless passage a guiding light does dance, Lost from conscious memory, but visible in trance.

M.N.

ARE you afraid of death? Do you wonder what is going to happen to you after you die? Is it possible you have a spirit which came from somewhere else and will return there after your body dies, or is this just wishful thinking because you are afraid?

It is a paradox that humans, alone of all creatures of the Earth, must repress the fear of death in order to lead normal lives. Yet our biological instinct never lets us forget this ultimate danger to our being. As we grow older, the specter of death rises in our consciousness. Even religious people fear death is the end of personhood. Our greatest dread of death brings thoughts about the nothingness of death which will end all associations with family and friends. Dying makes all our earthly goals seem futile.

If death were the end of everything about us, then life indeed would be meaningless.

However, some power within us enables humans to conceive of a hereafter and to

sense a connection to a higher power and even an eternal soul. If we do actually have a soul, then where does it go after death? Is there really some sort of heaven full of intelligent spirits outside our physical universe? What does it look like? What do we do when we get there? Is there a supreme being in charge of this paradise? These questions are as old as humankind itself and still remain a mystery to most of us.

The true answers to the mystery of life after death remain locked behind a spiritual door for most people. This is because we have built-in amnesia about our soul identity which, on a conscious level, aids in the merging of the soul and human brain. In the last few years the general public has heard about people who temporarily died and then came back to life to tell about seeing a long tunnel, bright lights, and even brief encounters with friendly spirits. But none of these accounts written in the many books on reincarnation has ever given us anything more than a glimpse of all there is to know about life after death.

This book is an intimate journal about the spirit world. It provides a series of actual case histories which reveal in explicit detail what happens to us when life on Earth is over. You will be taken beyond the spiritual tunnel and enter the spirit world itself to learn what transpires for souls before they finally return to Earth in another life.  I am a skeptic by nature, although it will not seem so from the contents of this book. As a counselor and hypnotherapist, I specialize in behavior modification for the treatment of psychological disorders. A large part of my work involves short-term cognitive restructuring with clients by helping them connect thoughts and emotions to  promote  healthy  behavior.  Together  we  elicit  the  meaning,  function,  and consequences of their beliefs because I take the premise that no mental problem is imaginary.

In the early days of my practice, I resisted past life requests from people because of

my orientation toward traditional therapy. While I used hypnosis and age- regression techniques to determine the origins of disturbing memories and childhood trauma, I felt any attempt to reach a former life was unorthodox and non-clinical. My interest in reincarnation and metaphysics was only intellectual curiosity until I worked with a young man on pain management.

This client complained of a lifetime of chronic pain on his right side. One of the tools

of hypnotherapy to manage pain is directing the subject to make the pain worse so he or she can also learn to lessen the aching and thus acquire control. In one of our sessions involving pain intensification, this man used the imagery of being stabbed to recreate his torment. Searching for the origins of this image, I eventually uncovered his former life as a World War I soldier who was killed by a bayonet in France, and we were able to eliminate the pain altogether.

With encouragement from my clients, I began to experiment with moving some of them further back in time before their last birth on Earth. Initially I was concerned that a subject’s integration of current needs, beliefs, and fears would create fantasies of recollection. However, it didn’t take long before I realized our deep-seated memories offer a set of past experiences which are too real and connected to be ignored. I came to appreciate just how therapeutically important the link is between the bodies and events of our former lives and who we are today.

Then I stumbled on to a discovery of enormous proportions. I found it was possible

to see into the spirit world through the mind’s eye of a hypnotized subject who could report back to me of life between lives on Earth.

The case that opened the door to the spirit world for me was a middle-aged woman who was an especially receptive hypnosis subject. She had been talking to me about

her feelings of loneliness and isolation in that delicate stage when a subject has finished recalling their most recent past life. This unusual individual slipped into the

highest state of altered consciousness almost by herself Without realizing I had initiated an overly short command for this action, I suggested she go to the source of

her loss of companionship. At the same moment I inadvertently used one of the trigger words to spiritual recall. I also asked if she had a specific group of friends

whom she missed.

Suddenly, my client started to cry. When I directed her to tell me what was wrong,

she blurted out, “I miss some friends in my group and that’s why I get so lonely on Earth.” I was confused and questioned her further about where this group of friends was actually located. “Here, in my permanent home,” she answered simply, “and I’m looking at all of them right now!”

After finishing with this client and reviewing her tape recordings, I recognized that finding the spirit world involved an extension of past life regression. There are many books about past lives, but none I could find which told about our life as souls, or how to properly access the spiritual recollections of people. I decided to do the research myself and with practice I acquired greater skill in entering the spirit world through my subjects. I also learned that finding their place in the spirit world was far more meaningful to people than recounting their former lives on Earth.  How is it possible to reach the soul through hypnosis? Visualize the mind as having three concentric circles, each smaller than the last and within the other, separated only by layers of connected mind-consciousness. The first outer layer is represented by the conscious mind which is our critical, analytic reasoning source. The second layer is the subconscious, where we initially go in hypnosis to tap into the storage area for all the memories that ever happened to us in this life and former lives. The third, the innermost core, is what we are now calling the superconscious mind. This level exposes the highest center of Self where we are an expression of a higher power.

The superconscious houses our real identity, augmented by the subconscious which contains the memories of the many alter-egos assumed by us in our former human bodies. The superconscious may not be a level at all, but the soul itself. The superconscious mind represents our highest center of wisdom and perspective, and all my information about  life after death comes from this source of intelligent energy.

How valid is the use of hypnosis for uncovering truth? People in hypnosis are neither dreaming nor hallucinating. We don’t dream in chronological sequences nor hallucinate in a directed trance state. When subjects are placed in trance, their brain waves slow from the Beta wake state and continue to change vibration down past the meditative Alpha stage into various levels within the Theta range. Theta is hypnosis-not sleep. When we sleep we go to the final Delta state where messages from the brain are dropped into the subconscious and vented through our dreams. In Theta, however, the conscious mind is not unconscious, so we are able to receive

as well as send messages with all memory channels open.

Once in hypnosis, people report the pictures they see and dialogue they hear in their

unconscious minds as literal observations. In response to questions, subjects cannot lie, but they may misinterpret something seen in their unconscious mind, just as we do in the conscious state. In hypnosis, people have trouble relating to anything they don’t believe is the truth.

Some critics of hypnosis believe a subject in trance will fabricate memories and bias their  responses  in  order  to  adopt  any  theoretical  framework  suggested  by  the hypnotist. I find this generalization to be a false premise. In my work, I treat each case  as  if I  were  hearing  the  information  for the  first  time.  If  a  subject  were somehow able to overcome hypnosis procedure and construct a deliberate fantasy about the spirit world, or free-associate from pre-set ideas about their afterlife, these  responses  would  soon  become  inconsistent  with  my  other  case  reports.  I learned the value of careful cross-examination early in my work and I found no evidence of anyone faking their spiritual experiences to please me. In fact, subjects in hypnosis are not hesitant in correcting my misinterpretations of their statements. As my case files grew, I discovered by trial and error to phrase questions about the spirit  world  in  a  proper  sequence.  Subjects  in  a  superconscious  state  are  not particularly motivated to volunteer information about the whole plan of soul life in the spirit world. One must have the right set of keys for specific doors. Eventually, I was able to perfect a reliable method of memory access to different parts of the spirit world by knowing which door to open at the right time during a session.

As I gained confidence with each session, more people sensed I was comfortable with the hereafter and felt it was all right to speak to me about it. The clients in my cases represent some men and women who were very religious, while others had no particular spiritual beliefs at all. Most fall somewhere in between, with a mixed bag of personal philosophies about life. The astounding thing I found as I progressed with my research was that once subjects were regressed back into their soul state they all displayed a remarkable consistency in responding to questions about the spirit world. People even use the same words and graphic descriptions in colloquial language when discussing their lives as souls.

However, this homogeneity of experience by so many clients did not stop me from

continually trying to verify statements between my subjects and corroborate specific functional activities of souls. There were some differences in narrative reporting between cases, but this was due more to the level of soul development than to variances in how each subject basically saw the spirit world.

The research was painfully slow, but as the body of my cases grew I finally had a working model of the eternal world where our souls live. I found thoughts about the spirit world involve universal truths among the souls of people living on Earth. It was these perceptions by so many different types of people which convinced me their statements were believable. I am not a religious person, but I found the place where we go after death to be one of order and direction, and I have come to appreciate that there is a grand design to life and afterlife.

When I considered how to best present my findings, I determined the case study

method would provide the most descriptive way in which the reader could evaluate client  recall  about  the  afterlife.  Each  case  I  have  selected  represents  a  direct

dialogue between myself and a subject. The case testimonies are taken from tape recordings from my sessions. This book is not intended to be about my subjects’ past lives, but rather a documentation of their experiences in the spirit world relating to those lives.

For readers who may have trouble conceptualizing our souls as non-material objects, the case histories listed in the early chapters explain how souls appear and the way in which they function. Each case history is abbreviated to some extent because of space constraints and to give the reader an orderly arrangement of soul activity. The chapters are designed to show the normal progression of souls into and out of the spirit world, incorporated with other spiritual information.

The travels of souls from the time of death to their next incarnation has come to me from a ten-year collection of clients. It surprised me at first, that I had people who remembered parts of their soul life more clearly after distant lifetimes than recent ones. Yet, for some reason, no one subject was able to recall the entire chronology of soul activities I have presented in this book. My clients remember certain aspects of their spiritual life quite vividly, while other experiences are hazy to them. As a result, even with these twenty-nine cases, I found I could not give the reader the full range of information I have gathered about the spirit world. Thus, my chapters contain details from more cases than just the twenty-nine listed.

The reader may consider my questioning in certain cases to be rather demanding. In

hypnosis, it is necessary to keep the subject on track. When working in the spiritual realm, the demands on a facilitator are higher than with past life recall. In trance, the average subject tends to let his or her soul-mind wander while watching interesting scenes unfold. My clients often want me to stop talking so they can detach from reporting what they see and just enjoy their past experiences as souls. I try to be gentle and not overly structured, but my sessions are usually single ones which run three hours in length and there is a lot to cover. People may come long distances to see me and not be able to return.

I find it very rewarding to watch the look of wonder on a client’s face when his or her session ends. For those of us who have had the opportunity to actually see our immortality, a new depth of self-understanding and empowerment emerges. Before awakening my subjects, I often implant appropriate post-suggestion memories. Having a conscious knowledge of their soul life in the spirit world and a history of physical existences on planets gives these people a stronger sense of direction and energy for life.

Finally, I should say that what you are about to read may come as a shock to your

preconceptions about death. The material presented here may go against your philosophical and religious beliefs. There will be those readers who will find support for their existing opinions. For others, the information offered in these cases will all appear to be subjective tales resembling a science fiction story. Whatever your persuasion, I hope you will reflect’ upon the implications for humanity if what my subjects have to say about life after death is accurate.

1

Death and Departure Case 1

S. (Subject): Oh, my god! I’m not really dead-am I? I mean, my body is dead-I can see it below me-but I’m floating… I can look down and see my body lying flat in the hospital bed. Everyone around me thinks I’m dead, but I’m not. I want to shout, hey, I’m not really dead! This is so incredible … the nurses are pulling a sheet over my head… people I know are crying. I’m supposed to be dead, but I’m still alive! It’s strange, because my body is absolutely dead while I’m moving around it from above. I’m alive!

THESE  are  the  words  spoken  by  a  man  in  deep  hypnosis,  reliving  a  death

experience. His words come in short, excited bursts and are full of awe, as he sees and feels what it is like to be a spirit newly separated from a physical body. This man is my client and I have just assisted him in recreating a past life death scene while he lies back in a comfortable recliner chair. A little earlier, following my instructions during his trance induction, this subject was age-regressed in a return to childhood memories.  His subconscious perceptions gradually coalesced as we worked together to reach his mother’s womb.

I then prepared him for a jump back into the mists of time by the visual use of

protective shielding. When we completed this important step of mental conditioning, I moved my subject through an imaginary time tunnel to his last life on Earth. It was a short life because he had died suddenly from the influenza epidemic of 1918. As the initial shock of seeing himself die and feeling his soul floating out of his body begins to wear off a little, my client adjusts more readily to the visual images in his mind.  Since  a  small  part  of  the  conscious,  critical  portion  of  his  mind  is  still functioning, he realizes he is recreating a former experience. It takes a bit longer than usual since this subject is a younger soul and not so used to the cycles of birth, death, and rebirth as are many of my other clients.

Yet,  within  a  few  moments  he  settles  in  and  begins  to  respond  with  greater

confidence to my questions. I quickly raise this subject’s subconscious hypnotic level into the superconscious state. Now he is ready to talk to me about the spirit world, and I ask what is happening to him.

S: Well … I’m rising up higher … still floating … looking back at my body. It’s like watching a movie, only I’m in it! The doctor is comforting my wife and daughter. My wife is sobbing (subject wiggles with discomfort in his chair). I’m trying to reach into her mind … to tell her everything is all right with me. She is so overcome by grief I’m not getting through. I want her to know my suffering is gone … I’m free of my body … I don’t need it any more … that I

will wait for her. I want her to know that … but she is … not listening to me. Oh, I’m moving away now …

And so, guided by a series of commands, my client starts the process of moving further into the spirit world. It is a road many others have traveled in the security of my office. Typically, as memories in the superconscious state expand, subjects in hypnosis become more connected to the spiritual passageway. As the session moves forward, the subject’s mental pictures are more easily translated into words. Short descriptive phrases lead to detailed explanations of what it is like to enter the spirit world.

We have a great deal of documentation, including observations from medical personnel, which describes the out-of-body near-death experiences of people severely injured in accidents. These people were considered clinically dead before medical efforts brought them back from the other side. Souls are quite capable of leaving and returning to their host bodies, particularly in life-threatening situations when the body is dying’. People tell of hovering over their bodies, especially in hospitals, watching doctors perform life-saving procedures on them. In time these memories fade after they return to life.

In the early stages of hypnosis regression into past lives, the descriptions of subjects mentally going through their past deaths do not contradict the reported statements of people who have actually died in this life for a few minutes. The difference between these two groups of people is that subjects in hypnosis are not remembering their experiences of temporary death. People in a deep trance state are capable of describing what life is like after permanent physical death.

What are the similarities of afterlife recollection between people reporting on their out-of-body experiences as a result of a temporary physical trauma and a subject in hypnosis recalling death in a past life? Both find themselves floating around their bodies in a strange way, trying to touch solid objects which dematerialize in front of them. Both kinds of reporters say they are frustrated in their attempts to talk to living people who don’t respond. Both state they feel a pulling sensation away from the place where they died and experience relaxation and curiosity rather than fear. All these people report a euphoric sense of freedom and brightness around them. Some of my subjects see brilliant whiteness totally surrounding them at the moment of death, while others observe the brightness is farther away from an area of darker space through which they are being pulled. This is often referred to as the tunnel effect, and has become well known with the public.

My second case will take us further into the death experience than Case 1. The subject here is a man in his sixties describing to me the events of his death as a young woman called Sally, who was killed by Kiowa Indians in an attack on a wagon train in 1866. Although this case and the last one relate death experiences after their most immediate past lives, a particular death date in history has no special relevance because it is recent. I find no significant differences between ancient and modern times in terms of graphic spirit world recall, or the quality of lessons learned.

I should also say the average subject in trance has an uncanny ability to zero in on the dates and geographic locations of many past lives. This is true even in earlier periods of human civilization, when national borders and place names were different than exist today. Former names, dates, and locations may not always be easily recalled in every past life, but descriptions about returning to the spirit world and life in that world are consistently vivid.

The scene in Case 2 opens on the American southern plains right after an arrow has struck Sally in the neck at close range. I am always careful with

death scenes involving violent trauma in past lives because the subconscious mind often still retains these experiences. The subject in this case came to me because of a

lifetime of throat discomfort. Release therapy and deprogramming is usually required in these cases. In all past life recall, I use the time around death for quiet

review and place the subject in observer status to soften pain and emotion.

Case 2

Dr. N: Are you in great pain from the arrow?

S: Yes … the point has torn my throat … I’m dying (subject begins to whisper while holding his hands at the throat). I’m choking…

blood pouring down … Will (husband) is holding me … the pain … terrible … I’m getting out now … it’s over, anyway.

Note: Souls often leave their human hosts moments before actual death when their bodies are in great pain. Who can blame them? Nevertheless, they do stay close by the dying body. After calming techniques, I raise this subject from the subconscious to the superconscious level for the transition to spiritual memories.

Dr. N: All right, Sally, you have accepted being killed by these Indians. Will you please describe to me the exact sensation you feel at the time of death?

S: Like … a force … of some kind … pushing me up out of my body. Dr. N: Pushing you? Out where?

S: I’m ejected out the top of my head. Dr. N: And what was pushed out?

S: Well-me!

Dr. N: Describe what “me” means. What does the thing that is you look like going out of the head of your body?

S: (pause) Like a … pinpoint of light … radiating… Dr. N: How do you radiate light?

S: From… my energy. I look sort of transparent white my soul…

Dr. N: And does this energy light stay the same after leaving your body? S: (pause) I seem to grow a little … as I move around.

Dr. N: If your light expands, then what do you look like now? S: A… wispy … string… hanging …

Dr. N: And what does the process of moving out of your body actually feel like to you?

S: Well, it’s as if I shed my skin … peeling a banana. I just lose my body in one swoosh!

Dr. N: Is the feeling unpleasant?

S: Oh no! It’s wonderful to feel so free with no more pain, but … I am… disoriented

… I didn’t expect to die … (sadness is creeping into my client’s voice and I want him

to stay focused on his soul for a minute more, rather than what is taking place on the ground with his body)

Dr. N: I understand, Sally. You are feeling a little displacement at the moment as a soul. This is normal in your situation for what you have just gone through. Listen and respond to my questions. You said you were floating. Are you able to move around freely right after death?

S: It’s strange … it’s as if I’m suspended in air that isn’t air … there are no limits… no gravity… I’m weightless.

Dr. N: You mean it’s sort of like being in a vacuum for you?

S: Yes… nothing around me is a solid mass. There are no obstacles to bump into… I’m drifting

Dr. N: Can you control your movements-where you are going?

S: Yes … I can do some of that … but there is … a pulling … into a bright whiteness … it’s so bright!

Dr. N: Is the intensity of whiteness the same everywhere?

S: Brighter … away from me … it’s a little darker white … gray … in the direction of my body … (starts to cry) oh, my poor body … I’m not ready to leave yet. (subject pulls back in his chair as if he is resisting something)

Dr. N: It’s all right, Sally, I’m with you. I want you to relax and tell me if the force that took you out of your head at the moment of death is still pulling you away, and if you can stop it.

S: (pause) When I was free of my body the pulling lessened. Now, I feel a nudge … drawing me away from my body … I don’t want to go yet … but, something wants me to go soon …

Dr. N: I understand, Sally, but I suspect you are learning you have some element of

control. How would you describe this thing that is pulling you?

S: A … kind of magnetic … force … but … I want to stay a little longer … Dr. N: Can your soul resist this pulling sensation for as long as you want?

S: (there is a long pause while the subject appears to be carrying on an internal debate with himself in his former life as Sally) Yes, I can, if I really want to stay. (subject starts to cry) Oh, it’s awful what those savages did to my body. There is blood all over my pretty blue dress … my husband Will is trying to hold me and still fight with our friends against the Kiowa.

Note: I reinforce the imagery of a protective shield around this subject, which is so important as a foundation to calming procedures. Sally’s soul is still hovering over her body after I move the scene forward in time to when the Indians are driven off by the wagon train rifles.

Dr. N: Sally, what is your husband doing right after the attack?

S: Oh, good … he isn’t hurt … but … (with sadness) he is holding my body … crying over me … there is nothing he can do for me, but he doesn’t seem to realize that yet. I’m cold, but his hands are around my face … kissing me.

Dr. N: And what are you doing at this moment?

S: I’m over Will’s head. I’m trying to console him. I want him to feel my love is not really gone … I want him to know he has not lost me forever and that I will see him again.

Dr. N: Are your messages getting through?

S: There is so much grief, but he … feels my essence … I know it. Our friends are around him … and they separate us finally … they want to reform the wagons and get started again.

Dr. N: And what is going on now with your soul?

S: I’m still resisting the pulling sensation … I want to stay. Dr. N: Why is that?

S: Well, I know I’m dead … but I’m not ready to leave Will yet and I want to watch them bury me.

Dr. N: Do you see or feel any other spiritual entity around you at this moment?

S: (pause) They are near … soon I will see them … I feel their love as I want Will to feel mine … they are waiting until I’m ready.

Dr. N: As time passes, are you able to comfort Will? S: I’m trying to reach inside his mind.

Dr. N: And are you successful?

S: (pause) I … think a little … he feels me … he realizes … love…

Dr. N: All right, Sally, now we are going to move forward in relative time again. Do you see your wagon train friends placing your body in some kind of grave?

S: (voice is more confident) Yes, they have buried me. It’s time for me to go … they are coming for me now… I’m moving… into a brighter light

Contrary to what some people believe, souls often have little interest in what happens to their bodies once they are physically dead. This is not callousness over personal situations and the people they leave behind on Earth, but an acknowledgement of these souls to the finality of mortal death. They have a desire to hurry on their way to the beauty of the spirit world.

However, many other souls want to hover around the place where they died for a few Earth days, usually until after their funerals. Time is apparently accelerated for souls and days on Earth may be only minutes to them. There are a variety of motivations for the lingering soul. For instance,

someone who has been murdered or killed unexpectedly in an accident often does not want to leave right away. I find these souls are frequently bewildered or angry. The hovering soul syndrome is particularly true of deaths with young people.

To abruptly detach from a human form, even after a long illness, is still a jolt to the

average soul and this too may make the soul reluctant to depart at the moment of death. There is also something symbolic about the normal three- to five-day funeral arrangement periods for souls. Souls really have no morbid curiosity to see themselves buried because emotions in the spirit world are not the same as we experience here on Earth. Yet, I find soul entities appreciate the respect given to the memory of their physical life by surviving relatives and friends.

As we saw in the last case, there is one basic reason for many spirits not wanting to immediately leave the place of their physical death. This comes from a desire to mentally reach out to comfort loved ones before progressing further into the spirit world. Those who have just died are not devastated about their death, because they know those left on Earth will see them again in the spirit world and probably later in other lives as well. On the other hand, mourners at a funeral generally feel they have lost a loved one forever.

During hypnosis, my subjects do recall frustration at being unable to effectively use

their energy to mentally touch a human being who is unreceptive due to shock and grief. Emotional trauma of the living may overwhelm their inner minds to such an

extent that their mental capabilities to communicate with souls are inhibited. When a newly departed soul does find a way to give solace to the living-however briefly- they usually are satisfied and want to then move on quickly away from Earth’s astral plane.

I had a typical example of spiritual consolation in my own life. My mother died suddenly from a heart attack. During her burial service, my sister and I were so filled with sadness our minds were numb at the ceremony. A few hours later we returned to my mother’s empty house with our spouses and decided to take a needed rest. My sister and I must have reached the receptive Alpha state at about the same time. Appearing in two separate rooms, my mother came through our subconscious minds as a dream-like brush of whiteness above our heads. Reaching out, she smiled, indicating her acceptance of death and current well-being. Then she floated away. Lasting only seconds, this act was a meaningful form of closure, causing both of us to release into a sound sleep of the Delta state.

We are capable of feeling the comforting presence of the souls of lost loved ones, especially during or right after funerals. For spiritual communication to come through the shock of mourning it is necessary to try to relax and clear your mind, at least for short periods. At these moments our receptivity to a paranormal experience is more open to receive positive communications of love, forgiveness, hope, encouragement, and the reassurance your loved one is in a good place.

When a widow with young children says to me, “A part of my husband comes to me during the difficult times,” I believe her. My clients tell me as souls they are able to help those on Earth connect their inner minds to the spirit world itself As it has been wisely said, people are not really gone as long as they are remembered by those left on Earth. In the chapters ahead, we will see how specific memory is a reflection of our own soul, while collective memories are the atoms of pure energy for all souls. Death does not break our continuity with the immortal soul of those we love simply because they have lost the physical personhood of a mortal body. Despite their many activities, these departed souls are still able to reach us if called upon.

Occasionally, a disturbed spirit does not want to leave the Earth after physical

death. This is due to some unresolved problem which has had a severe impact on its consciousness. In these abnormal cases, help is available from higher, caring entities who can assist in the adjustment process from the other side. We also have the means to aid disturbed spirits in letting go on Earth, as well. I will have more to say about troubled souls in Chapter Four, but the enigma of ghosts portrayed in books and movies has been greatly overblown.

How should we best prepare for our own death? Our lives may be short or long, healthy or sick, but there comes that time when we all must meet death in a way suited  for us.  If  we  have  had  a  long  illness  leading  to  death,  there  is  time  to adequately prepare the mind once initial shock, denial, and depression have passed. The mind takes a short cut through this sort of progression when we face death suddenly. As the end of our physical life draws near, each of us has the capacity to fuse with our higher consciousness.  Dying is the easiest  period in our lives  for spiritual awareness, when we can sense our soul is connected to the eternity of time. Although there are dying people who find acceptance to be more difficult than resignation, caregivers working around the dying say most everyone acquires a

peaceful detachment near the end. I believe dying people are given access to a supreme knowledge of eternal consciousness and this

frequently shows in their faces. Many of these people realize something universal is out there waiting and it will be good.

Dying people are undergoing a metamorphosis of separation by their souls from an adopted body. People associate death as losing our life force, when actually the

opposite is true. We forfeit our body in death, but our eternal life energy unites with the force of a divine oversoul. Death is not darkness, but light.

My clients  say after recalling former death experiences  they are so filled with rediscovered freedom from their earthbound bodies that they are anxious to get

started on their spiritual journey to a place of peace and familiarity. In the cases which follow, we will learn what life is like for them in afterlife.

2

Gateway to the Spirit World

FOR thousands of years the people of Mesopotamia believed the gates into and out of heaven lay at opposite ends of the great curve of the Milky Way, called the River of Souls. After death, souls had

to wait for the rising doorway of Sagittarius and the autumn equinox, when day and

night are equal. Reincarnation back to Earth could only take place during the spring equinox through the Gemini exit in their night sky.

My subjects tell me that soul migration is actually much easier. The tunnel effect they experience when leaving Earth is the portal into the spirit world. Although

souls leave their bodies swiftly, it  seems to me entry into the spirit  world is a carefully measured process. Later, when we return to Earth in another life, the

route back is described as being more rapid.

The location of the tunnel in relation to the Earth has some variations between the

accounts of my subjects. Some newly dead people see it opening up next to them right over their bodies, while others say they move high above the Earth before they enter the tunnel. In all cases, however, the time lapse in reaching this passageway is negligible once the soul leaves Earth. Here are the observations of another individual in this spiritual location.

Case 3

Dr. N: You are now leaving your body. See yourself moving further and further away from the place where you died, away from the

plane of Earth. Report back to me what you are experiencing.

S: At first … it was very bright … close to the Earth … now it’s a little darker because I have gone into a tunnel.

Dr. N: Describe this tunnel for me.

S: It’s a … hollow, dim vent … and there is a small circle of light at the other end. Dr. N: Okay, what happens to you next?

S: I feel a tugging … a gentle pulling… I think I’m supposed to drift through this tunnel … and I do. It is more gray than dark now, because the bright circle is expanding in front of me. It’s as if… (client stops)

Dr. N: Go on.

S: I’m being summoned forward …

Dr. N: Let the circle of light expand in front of you at the end of the tunnel and continue to explain what is happening to you.

S: The circle of light grows very wide and … I’m out of the tunnel. There is a … cloudy brightness … a light fog. I’m filtering through it.

Dr. N: As you leave the tunnel, what else stands out in your mind besides the lack of absolute visual clarity?

S: (subject lowers voice) It’s so … still … it is such a quiet place to be in … I am in the place of spirits

Dr. N: Do you have any other impressions at this moment as a soul? S: Thought! I feel the … power of thought all around …….

Dr. N: Just relax completely and let your impressions come through easily as you continue to report back to me exactly what is happening to you. Please go on.

S: Well, it’s hard to put into words. I feel… thoughts of love companionship … empathy … and it’s all combined with … anticipation … as if others are … waiting for me.

Dr. N: Do you have a sense of security, or are you a little scared?

S: I’m not scared. When I was in the tunnel, I was more … disoriented. Yes, I feel secure … I’m aware of thoughts reaching out to me of caring … nurturing. It is strange, but there is also the understanding around me of just who I am and why I am here now.

Dr. N: Do you see any evidence of this around you?

S: (in a hushed tone) No, I sense it-a harmony of thought everywhere.

Dr. N: You mentioned cloud-like substances around you right after leaving the tunnel. Are you in a sky over Earth?

S: (pause) No-not that-but I seem to be floating through cloud stuff which is different from Earth.

Dr. N: Can you see the Earth at all? Is it below you?

S: Maybe it is, but I haven’t seen it since I went in the tunnel.

Dr. N: Do you sense you are still connected to Earth through another dimension, perhaps?

S: That’s a possibility-yes. In my mind Earth seems close … and I still feel connected to Earth … but I know I’m in another space.

Dr. N: What else can you tell me about your present location? S: It’s still a little … murky … but I’m moving out of this.

This particular subject, having been taken through the death experience and the tunnel, continues to make tranquil mental adjustments to her bodiless state while pulling further into the spirit world. After some initial uncertainty, her first reported impressions reflect an inviting sense of  well-being. This is a common feeling among my subjects.

Once through the tunnel, our souls have passed the initial gateway of their journey into the spirit world. Most now fully realize they are not really dead, but have simply left the encumbrance of an Earth body which has died. With this awareness comes acceptance in varying degrees depending upon the soul. Some subjects look at these surroundings with continued amazement while others are more matter-of-fact in reporting to me what they see. Much depends upon their respective maturity and recent life experiences. The most common type of reaction I hear is a relieved sigh followed by something on the order of, ” wonderful, I’m home in this beautiful place again.”

There are those highly developed souls who move so fast out of their bodies that

much of what I am describing here is a blur as they home into

their spiritual destinations.  These  are  the  pros  and,  in  my  opinion,  they are  a

distinct minority on Earth. The average soul does not move that rapidly and some are very hesitant. If we exclude the rare cases of highly disturbed spirits who fight to stay connected with their dead bodies, I find it is the younger souls with fewer past lives who remain attached to Earth’s environment right after death.

Most of my subjects report that as they emerge from the mouth of the tunnel, things are still unclear for awhile. I think this is due to the density of the nearest astral plane surrounding Earth, called the kamaloka by Theosophists. The next case describes this area from the perspective of a more analytical client. The soul of this

individual demonstrates considerable observational insight into form, colors, and vibrational levels. Normally, such graphic physical descriptions by my subjects occur deeper into the spirit world after they get used to their surroundings.

Case 4

Dr. N: As you move further away from the tunnel, describe what you see around you in as much detail as possible.

S: Things are … layered.

Dr. N: Layered in what way? S: Umm, sort of like … a cake.

Dr. N: Using a cake as a model, explain what you mean?

S: I mean some cakes have small tops and are wide at the bottom. It’s not like that when I get through the tunnel. I see layers … levels of light … they appear to me to be .. translucent… indented…

Dr. N: Do you see the spirit world here as made up of a solid structure?

S: That’s what I’m trying to explain. It’s not solid, although you might think so at first. It’s layered-the levels of light are all woven together in … stratified threads. I don’t want to make it sound like things are not symmetrical-they are. But I see variations in thickness and color refraction in the layers. They also shift back and forth. I always notice this as I travel away from Earth.

Dr. N: Why do you think this is so? S: I don’t know. I didn’t design it.

Dr. N: From your description, I picture the spirit world as a huge tier with layers of shaded sections from top to bottom.

S: Yes, and the sections are rounded-they curve away from me as I float through them.

Dr. N: From your position of observation, can you tell me about the different colors of the layers?

S: I didn’t say the layers had any major color tones. They are all variations of white. It is lighter … brighter where I’m going, than where I have been. Around me now is a hazy whiteness which was much brighter than the tunnel.

Dr. N: As you float through these spiritual layers, is your soul moving up or down? S: Neither. I am moving across.

Dr. N: Well, then, do you see the spirit world at this moment in linear dimensions of lines and angles as you move across?

S: (pause) For me it is … mostly sweeping, non-material energy which is broken into layers by light and dark color variations. I think something is … pulling me into my proper level of travel and trying to relax me, too …

Dr. N: In what way? S: I’m hearing sounds. Dr. N: What sounds?

S: An … echo … of music … musical tingling … wind chimes … vibrating with my movements … so relaxing.

Dr. N: Other people have defined these sounds as vibrational in nature, similar to riding on the resonance from the twang of a tuning fork. Do you agree or disagree with this description?

S: (nods in assent) Yes, that’s what this is … and I have a memory of scent and taste, too.

Dr. N: Does this mean our physical senses stay with us after death?

S: Yes, the memory of them … the waves of musical notes here are so beautiful … bells … strings. such tranquility.

Many spirit world travelers report back to me about the relaxing sensations of musical vibrations. Noise sensations start quite early after death. Some subjects tell me they hear humming or buzzing sounds right after leaving their physical bodies. This is similar to the noise one hears standing near telephone wires and may vary in volume before souls pull away from what I believe to be the Earth’s astral plane. People have said they hear these same sounds when under general anesthesia. These flat, ringing sounds become more musical when we leave the tunnel. This music has been appropriately called energy of the universe because it revitalizes the soul.

With subjects who speak about spiritual layering, I mention the possibility that they could be seeing astral planes. In metaphysical writing, we read a lot about planes above the Earth. Beginning with ancient Indian scriptures called the Vedas, followed by later Eastern texts, astral planes have historically represented a series of rising dimensions above the physical or tangible world, which blend into the spiritual. These invisible regions have been experienced by people over thousands of

years through meditative, out-of-body observations of the mind. Astral planes also have been described as being less dense as one moves farther away from the heavy influences of Earth.

The next case  represents a soul who is still troubled after passing through the

spiritual tunnel. This is a man who, at age thirty-six, died of a heart attack on a Chicago street in 1902. He left behind a large family of young children and a wife who was deeply loved. They were very poor.

Case 5

Dr. N: Can you see clearly yet as you travel beyond the tunnel? S: I’m still passing through these… foamy clouds around me.

Dr. N: I want you to move all the way through this and tell me what you see now.

S: (pause) Oh … I’m out of it … my God, this place is big! It’s so bright and clean-it even smells good. I am looking at a beautiful ice palace.

Dr. N: Tell me more.

S:  (with  amazement)  It’s  enormous  …  it  looks  like  bright,  sparkling  crystal … colored stones shining all around me.

Dr. N: When you say crystalline, I think of a clear color.

S: Well, there are mostly grays and white … but as I float along I do see other colors

… mosaics … all glittery.

Dr. N: Look into the distance from within this ice palace-do you see any boundaries anywhere?

S: No, this space is infinite … so majestic … and peaceful. Dr. N: What are you feeling right now?

S: I… can’t fully enjoy it … I don’t want to go further … Maggie (subject’s widow)

Dr. N: I can see you are still disturbed about the Chicago life, but does this inhibit your progress into the spirit world?

S: (subject jerks upright in my office chair) Good! I see my guide coming towards me-she knows what I need.

Dr. N: Tell me what transpires between you and your guide.

S: I say to her I can’t go on… that I need to know Maggie and the children are going to be okay.

Dr. N: And how does your guide respond?

S: She is comforting me-but I’m too loaded down. Dr. N: What do you say to her?

S: (shouting) I tell her, “Why did you allow this to happen? How could you do this to me? You made me go through such pain and hardship with Maggie and now you cut off our life together.”

Dr. N: What does your guide do?

S: She is trying to soothe me. Telling me I did a good job and that I will see my life ran its intended course.

Dr. N: Do you accept what she says?

S: (pause) In my mind… information comes to me … of the future on Earth … that the family is getting on without me … accepting that I am gone … they are going to make it … and we will all see each other again.

Dr. N: And how does this make you feel?

S: I feel … peace … (with a sigh) .. I am ready to go on now.

Before touching on the significance of Case 5 meeting his guide here, I want to mention this man’s interpretation of the spirit world appearing as an ice palace. Further into the spirit world, my subjects will talk about seeing buildings and being in furnished rooms. The state of hypnosis by itself does not create these images. Logically, people should not be recalling such physical structures in a non-material world unless we consider these scenes of Earth’s natural environment are intended to aid in the soul’s transition and adjustment from a physical death. These sights have individual meaning for every soul communicating with me, all of whom are affected by their Earth experiences.

When the soul sees images in the spirit world which relate to places they have lived or visited on Earth, there is a reason. An unforgotten home, school, garden, mountain, or seashore are seen by souls because a benevolent spiritual force allows for terrestrial mirages to comfort us by their familiarity. Our planetary memories never die-they whisper forever into the soul-mind on the winds of mythical dreams just as images of the spirit world do so within the human mind.

I enjoy hearing from subjects about their first images of the spirit world. People may see fields of wildflowers, castle towers rising in the distance, or rainbows under

an open sky when returning to this place of adoration after an absence. These first ethereal Earth scenes of the spirit world don’t seem to change a great deal over a span of lives for the returning soul, although there is variety between client descriptions. I find that once a subject in trance continues further into the spirit world to describe the functional aspects of spiritual life, their comments become more uniform.

The case I have just reviewed could be described as a fairly unsettled spirit bonded closely to his soulmate, Maggie, who was left behind. There is no question that some souls do carry the negative baggage of a difficult past life longer than others, despite the calming influences of the spirit world. People tend to think all souls become omniscient at death. This is not completely true because adjustment periods vary. The time of soul adjustment depends upon the circumstances of death, attachments of each soul to the memories of the life just ended, and level of advancement.

I frequently hear anger during age-regression when a young life ends suddenly.

Souls reentering the spirit world under these conditions are often bewildered and confused over leaving people they love without much warning. They are unprepared for death and some feel sad and deprived right after leaving their bodies.

If a soul has been traumatized by unfinished business, usually the first entity it sees

right after death is its guide. These highly developed spiritual teachers are prepared to take the initial brunt of a soul’s frustration following an untimely death. Case 5 will eventually make a healthy adjustment to the spirit world by allowing his guide to assist him during the balance of his incoming trip.

However, I have found our guides do not encourage the complete working out of thought disorders at the spiritual gateway. There are more appropriate times and places for detailed reviews about karmic learning lessons involving life and death, which I will describe later. The guide in Case 5 offered a brief visualization of accelerated Earth time as a means of soothing this man about the future of his wife and children so he could continue on his journey with more acceptance.

Regardless of their state of mind right after death, my subjects are full of exclamations about rediscovered marvels of the spirit world. Usually, this feeling is combined with euphoria that all their worldly cares have been left behind, especially physical pain. Above all else, the spirit world represents a place of supreme quiescence to the traveling soul. Although it may at first  appear we are alone immediately following death, we are not isolated or unaided. Unseen intelligent energy forces guide each of us through the gate.

New arrivals in the spirit world have little time to float around wondering where

they are or what is going to happen to them next. Our guides and a number of soulmates and friends  wait for us close to the gateway to provide recognition, affection, and the assurance we are all right. Actually, we feel their presence from the moment of death because much of our initial readjustment depends upon the influence of these kindly entities toward our returning soul.

3

Homecoming

SINCE encountering friendly spirits who meet us after death is so important, how

do we recognize them? I find a general consensus of opinion among subjects in hypnosis about how souls look to each other in the spirit world. A soul may appear

as a mass of energy, but apparently it is also possible for non-organic soul energy to display human characteristics. Souls often use their capacity to project former life forms when communicating with each other. Projecting a human life form is only one of an incalculable number of appearances which can be assumed by souls from their basic energy substance. Later on, in Chapter Six, I will discuss another feature of soul identity-the possession of a particular color aura.

Most of my subjects report the first person they see in the spirit world is their personal guide. However, after any life we can be met by a soulmate. Guides and soulmates are not the same. If a former relative or close friend appears to the incoming soul, their regular guide might  be absent from the scene. I find that usually guides are somewhere in close proximity, monitoring the incomer’s arrival in their own way. The soul in my next case has just come through the spiritual gateway and is met by an advanced entity who obviously has had close connections with the subject over a prolonged series of past lives. Although this soulmate entity is not my client’s primary guide, he is there to welcome and provide loving encouragement for her.

Case 6

Dr. N: What do you see around you?

S: It’s as if … I’m drifting along on … pure white sand … which is shifting around me

… and I’m under a giant beach umbrella-with brightly colored panels-all vaporized,

but banded together, too …

Dr. N: Is anyone here to meet you?

S: (pause) I … thought I was alone … but … (a long hesitation) in the distance … uh … light … moving fast towards me … oh, my gosh!

Dr. N: What is it?

S: (excitedly) Uncle Charlie! (loudly) Uncle Charlie, I’m over here! Dr. N: Why does this particular person come to meet you first?

S: (in a preoccupied far-off voice) Uncle Charlie, I’ve missed you so much. Dr. N: (I repeat my question)

S: Because, of all my relatives, I loved him more than anybody. He died when I was a child and I never got over it. (on a Nebraska farm in this subject’s most immediate past life)

Dr. N: How do you know it’s Uncle Charlie? Does he have features you recognize?

S: (subject is squirming with excitement in her chair) Sure, sure-just as I remember him-jolly, kind, lovable-he is next to me. (chuckles)

Dr. N: What is so funny?

S: Uncle Charlie is just as fat as he used to be. Dr. N: And what does he do next?

S: He is smiling and holding out his hand to me

Dr. N: Does this mean he has a body of some sort with hands?

S: (laughs) Well, yes and no. I’m floating around and so is he. It’s … in my mind … he is showing all of himself to me … and what I am most aware of … is his hand stretched out to me.

Dr. N: Why is he holding out his hand to you in a materialized way? S: (pause) To … comfort me … to lead me … further into the light. Dr. N: And what do you do?

S: I’m going with him and we are thinking about the good times we spent together playing in the hay on the farm.

Dr. N: And he is letting you see all this in your mind so you will know who he is?

S: Yes … as I knew him in my last life … so I won’t be afraid. He knows I am still a little shocked over my death. (subject had died suddenly in an automobile accident)

Dr. N: Then, right after death, no matter how many deaths we may have experienced in other lives, it is possible to be a little fearful until we get used to the spirit world again?

S: It’s not really fear-that’s wrong-more like I’m apprehensive, maybe. It varies for me each time. The car crash caught me unprepared. I’m still a little mixed up.

Dr. N: All right, let’s go forward a bit more. What is Uncle Charlie doing now? S: He is taking me to the … place I should go …

Dr.  N:  On  the  count  of  three,  let’s  go  there.  One-two-three!  Tell  me  what  is happening.

S: (long pause) There… are … other people around … and they look… friendly… as I approach … they seem to want me to join them…

Dr. N: Continue to move towards them. Do you get the impression they might be waiting for you?

S: (recognition) Yes! In fact, I realize I have been with them before (pause) No, don’t go!

Dr. N: What’s happening now?

S: (very upset) Uncle Charlie is leaving me. Why is he going away?

Dr. N: (I stop the  dialogue  to use standard calming techniques in these circumstances, and then we continue.) Look deeply with your inner mind. You must realize why Uncle Charlie is leaving you at this point?

S: (more relaxed but with regret) Yes … he stays in a … different place than I do … he just came to meet me .. to bring me here.

Dr. N: I think I understand. Uncle Charlie’s job was to be the first person to meet you after your death and see you were okay. I’d like to know if you feel better now, and more at home.

S: Yes, I do. That’s why Uncle Charlie has left me with the others.

A curious phenomenon about the spirit world is that important people in our lives are always able to greet us, even though they may already be living another life in a new body. This will be explained in Chapter Six. In Chapter Ten, I will examine the ability of souls to divide their essence so they can be in more than one body at a time on Earth.

Usually at this juncture in a soul’s passage, the carry-on luggage of Earth’s physical

and mental burdens are diminishing for two reasons. First, the evidence of a carefully directed order and harmony in the spirit world has brought back the remembrance of what we left behind before we chose life in physical form. Secondly, there is the overwhelming impact of seeing people we thought we would never meet again after they died on Earth. Here is another example.

Case 7

Dr. N: Now that you have had the chance to adjust to your surroundings in the

spirit world, tell me what effect this place has on you.

S: It’s so … warm and comforting. I’m relieved to be away from Earth. I just want to stay here always. There is no tension, or worries, only a sense of well-being. I’m just floating … how beautiful…

Dr. N: As you continue to float along, what is your next major impression as you pass the spiritual gateway?

S: (pause) Familiarity. Dr. N: What is familiar?

S: (after some hesitation) Uh mm… people … friends … are here, I think. Dr. N: Do you see these people as familiar people on Earth?

S: I … have a sensation of their presence … people I knew Dr. N: All right, keep moving along. What do you see next? S: Lights… soft… kind of cloudy-like.

Dr. N: As you are moving, does this light continue to look the same?

S: No, they are growing … blobs of energy … and I know they are people! Dr. N: Are you moving toward them, or are they coming toward you?

S: We are drifting toward each other, but I am going slower than they are because

… I’m uncertain what to do

Dr. N: Just relax and continue floating while reporting back to me everything you see.

S: (pause) Now I’m seeing half-formed human shapes-from the waist up only. Their outlines are transparent, too … I can see through them.

Dr. N: Do you see any sort of features to these shapes? S: (anxiously) Eyes!

Dr. N: You see just eyes?

S: … There is only a trace of a mouth-it’s nothing. (alarmed) The eyes are all around me now… coming closer …

Dr. N: Does each entity have two eyes? S: That’s right.

Dr. N: Do these eyes have the appearance of human eyes with an iris and pupil?

S: No … different … they are … larger … black orbs … radiating light… towards me … thought … (then with a relieved sigh) oh!

Dr. N: Go on.

S: I’m starting to recognize them-they are sending images into my mind-thoughts about themselves and … the shapes are changing into people!

Dr. N: People with physical human features? S: Yes. Oh … look! It’s him!

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: (begins to laugh and cry at the same time) I think it’s … yes it’s Larry-he is in front of everybody else-he is the first one I really see … Larry, Larry!

Dr. N: (after giving my subject a chance to recover a little) The soul entity of Larry is in front of an assortment of people you know?

S: Yes, now I know the ones I want most to see are in front… some of my other friends are in the back.

Dr. N: Can you see them all clearly?

S: No, the ones in back are … hazy … far off… but, I have the sensation of their presence. Larry is in front … coming up to me Larry!

Dr. N: Larry is the husband from your last life you told me about earlier?

S: (subject rushes on) Yes-we had such a wonderful life together–Gunther was so strong-everyone was against our marriage in his family-Jean deserted from the navy to save me from the bad life I was living in Marseilles – always wanting me

This subject is so excited her past lives are tumbling one on top of the other. Larry, Gunther, and Jean were all former husbands, but the same soulmate. I was glad we had a chance to review earlier who these people were in sessions before this interval of recall in the spirit world. Besides Larry, her recent American husband, Jean was a French sailor in the nineteenth century and Gunther was the son of German aristocrats living in the eighteenth century.

Dr. N: What are the two of you doing right now? S: Embracing.

Dr. N: If a third party were to look at the two of you embracing at this moment, what would they see?

S: (no answer)

Dr. N: (the subject is so engrossed in the scene with her soulmate there are tears streaming down her face. I wait a moment and then try again.) What would you and Larry look like to someone watching you in the spirit world right now?

S: They would see… two masses of bright light whirling around each other, I guess

… (subject begins to settle down and I help wipe the tears off her face with a tissue) Dr. N: And what does this signify?

S: We are hugging … expressing love … connecting … it makes us happy … Dr. N: After you meet your soulmate, what happens next?

S: (subject tightly grips the recliner arms) Oh-they are all here-I only sensed them before. Now more are coming closer to me.

Dr. N: And this happens after your husband comes near you?

S: Yes … Mother! She is coming over to me … I’ve missed her so much… oh, Mom… (subject begins to cry again)

Dr. N: All right …

S: Oh, please don’t ask me any questions now-I want to enjoy this (subject appears to be in silent conversation with her mother of the last life)

Dr. N: (I wait for a minute) Now, I know you are enjoying this meeting, but I need you to help me know what is going on.

S: (in a faraway voice) We … we are just holding each other … it’s so good to be with her again

Dr. N: How do you manage to hold each other with no bodies?

S: (with a sigh of exasperation at me) We envelop each other in light, of course. Dr. N: Tell me what that is like for spirits?

S: Like being wrapped in a bright-light blanket of love. Dr. N: I see, then ….

S: (subject  interrupts with a high pitched laugh of  recognition) Tim!…  it’s my brother-he died so young (a drowning accident at age fourteen in her last life). It’s so wonderful to see him here. (subject waves her arm) And there is my best girl friend Wilma-from next door-we are laughing together over boys like we did while sitting up in her attic

Dr. N: (after subject mentions her aunt and a couple of other friends) What do you think determines the sequence of how all these people come here to greet you?

S: (pause) Why, how much we all mean to each other-what else?

Dr. N: And with some, you have lived many lives, while with others perhaps only one or two?

S: Yes … I have been with my husband the most. Dr. N: Do you see your guide around anywhere?

S: He is here. I see him floating off to the side. He knows some of my friends, too … Dr. N: Why do you call your guide a “him?”

S: We all show what we want of ourselves. He always relates to me with a masculine nature. It’s right and very natural.

Dr. N: And does he watch over you in all your lives?

S: Sure, and after death too … here, and he is always my protector.

Our reception committee is planned in advance for us as we enter the spirit world. This case demonstrates how uplifting familiar faces can be to the incoming younger soul. I find there are a different number of entities waiting in greeting parties after each life. Although the meeting format varies, depending on a soul’s special needs, I have learned there is nothing haphazard about our spiritual associates knowing exactly when we are due and where to meet us upon our arrival in the spirit world. Frequently, an entity who is significant to us will be waiting a little in front of the others who want  to be  on hand as we  come  through the gateway.  The size of welcoming parties not only changes for everyone after each life, but is drastically reduced  to  almost  nothing  for  more  advanced  souls  where  spiritual  comfort becomes less necessary. Case 9, at the end of this chapter, is an example of this type of spiritual passage.

Cases 6 and 7 both represent one of the three ways newly arrived souls are received back into the spirit world. These two souls were met  shortly after death by a principal entity, followed by others of decreasing influence. Case 7  recognized people more quickly than Case 6. When we meet such spirits in a gathering right

after our death, we find they have been spouses parents, grandparents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, and dear friends in our past lives. I have witnessed some gut- wrenching emotional scenes with my clients at this stage of their passage.

The emotional meetings which take place between souls at this interval in a spiritual

passage are only a prelude to our eventual placement within a specific group of entities at our own maturity level. These meetings provide another emotional high for a subject in superconscious recall. Spiritual organizational arrangements, involving how groups form and are cross-matched with other entities, will be described in subsequent chapters.

For the present, it is important we understand welcoming entities may not be part of

our own particular learning group in the spirit world. This is because all the people who are close to us in our lives are not on the same developmental level. Simply because they choose to meet us right after death out of love and kindness does not mean they will all be part of our spiritual learning group when we arrive at the final destination of this journey.

For instance, in Case 6, Uncle Charlie was clearly a more advanced soul than my

subject and may even have been serving in the capacity of a spiritual guide. It was evident to me that one of the primary tasks of Uncle Charlie’s soul was to help Case 6 as a child in the life just ended, and his responsibility continued right after my subject’s death. With Case 7, the important first contact was Larry, a true soulmate on the same level as this subject. Notice also in Case 7, that my subject’s spiritual guide was not conspicuous among her former relatives and friends. However, as the scene unfolded, there were indications of a spiritual guide orchestrating the whole meeting process while remaining in the background. I see this in many cases.

The second manner in which we are met right after death involves a quiet, meaningful encounter with one’s spiritual guide where no one else is revealed in the immediate vicinity, as in Case 5. Case 8 further illustrates this sort of meeting. What type of after-death meeting we do experience appears to involve the particular style of our spiritual guide along with requisites of our individual character. I find the duration of this first meeting with our guides does vary after each life depending upon the circumstances of that life.

Case 8 shows the very close relationships people have with their spiritual guides.

Many guides have strange sounding names, while others are rather conventional. I find it interesting that the old-fashioned religious term of having a “guardian angel” is now used metaphysically to denote an empathetic spirit. To be honest, this is a term I once denigrated as being foolishly loaded with wishful thinking and representing an out-dated mythology at odds with the modern world. I don’t have that belief anymore about guardian angels.

I am repeatedly told that the soul itself is androgynous, and yet, in the same breath, clients declare sex is not an unimportant factor. I have learned all souls can and do assume male and female mental impressions toward other entities as a form of identity preference. Cases 6 and 7 show the importance of the newly arrived soul in seeing familiar “faces”  identified by gender. This is also true of the next case. Another reason why I selected Case 8 is to indicate how and why souls choose to visually appear in human form to others in the spirit world.

Case 8

Dr. N: You have just started to actually leave the Earth’s astral plane now, and are moving further and further into the spirit world. I want you to tell me what you feel.

S: The silence … so peaceful …

Dr. N: Is anyone coming to meet you?

S: Yes, it’s my friend Rachel. She is always here for me when I die.

Dr. N: Is Rachel a soulmate who has been with you in other lives, or is she someone who always remains here?

S: (with some indignation) She doesn’t always stay here. No, she is with me a lot-in my mind-when I need her. She is my own

guardian (said with possessive pride).

Note: The attributes of guides as differentiated from soulmates and other supportive entities will be examined in Chapter Eight.

Dr. N: Why do you call this entity a “she”? Aren’t spirits supposed to be sexless?

S: That’s right-in a literal way, because we are capable of both attributes. Rachel wants to show herself to me as a woman for the visual knowing and it is a mental thing as well with her.

Dr.  N:  Are  you  locked  into  male  or  female  attributes  during  your  spiritual existence?

S: No. As souls there are periods in our existence when we are more inclined toward one gender than another. Eventually, this

natural preference evens out.

Dr. N: Would you describe how Rachel’s soul actually looks to you at this moment? S: (quietly) A youngish woman … as I remember her best … small, with delicate

features … a determined expression on her face … so much knowledge and love.

Dr. N: Then you have known Rachel on Earth?

S: (responding with nostalgia) Once, long ago, she was close to me in life … now she is my guardian.

Dr. N: And what do you feel when you look at her?

S: A calmness … tranquility … love …

Dr. N: Do you and Rachel actually look at each other with eyes in a human way?

S: (hesitates) Sort of … but different. You see the mind behind what we take to be eyes, because that is what we relate to on Earth. Of course, we can do the same thing as humans on Earth, too …

Dr. N: What can you do on Earth with your eyes that can also be done in the spirit world?

S: When you look into a certain person’s eyes on the ground-even people you have just met-and see a light you have known before well, that tells you something about them. As a human you don’t know why-but your soul remembers.

Note: I have heard about the light of spiritual identity being reflected in the human eyes of a soulmate expressed in a variety of ways from many clients. As for myself, I have knowingly experienced this instant recognition only once in my life at the moment I first saw my own wife. The effect is startling, and a bit eerie as well.

Dr. N: Are you saying that sometimes on Earth when two people look at each other, they may feel they have known one another before?

S: Yes, it’s deja vu.

Dr. N: Let’s go back to Rachel in the spirit world. If your guardian did not project an image of herself in human form to you, would you have known her anyway?

S: Well, naturally we can always identify each other by the mind. But, it’s nicer this way. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s a … social thing … seeing a familiar face puts you at ease.

Dr. N: Seeing human features of people you knew in past lives is a good thing then, particularly in the readjustment period right after leaving Earth?

S: Yeah, otherwise you feel a little lost at first … lonesome … and maybe confused, too … seeing people as they were helps me get used to things here faster when I first come back, and seeing Rachel is always a big boost.

Dr. N: Does Rachel present herself to you in human form right after each death on Earth as a way of getting you readjusted to the spirit world?

S: (eagerly) Oh, yes-she does! And she gives me security. I feel better when I see others I have known before too …

Dr. N: And do you speak to these people?

S: No one speaks, we communicate by the mind. Dr. N: Telepathically?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: Is it possible for souls to have private conversations which cannot be telepathically picked up by others?

S: (pause) … for intimacy-yes. Dr. N: How is this done?

S: By touch-it’s called touching communication.

Note: When two spirits come so close to each other they are conjoined, my subjects say they can send private thoughts by touch which passes between them as “electrical sound impulses.” In most instances, subjects in hypnosis do not wish to talk to me about these personal confidences.

Dr. N: Could you clarify for me how human features can be projected by you as a soul?

S: From … my mass of energy… I just think of the features I want … but I can’t tell you what gives me the ability to do this.

Dr. N: Well, then, can you tell me why you and the other souls project certain features at different times?

S: (long pause) It depends on where you are in your movements around here … when you see another… and your state of mind then.

Dr. N: That’s what I want to get at. Tell me more about recognition.

S: You see, recognition depends on a person’s … feelings when you meet them here. They will show you what they want you to see of themselves and what they think you want to see. It also depends on the circumstances of your meeting with them.

Dr. N: Can you be more specific? What different circumstances can cause energy forms to materialize in a certain way toward other spirits?

S: It is the difference between your being on their turf or your turf. They may choose to show you one set of features in one place, while in another you might see something else.

Note: Spiritual “territory” will be explained as we proceed further into the spirit world.

Dr. N: Are you telling me that a soul may show you one face at the gateway to the spirit world and another image later in a different situation?

S: That’s right. Dr. N: Why?

S: Like I was telling you, a lot of how we present ourselves to each other depends on what we are feeling right then … what relationship we have with a certain person and where we are.

Dr. N: Please tell me if I understand all this correctly. The identity souls project to each other depends on timing and location in the Spirit world as well as mood, and maybe psychological states of mind when they meet?

S: Sure, and it works both ways … it’s interconnecting.

Dr. N: Then, how can we know the true character of a soul’s consciousness with all these changes in each other’s image?

S: (laughs) The image you project never hides who you really are from the rest of us. Anyway, it’s not the same kind of emotion we know on Earth. Here it is more … abstract. Why we project certain features and thoughts … is based on a … confirmation of ideas.

Dr. N: Ideas? Do you mean your sentiments at the time?

S: Yes … sort of… because these human features were part of our physical lives in other places when we discovered things … and developed ideas … it is all a … continuum for us to use here.

Dr. N: Well, if in each of our past lives we have a different face, which one do we assume between lives?

S: We mix it up. You assume those features which the person you see will most recognize as you, depending on what you want to communicate.

Dr. N: What about communication without projecting features?

S: Sure, we do that-it’s normal-but I mentally associate with people more quickly with features.

Dr. N: Do you favor projecting a certain set of facial features?

S: Hmm … I like the face with the mustache … having a rock-hard jaw…

Dr. N: You mean when you were Jeff Tanner, the cowpuncher from Texas in the life we discussed earlier?

S: (laughs) That’s it-and I have had faces like Jeff’s in other lives, too. Dr. N: But, why Jeff? Was it just because he was you in your last life?

S: No, I felt good as Jeff. It was a happy, uncomplicated life. Damn, I looked great! My face resembled those billboard smoking ads you used to see along the highway. (chuckling) I enjoy showing off my handle-bar mustache as Jeff.

Dr. N: But that was only one life. People not associated with you in that life may not recognize you here.

S: Oh, they would get it was me soon enough. I could change to something else, but I like myself as Jeff the best right now.

Dr. N: So, this goes back to what you were saying about all of us really only having one identity, regardless of the number of facial features we might project as souls?

S: Yeah, you see everyone as they truly are. Some only want their best side to show because of what you might think of them-they don’t fully appreciate that it is what you are striving for which is important, not how you appear. We get a lot of laughs about how spirits think they should look, even taking faces they never had on Earth, and that’s okay.

Dr. N: Are we talking about the more immature souls, then?

S: Yes, usually. They can get stuck … we don’t judge … in the end they are going to be all right.

Dr. N: I think of the spirit world as a place of supreme all-knowing intelligent consciousness and you make it appear that souls have moods and vanity as though they were back on Earth?

S: (burst of laughter) People are people no matter how they look on their physical worlds.

Dr. N: Oh, do you see souls who have gone to planets other than Earth? S: (pause) Once in a while …

Dr. N: What features do souls from other planets besides Earth show you?

S: (evasively) I … kind of stick with my own people, but we can assume any features we want for communication …

Note: Gaining information from the subjects I have had who are able to recall leading physical past lives in non-human form on other worlds is always challenging. Recollection of these experiences are usually limited to older, more advanced souls, as we will see later.

Dr. N: Is this ability to transmit features to each other as souls a gift the creator provided for us based upon spiritual need?

S: How should I know-I’m not God!

The concept of souls having fallibility comes as a surprise to some people. The statements of Case 8 and all my other clients indicate most of us are still far from perfect beings in the spirit world. The essential purpose of reincarnation is self- improvement. The psychological ramifications of our development, both in and out of the spirit world, is the foundation of my work.

We have seen the importance of meeting other entities while entering the spirit

world. Besides uniting with our guides and other familiar beings, I have mentioned a third form of reentry after death. This is the rather disconcerting manner in which a soul is met by no one.

Although it is an uncommon occurrence for most of my clients, I still feel a little

sorry for those subjects who describe how they are pulled by unseen forces all alone to their final destinations, where contact is finally made with others. This would be akin to landing in a foreign country where you have been before, but without any baggage handlers or a tourist information desk to assist you with directions. I suppose what bothers me the most about this type of entry is the apparent lack of any soul acclimation.

My own conceptions of what it must be like to be alone at the spiritual gateway and beyond is not shared by those souls who utilize the option of going solo. Actually, people in this category are experienced travelers. As older, mature souls, they seem to require no initial support system. They know right where they are going after death. I suspect the process is accelerated for them as well, because they manage to more rapidly wind up where they belong than those who stop to meet others.

Case 9 is a client who has had a great number of lives, spanning thousands of years. About eight lives before his current one, people finally stopped meeting him at the spiritual gate.

Case 9

Dr. N: What happens to you at the moment of death? S: I feel a great sense of release and I move out fast.

Dr.  N: How would you characterize your departure from Earth into the spirit world?

S: I shoot up like a column of light and I’m on my way. Dr. N: Has it always been this fast for you?

S: No, only after my last series of lives. Dr. N: Why?

S: I know the way, I don’t need to see anybody-I’m in a hurry. Dr. N: And it doesn’t bother you that you are not met by anyone?

S: (laughs) There was a time when it was good, but I don’t require that sort of thing anymore.

Dr.  N:  Whose  decision  was  it  to  allow  you  to  enter  the  spirit  world  without assistance?

S: (pause and then with a shrug) It was … a mutual decision … between my teacher and me … when I knew I could handle things by myself.

Dr. N: And you don’t feel rather lost or lonely right now?

S: Are you kidding? I don’t need my hand held anymore. I know where I’m going and I’m anxious to get there. I’m being pulled along by a magnet and I just enjoy the ride.

Dr. N: Explain to me how this pulling process works which will take you to your destination?

S: I am riding on a wave … a beam of light. Dr. N: Is this beam electromagnetic, or what?

S: Well … it’s similar to the bands of a radio with someone turning the dial and finding the right frequency for me.

Dr. N: Are you saying you are being guided by an invisible force without much voluntary control and that you can’t speed things up as you did right after death?

S: Yes. I must go with the wave bands of light … the waves have direction and I’m flowing with it. It’s easy. They do it all for you.

Dr. N: Who does it for you?

S: The ones in control … I don’t really know.

Dr. N: Then you are not in control. You don’t have the responsibility of finding your own destination.

S: (pause) My mind is in tune with the movement … I flow with the resonance … Dr. N: Resonance? You hear sounds?

S: Yes, the wave beam … vibrates … I’m locked into this, too.

Dr. N: Let’s go back to your statement about the radio. Is your spiritual travel influenced by vibrational frequencies such as high, medium, and low resonance quality?

S: (laughing) That’s not bad-yes, and I’m on a line, like a homing beacon of sound and light… and it’s part of my own tonal pattern-my frequency.

Dr.  N:  I’m  not  sure  I  understand  how  light  and  vibration  combine  to  set  up directional bands.

S: Think of a monster tuning fork inside a flashing strobe light. Dr. N: Oh, then there is energy here?

S: We have energy-within an energy field. So, it isn’t just the lines we travel on … we generate energy ourselves … we can use these forces depending on our experience.

Dr. N: Then your maturity level does give you some element of control in the rate and direction of travel.

S: Yes, but not right here. Later, when I am settled I can move around much more on my own. Now, I’m being pulled and I’m supposed to go with it.

Dr. N: Okay, stay with this and describe to me what happens next.

S: (short pause) I’m moving alone … being homed into my proper space… going where I belong.

In hypnosis, the analytical conscious mind works in conjunction with the unconscious mind to receive and answer messages directed to our deep-seated memories. The subject in Case 9 is an electrical engineer and thus he utilized some technical descriptions to express his spiritual sensations. This client’s predisposition to explain his thoughts on soul travel in technical terms was encouraged, but not

dictated, by my suggestions. All subjects bring their own segments of knowledge to bear on answering my questions about the spirit world. This case used physical laws familiar to him to describe motion, whereas another person might have said souls move in this tract within a vacuum.

Before continuing with the passage of souls into the spirit world, I want to discuss those entities who either have not made it this far after physical death, or will be diverted from the normal travel route.

4

The Displaced Soul

THERE are souls who have been so severely damaged they are detached from the

mainstream of souls going back to a spiritual home base. Compared to all returning entities, the number of these abnormal souls is not large. However, what has happened to them on Earth is significant because of the serious effect they have on other incarnated souls.

There are two types of displaced souls: those who do not accept the fact their physical body is dead and fight returning to the spirit world for reasons of personal anguish, and those souls who have been subverted by, or had  complicity with, criminal abnormalities in a human body. In the first instance, displacement is of the soul’s own choosing, while in the second case, spiritual guides deliberately remove these souls from further association with other entities for an indeterminate period. In both situations, the guides of these souls are intimately concerned with rehabilitation, but because the circumstances are quite different between each type of displaced soul, I will treat them separately.

The first type we call ghosts. These spirits refuse to go home after physical death

and often have unpleasant influences on those of us who would like to finish out our own human lives in peace. These displaced souls are sometimes falsely called “demonic spirits” because they are accused of invading the minds of people with harmful intent. The subject of negative Spirits has produced serious investigations in the field of parapsychology. Unfortunately, this area of spirituality has also attracted a fringe element of the unscrupulous associated with the occult, who prey on the emotions of susceptible people

The troubled spirit is an immature entity with unfinished business in a past life on

Earth. They may have no relation to the living person who is disrupted by them. It is true that some people are convenient and receptive conduits for negative spirits who wish to express their querulous nature. This means that someone who is in a deep meditative state of consciousness might occasionally pick up annoying signal patterns from a discarnated being whose communications can range from the frivolous to provocative. These unsettled entities are not spiritual guides.  Real guides are healers and don’t intrude with acrimonious messages.

More  often  than  not,  these  uncommon  haunted  spirits  are  tied  to a  particular

geographic location. Researchers who have specialized in the phenomena of ghosts indicate those disturbed entities are caught in a no-man’s land between the lower astral planes of Earth and the spirit world. From my own research, I don’t believe these souls are lost in space, nor are they demonic. They choose to remain within the Earth plane after physical death for a time by their own volition due to a high level of  discontent.  In  my  opinion,  they  are  damaged  souls  because  they  evidence

confusion, despair, and even hostility to such an extent they want their guides to stay away from them. We do know a negative, displaced entity can be reached and handled by various means, such as exorcism, to get them to stop interfering with human beings. Possessing spirits can be persuaded to leave and eventually make a proper transition into the spirit world.

If we have a spirit world governed by order, with guides who care about us, how can

maladaptive souls who exert negative energy upon incarnated beings be allowed to exist? One explanation is that we still have free will, even in death. Another is that since  we  endure  so  many  upheavals  in  our  physical  universe,  then  spiritual irregularities  and  deviations  from  the  normal  exodus  of  souls  ought  to  be anticipated as well. Discarnate, unhappy spirits who trap themselves are possibly part of a grand design. When they are ready, these souls will be taken by the hand away from Earth’s astral plane and guided to their proper place in the spirit world.  I turn now to the far more prevalent second type of disturbed soul. These are souls who have been involved with evil acts. We should first speculate if a soul can be considered culpable or guilt-free when it occupied the offending criminal brain? Is the soul mind or human ego responsible, or are they the same? Occasionally, a client will say to me, “I feel possessed by an inner force which tells me to do bad things.” There are mentally ill people who feel driven by opposing forces of good and evil over which they believe they have no control.

After working for years with the superconscious minds of people under hypnosis, I have come to the conclusion that the five-sensory human can negatively act upon a soul’s psyche. We express our eternal self through dominant biological needs and the pressures of environmental stimuli which are temporary to the incarnated soul. Although there is no hidden, sinister self within our human form, some souls are not fully assimilated. People not in harmony with their bodies feel detached from themselves in life.

This  condition  does  not  excuse  souls  from  doing  their  utmost  to  prevent  evil

involvement on Earth. We see this in human conscience. It is important we distinguish between what is exerting a negative force on our mind and what is not. Hearing an inner voice which may suggest self-destruction to ourselves or someone else is not a demonic spiritual entity, an alien presence, nor a malevolent renegade guide. Negative forces emanate from ourself.

The  destructive  impulses  of  emotional  disorders,  if  left  untreated,  inhibit  soul

development. Those of us who have experienced unresolved personal trauma in our lives carry the seeds of our own destruction. This anguish affects our soul in such a way that it seems we are not whole. For instance, excessive craving and addictive behavior, which is the outgrowth of personal pain, inhibits the expression of a healthy soul and may even hold a soul in bondage to its host body.

Does the extent of contemporary violence mean that we have more souls “going

wrong” today than in the past? If nothing else, our over-population and mind- altering drug culture should support this conclusion. On the positive side, Earth’s international level of consciousness toward human suffering appears to be rising. I’ve been told that in every era of Earth’s bloody history there has always been a significant number of souls unable to resist and successfully counter human cruelty. Certain souls, whose hosts have a genetic disposition to abnormal brain chemistry,

are particularly at risk in a violent environment. We see how children can be so damaged by physical and emotional family abuse that, as adults, they commit premeditated acts of atrocity without feelings of remorse. Since souls are not created perfect, their nature can be contaminated during the development of such a life form.

If our transgressions are especially serious we call them evil. My subjects say to me

no soul is inherently evil, although it may acquire this label in human life. Pathological evil in humans is characterized by feelings of personal impotence and weakness which is stimulated by helpless victims.

Although souls who are involved with truly evil acts should generally be considered

at  a  low  level  of  development,  soul  immaturity  does  not  automatically  invite malevolent behavior from a damaged human personality. The evolution of souls involves a transition from imperfection to perfection based upon overcoming many difficult body assignments during their task-oriented lives. Souls may also have a predisposition for selecting environments where they consistently don’t work well, or are subverted. Thus, souls may have their identity damaged by poor life choices. However, all souls are held accountable for their conduct in the bodies they occupy. We will see in the next chapter how souls receive an initial review of their past life with guides before moving on to join their friends. But what happens to souls who have, through their bodies, caused extreme suffering to another? If a soul is not capable of ameliorating the most violent human urges in its host body, how is it held accountable in afterlife? This brings up the issue of being sent to heaven or hell for good and bad deeds because accountability has long been a part of our religious traditions.

On the wall of my office hangs an Egyptian painting, “The Judgment Scene,” as represented in the Book of the Dead, which is a mythological ritual of death over 7,000 years old. The ancient Egyptians had an obsession with death and the world beyond the grave because, in their cosmic pantheon, death explained life.  The picture shows a newly deceased man arriving in a place located between the land of the living and the kingdom of the dead. He stands by a set of scales about to be judged for his past deeds on Earth. The master of ceremonies is the god Anubis, who carefully weighs the man’s heart on one pan of the scale against the ostrich feather of truth on the opposite side. The heart, not the head, represented the embodiment of a person’s soul-conscience to the Egyptians. It is a tense moment. A crocodile-headed monster is crouched nearby with his mouth open, ready to devour the heart if the man’s wrongs outweigh the good he did in life. Failure at the scales would end the existence of this soul.

I get quite a few comments from my clients about this picture. A metaphysically

oriented person would insist no one is denied entrance into the kingdom of afterlife, regardless of how unfavorably balanced the scales might be toward past conduct. Is this belief true? Are all souls given the opportunity to transmute back into the spirit world the same way, irrespective of their association with the bodies they occupied? To answer this question, I should begin by mentioning that a large segment of society believes all souls do not go to the same place. More moderate theology no longer  stresses  the  idea  of  hellfire  and  brimstone  for  sinners.  However,  many religious sects indicate a spiritual coexistence of two mental states of good and evil.

For the “bad” soul there are ancient philosophical pronouncements denoting a separation from the God-Essence as a means of punishment after death.

The Tibetan Book of the Dead, a source of religious belief thousands of years older than the Bible, describes the state of consciousness between lives (the Bardo) as a

time when “the evil we have perpetrated projects us into spiritual separation.” If the peoples of the East believed in a special spiritual location for evil doers, was this

idea similar to the concept of purgatory in the Western world?

From its earliest beginnings, Christian doctrine defined purgatory as a transitory

state of temporary banishment for sins of a minor nature against humanity. The Christian purgatory is supposed to be a place of atonement, isolation, and suffering. When all negative karma is removed, these souls are eventually allowed into heaven. On the other hand, souls committing major (deadly) sins are condemned to hell forever.

Does hell exist to permanently separate good souls from bad ones? All my case work

with the spirits of my subjects has convinced me there is no residence of terrible suffering for souls, except on Earth. I am told all souls go to one spirit world after death where everyone is treated with patience and love.

However,  I have learned that certain souls  do undergo separation in the spirit

world, and this happens at the time of their orientation with guides. They are not activated along the same travel routes as other souls. Those of my subjects who have been impeded by evil report that souls whose influence was too weak to turn aside a human impulse to harm others will go into seclusion upon reentering the spirit world. These souls don’t appear to mix with other entities in the conventional manner for quite a while.

I have also noticed that those beginner souls who are habitually associated with intensely negative human conduct in their first series of lives must endure individual spiritual isolation. Ultimately, they are placed together in their own group to intensify learning under close supervision. This is not punishment, but rather a kind of purgatory for the restructuring of self-awareness with these souls.

Because wrongdoing takes so many forms on Earth, spiritual instruction and the

type of isolation used is varied for each soul. The nature of these variations apparently is evaluated during orientation at the end of each life. Relative time of seclusion and reindoctrination is not consistent either. For instance, I have had reports about maladjusted spirits who have returned back to Earth directly after a period of seclusion in order to expunge themselves as soon as possible by a good incarnated performance, Here is an example, as told to me by a soul who was acquainted with one of these spirits.

Case 10

Dr. N: Do souls bear responsibility for their involvement with flawed human beings

who injure others in life?

S: Yes, those who have wronged others savagely in a life-I knew one of those souls. Dr. N: What do you know about this entity? What happened after this soul returned

to the spirit world following that life?

S: He … had hurt a girl … terribly … and did not rejoin our group. There was extensive private study for him because he did so poorly while in that body.

Dr. N: What was the extent of his punishment?

S: Punishment is … a wrong interpretation … it’s regeneration. You have to recognize this is a matter for your teacher. The teachers are more strict with those who have been involved with cruelty.

Dr. N: What does “more strict” mean to you in the spirit world?

S: Well, my friend didn’t go back with us … his friends … after this sad life where he hurt this girl.

Dr. N: Did he come through the same spiritual gateway as yourself when he died?

S: Yes, but he did not meet with anybody … he went directly to a place where he was alone with the teacher.

Dr. N: And then what happened to him?

S: After awhile … not long … he returned to Earth again as a woman … where people were cruel … physically abusive … it was a deliberate choice … my friend needed to experience that …

Dr. N: Do you think this soul blamed the human brain of his former host body for hurting the girl?

S: No, he took what he had done … back into himself … he blamed his own lack of skill to overcome the human failings. He asked to become an abused woman himself

in the next life to gain understanding… to appreciate the damage he had done to the girl.

Dr. N: If this friend of yours did not gain understanding and continued involving himself with humans who committed wrongful acts, could he be destroyed as a soul by someone in the spirit world?

S: (long pause) You can’t destroy energy exactly … but it can be reworked… negativity which is unmanageable … in many lives … can be readjusted.

Dr. N: How?

S: (vaguely) … Not by destruction … remodeling …

Case 10 did not respond further to this line of questioning, and other subjects who know   something   about   these   damaged   souls   are   rather   sparse   with   their

information. Later, we will learn a bit more about the formation and restoration of intelligent energy.

Most errant souls are able to solve their own problems of contamination. The price we pay for our misdeeds and the rewards received for good conduct revolve around

the laws of karma. Perpetrators of harm to others will do penance by setting themselves up as future victims in a karmic cycle of justice. The Bhagavad Gita,

another early Eastern scripture which has stood the test of thousands of years, has a passage which says, “souls of evil influence must redeem their virtue.”

No study of life after death would have any meaning without addressing how karma relates to causality and justice for all souls. Karma by itself does not denote good or

bad deeds. Rather it is the result of one’s positive and negative actions in life. The statement, “there are no accidents in our lives,” does not mean karma by itself

impels. What it does is propel us forward by teaching lessons. Our future destiny is influenced by a past from which we cannot escape, especially when we injure others.

The key to growth is understanding we are given the ability to make mid-course corrections in our life and having the courage to make necessary changes when what

we are doing is not working for us. By conquering fear and taking risks, our karmic pattern adjusts to the effects of new choices. At the end of every life, rather than

having a monster waiting to devour our souls, we serve as our most severe critic in front of teacher-guides. This

is why karma is both just and merciful. With the help of our spiritual counselors and peers we decide on the proper mode of justice for our conduct.

Some people who believe in reincarnation also think if negative souls do not learn their lessons within a reasonable span of lives, they will be eliminated and replaced

by more willing souls. My subjects deny this premise.

There is no set path of self-discovery designed for all souls. As one subject told me,

“souls are assigned to Earth for the duration of the war.” This means souls are given the time and opportunity to make changes for growth. Souls who continue to display negative attitudes through their human hosts must overcome these difficulties by continually making an effort to change. From what I have seen, no negative karma remains attached to a soul who is willing to work during their many lives on this planet.

It is an open question whether a soul should be held entirely at fault for humanity’s irrational, unsocialized, and destructive acts. Souls must learn to cope in different ways with each new human being assigned to them. The permanent identity of a soul stamps the human mind with a distinctive character which is individual to that soul. However, I find there is a strange dual nature between the soul mind and human brain. I will discuss this concept further in later chapters, after the reader learns more about the existence of souls in the spirit world.

5

Orientation

AFTER those entities who meet us during our homecoming have dispersed, we are ready to be taken to a space of healing. This will be followed by another stop involving the soul’s reorientation to a spiritual environment. In this place we are often examined by our guide.

I tend to call the cosmology of all spiritual locations as places, or spaces, simply for convenient identification because we are dealing with a non-physical universe. The similarity of descriptions among clients of what they do as souls at the next two combined stops is remarkable, although they do have different names for them. I hear such terms as: chambers, travel berths, and interspace stop over zones, but the most common is “the place of healing.”

I think of the healing station as a field hospital, or MASH unit, for damaged souls coming off Earth’s battlefields. I have selected a rather advanced male subject who has been through this revitalization process many times to describe the nature of this next stop.

Case 11

Dr. N: After you leave the friends who greeted you following your death, where does your soul go next in the spirit world?

S: I am alone for a while … moving through vast distances … Dr. N: Then what happens to you?

S: I am being guided by a force I can’t see, into a more enclosed space-an opening into a place of pure energy.

Dr. N: What is this area like?

S: For me … it is the vessel of healing.

Dr. N: Give me as much detail as possible about what you experience here.

S: I’m propelled in and I see a bright warm beam. It reaches out to me as a stream of liquid energy. There is a … vapor-like … steam swirling around me at first … then gently touching my soul as if it were alive. Then it is absorbed into me as fire and I am bathed and cleansed from my hurts.

Dr. N: Is someone bathing you, or is this light beam enveloping you from out of nowhere?

S: I am alone, but it is directed. My essence is being bathed … restoring me after my exposure to Earth.

Dr. N: I have heard this place is similar to taking a refreshing shower after a hard day’s work.

S: (laughs) After a lifetime of work. It’s better and you don’t get wet, either.

Dr. N: You also don’t have a physical body anymore, so how can this energy shower heal a soul?

S: By reaching into … my being. I’m so tired from my last life and with the body I had.

Dr. N: Are you saying the ravages of the physical body and the human mind leaves an emotional mark on the soul after death?

S: God, yes’. My very expression-who I am as a being-was affected by the brain and body I occupied.

Dr. N: Even though you are now separated from that body forever?

S: Each body leaves … an imprint … on you, at least for a while. There are some bodies I have had that I can never get away from altogether. Even though you are free of them you keep some of the outstanding memories of your bodies in certain lives.

Dr. N: Okay, now I want you to finish with your shower of healing and tell me what you feel.

S: I am suspended in the light … it permeates through my soul … washing out most of the negative viruses. It allows me to let go of the bonds of my last life … bringing about my transformation so I can become whole again.

Dr. N: Does the shower have the same effect upon everyone?

S: (pause) When I was younger and less experienced, I came here more damaged- the energy here seemed less effective because I didn’t know how to use it to completely purge the negativity. I carried old wounds with me longer despite the healing energy.

Dr. N: I think I understand. So, what do you do now?

S: When I am restored, I leave here and go to a quiet place to talk to my guide.

This place I have come to call the shower of healing is only a prelude for the rehabilitation of returning souls. The orientation stage which immediately follows (especially with younger souls), involves a substantial counseling session with one’s guide. The newly refreshed soul arrives at this station to undergo a debriefing of the life just ended. Orientation is also designed as an intake interview to provide further emotional release and readjustment back into the spirit world.

People  in  hypnosis  who  discuss  the  type  of  counseling  which  goes  on  during

orientation say their guides are gentle but probing. Imagine your favorite elementary school teacher and you have the idea. Think of a firm but concerned entity who knows all about your learning habits, your strong and weak points, and your fears, who is always ready to work with you as long as you continue to try.

When you don’t, everything remains stationary in your development. Nothing can be hidden by students from their Spiritual teachers. No subterfuge or deception exists in a telepathic world.

There are a multitude of differences in orientation scenes depending upon the souls’

individual makeup and their state of mind after the life just ended. Souls report their orientation often takes place in a room. The furnishings of these settings and the intensity of this first conference can vary after each life. The case below gives a brief example of an orientation scene which attests to the desire of higher forces to bring comfort to the returning soul.

Case 12

S: At the center of this place I found my bedroom where I was so happy as a child. I see my rose-covered wallpaper and four-poster bed with the squeaky springs under a thick, pink quilt made for me by my grandmother. My grandmother and I used to have heart-to-heart chats whenever I was troubled and she is here, too-just sitting on the edge of my bed with my favorite stuffed animals around her-waiting for me. Her wrinkled face is full of love, as always. After a while I see she is actually my guide Amephus. I talk to Amephus about the sad and happy times of the life I have finished. I know I made mistakes, but she is so kind to me. We laugh and cry together while I reminisce. Then we discuss all the things I didn’t do that I might have done with my life. But in the end it’s okay. She knows I must rest in this beautiful world. I’m going to relax. I don’t care if I ever go back to Earth again because my real home is here.

Apparently, the more advanced souls do not require any orientation at this stage. This does not mean the ten percent of my clients in this category just sail right by their guides with a wave upon their return from Earth. Everybody is held accountable for their past lives. Performance is judged upon how each individual interpreted and acted upon their life roles. Intake interviews for the advanced souls are conducted with master teachers later. The less experienced entities are usually given special attention by counselors because the abrupt transition from the physical to a spiritual form is more difficult for them.

The next case I have selected has a more in-depth therapeutic spiritual orientation.

The exploration of attitudes and feelings with a view to reorienting future behavior is typical of guides. The client in Case 13 is a strong, imposing thirty-two-year-old woman of above-average height and weight. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a loose- fitting sweat shirt, Hester arrived at my office one day in a state of agitation.

Her presenting problems fell into three parts. She was dissatisfied with her life as a successful real estate broker as being too materialistic and unfulfilling. Hester also felt she lacked feminine sexuality. She mentioned having a closet full of beautiful clothes which were “hateful to wear.” This client then told me how she had easily manipulated men all her life because, “There is a male aggression about me which also makes me feel incomplete as a woman.” As a young girl, she avoided dolls and wearing dresses because she was more interested in competitive sports with boys. Her masculine feelings had not changed with age, although she had found a man who became her husband because he accepted her dominance in their relationship. Hester said she enjoyed sex with him as long as she was in physical control and that

he found this exciting. In addition, my client complained of headaches on the right side of her head above the ear which, after extensive medical examinations, doctors had attributed to stress.

During our session, I learned this subject had experienced a recent series of male

lives, culminating with a short life as a prosecuting attorney called Ross Feldon in the state of Oklahoma during the 1 880s. As Ross, my client had committed suicide at age thirty-three in a hotel room by shooting himself in the head. Ross was in despair over the direction his life had taken as a courtroom prosecutor.

As the dialogue progresses, the reader will notice displays of intense emotion. Regression therapists call this “heightened response” being in a state of revivification (meaning to give new life) as opposed to the alternative trance state where subjects are observer-participants.

Case 13

Dr. N: Now that you have left the shower of healing, where are you going?

S: (apprehensively) To see my advisor. Dr. N: And who is that?

S: (pause) … Dees … no … his name is Clodees.

Dr. N: Did you talk to Clodees when you entered the spirit world? S: I wasn’t ready yet. I just wanted to see my parents.

Dr. N: Why are you going to see Clodees now?

S: I … am going to have to make some kind of … accounting … of myself. We go through this after all my lives, but this time I’m really in the soup.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Because I killed myself.

Dr. N: When a person kills himself on Earth does this mean they will receive some sort of punishment as a spirit?

S: No, no, there is no such thing here as punishment-that’s an Earth condition. Clodees will be disappointed that I bailed out early and didn’t have the courage to face my difficulties. By choosing to die as I did means I have to come back later and deal with the same thing all over again in a different life. I just wasted a lot of time by checking out early.

Dr. N: So, no one will condemn you for committing suicide?

S: (reflects for a moment) Well, my friends won’t give me any pats on the back either-I feel sadness at what I did.

Note: This is the usual spiritual attitude toward suicide, but I want to add that those who escape from chronic physical pain or almost total incapacity on Earth by killing themselves feel no remorse as souls. Their guides and friends also have a more accepting view toward this motivation for suicide.

Dr. N: All right, let’s proceed into your conference with Clodees. First describe your surroundings as you enter this space to see your advisor.

S: I go into a room-with walls … (laughs) Oh, it’s the Buckhorn! Dr. N: What’s that?

S: A great cattleman’s bar in Oklahoma. I was happy as a patron there-friendly atmosphere-beautiful wood paneling-the stuffed leather chairs. (pause) I see Clodees is sitting at one of the tables waiting for me. Now we are going to talk.

Dr. N: How do you account for an Oklahoma bar in the spirit world?

S: It’s one of the nice things they do for you to ease your mind, but that’s where it ends. (then with a deep sigh) This talk is not going to be like a party at the bar.

Dr. N: You sound a little depressed at the prospect of an intimate conversation with your guide about your last life?

S: (defensively) Because I blew it! I have to see him to explain why things didn’t work out. Life is so hard! I try to do it right… but …

Dr. N: Do what right?

S: (with anguish) I had an agreement with Clodees to work on setting goals and then following through. He had expectations for me as Ross. Damn! Now I have to face him with this.

Dr. N: You don’t feel you met the contract you had with your advisor about lessons to be learned as Ross?

S: (impatiently) No, I was terrible. And, of course, I’ll have to do it all over again. We never seem to get it perfect. (pause) You know, if it weren’t for Earth’s beauty- the birds-flowers-trees-I would never go back. It’s too much trouble.

Dr. N: I can see you are upset, but don’t you think …

S: (breaks in with agitation) You can’t get away with a thing either. Everybody here knows you so well. There is nothing I can keep from Clodees.

Dr. N: I want you to take a deep breath and go further into the Buckhorn Bar and tell me what you do.

S: (subject gulps and squares her shoulders) I float in and sit down across from Clodees at a round table near the front of the bar.

Dr. N: Now that you are near Clodees, do you think he is as upset as you are over this past life?

S: No, I’m more upset with myself over what I did and didn’t do and he knows that. Advisors can be displeased but they don’t humiliate us, they are too superior for that.

The counseling input of a directive guide gives the healing process of our soul a boost during orientation, but that does not mean the defensive barriers to progress are completely removed. The painful emotional memories from our past do not die as easily as our bodies. Hester must see her negative past life script as Ross clearly, without distorted perceptions.

Recreating spiritual orientation scenes during hypnosis assists me as a therapist. I have found the techniques of psychodramatic role playing to be useful in exposing feelings and old beliefs related to current behavior. Case 13 had quite a long orientation which I have condensed. At this juncture of the case I shifted my questioning to involve the subject’s guide.

As the proceedings unfold with Ross Feldon’s life, I will take the roll of a third party

intermediary between Ross and Clodees. Within this counseling mode I also want to initiate a role transference where Hester-Ross will speak the thoughts of Clodees. The integration of a subject with their guide is a means of eliciting assistance from these higher entities and bringing problems into sharper focus. I sometimes sense even my own guide is directing me in these sessions.

I  am  cautious  about  summoning  up  guides  without  good  cause.  Facilitating

communication directly with a client’s guide always has an uncertain outcome. If my intrusion is clumsy or unnecessary, guides will block a subject’s response by silence or use metaphoric language which is obscure.

I have had guides speak through a subject’s vocal chords in raspy tones which are so

discordant I can hardly understand the responses to questions. When subjects talk for their guides, rather than guides speaking for themselves through the subject, usually the cadence of speech is not as broken. In this case, Clodees comes through Hester-Ross easily and allows me some latitude in working with his client.

Dr. N: Ross, we both need to understand what is happening psychologically to you right from the start of your orientation with Clodees. I want you to assist me. Are you willing to do this?

S: Yes, I am.

Dr. N: Good, and now you are going to be able to do something unusual. On the count of three, you will have the ability to assume the dual roles of Clodees and yourself. This ability will enable you to speak to me about your thoughts and those of your guide as well. It will seem that you will actually become your guide when I question you. Are you ready?

S: (with hesitation) I … think so.

Dr. N: (rapidly) One-two-three! ( I place my palm on the subject’s forehead to stimulate the transference.) Now be Clodees speaking his thoughts through you. You are sitting at a table across from the soul of Ross Feldon. What do you say to him? Quickly! I want the subject to react without thinking critically about the difficulty of my command)

S: subject reacts slowly, speaking as his own guide) You know… you could have done better.

Dr. N: Quickly now-be Ross Feldon again. Move to the other side of the table and answer Clodees.

S: I… tried … but I fell short of the goal

Dr. N: Switch places again. Become the voice of Clodees’ thoughts and answer Ross. Quickly!

S: If you could change anything about your life, what would it be? Dr. N: Respond as Ross.

S: Not to be … corrupted … by power and money. Dr. N: Answer as Clodees.

S: Why did you let these things detract from your original commitment?

Dr. N: (I lower my voice) You are doing fine. Keep switching chairs back and forth at the table. Now answer your guide’s question.

S: I wanted to belong… to feel important in the community… to rise above others and be admired … for my strength.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Especially by women. I observed you tried to dominate them sexually as well, making conquests without attachments.

Dr. N: Speak as Ross.

S: Yes … that’s true … (shakes head from side to side) I don’t have to explain-you know everything anyway.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Oh, but you do. You must bring your self-awareness to bear on these matters. Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (defiantly) If I hadn’t exerted power over these people they would have controlled me.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: This lacks merit and was unworthy of you. What you became is not how you started. We chose your parents carefully.

Note: The Feldon family were farmers of modest means who displayed honesty, forbearance, and sacrificed much so Ross could study law.

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (in a rush) Yes-I know-they brought me up to be idealistic-to help the little guy, and I wanted this, too, but it didn’t work for me. You saw what happened. I was in debt when I began as a lawyer…ineffective … of no consequence. I didn’t want to be poor anymore, defending people who couldn’t pay me. I hated the farm-the pigs and the cows. I liked being around substantial people and when I joined the establishment as a prosecutor, I had the idea of reforming the system and helping farm people. It was the system that was wrong.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Ah, you were corrupted by the system-explain this to me. Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (hotly) People had to pay fines they couldn’t afford-others I sent to jail because of offenses they didn’t mean to commit – others I had hung! (voice breaks) I became a legal killer.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S:  Why  did  you  feel  responsible  for  prosecuting  criminals  who  were  guilty  of hurting others?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: Few of those … most were … just ordinary people like my parents who got caught up in the system … needing money to survive … and there were those who were … sick in the head

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: What about the victims of the people you prosecuted? Didn’t you choose a life of law to help society and to make the farms and the towns safer with justice?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (loudly) Don’t you see, it didn’t work for me-I was turned into a murderer by a primitive society!

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: And so you murdered yourself? Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: I got off track… I couldn’t go back to being a nobody… and I couldn’t go forward. Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: Too easily you became a participant with those whose motivations were  for personal gain and notoriety. This was not you. Why did you hide from yourself?

Dr. N: Answer as Ross.

S: (with anger) Why didn’t you help me more-when I started as a public defender? Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: What benefit do you get from thinking I should pick you up at every turn?

Dr. N: (I ask Hester to respond as Ross, but when she remains silent after the last question, I step in) Ross, if I may interrupt-I believe Clodees is inquiring into the payoff for you from both the pain you feel now and strokes you get from blaming him over your last life

S: (pause) Wanting sympathy … I guess.

Dr. N: Okay, respond as Clodees to this thought.

S: (very slowly) What more would you have me do? You didn’t reach far enough inside yourself. I placed thoughts in your mind of temperance, moderation, responsibility, original goals, your parents’ love-you ignored these thoughts and were stubborn to alternative action.

S: (Ross responds without my command) I know I missed the signs you set up … I wasted opportunities … I was afraid …

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees to your statement. S: What do you value most about who you are? Dr. N: Answer your guide.

S: That I had the desire to change things on Earth. I started with wanting to make a difference for the people of Earth.

Dr. N: Respond as Clodees.

S: You left that assignment early and now I see you missing opportunities again- being afraid to take risks-taking paths which dam-age you-trying to become someone who is not you and there is sadness again.

Recreating the orientation stage does produce abrupt transitions during my hypnosis sessions. While Case 13 is speaking as Clodees, notice how her responses take on a more lucid and decisive quality which is different from either my client Hester, or her former self as Ross. I am not always successful with my subjects translating their guides’ comments so insightful[y in former spiritual orientations. Nevertheless, past life memories often spill over into contemporary problems in whatever spiritual setting is selected.

Whether my subject or her guide actually directed the conversation in the Buckhorn Bar scene while I moved the time frame around does not matter to me. After all, Ross Feldon as a person is dead. But Hester is caught in the same quagmire, and I want to do what I can to break this destructive pattern of behavior. I spend a few minutes reviewing with this subject what her guide has indicated about lack of self- concept, alienation, and lost values. After asking Clodees for his continued assistance, I close the orientation scene and immediately take Hester to a later spiritual stage just before her rebirth today.

Dr. N: With all the knowledge of who you were as Ross, and having a greater understanding of your real spiritual identity after your stay in the spirit world, why did you choose your current body?

S: I chose to be a woman so people would not feel intimidated by me.

Dr. N: Really? Then why did you take the body of such a strong, forceful woman in the twentieth century?

S: They won’t see a prosecuting attorney dressed in black in a courtroom-this time I am a surprise package!

Dr. N: A surprise package? What does that mean?

S: As a woman, I knew I would be less intimidating to men. I can catch them off guard and scare them to death.

Dr. N: What kind of men?

S: The big guys-the power structure in society-catch then when they are lulled into a false sense of security because I’m a woman.

Dr. N: Catch them and do what?

S: (drives her right fist into the left palm) Nail them-to save the little guy from the sharks who want to eat up all the small fish in this world.

Dr. N: (I move my subject into the present while she remains in the superconscious state) Let me understand your reason for choosing to be a woman in this life. You wanted to help the same sort of people who you were unable to help as a man in your previous life-is this correct?

S: (sadly) Yeah, but it’s not the best way. It’s not working out for me like I thought. I’m still too strong and macho. Energy is pouring out of me in the wrong direction.

Dr. N: What wrong direction?

S: (wistfully) I’m doing it again. Misusing people. I chose the body of a woman who is intimidating to men and I don’t feel like a woman.

Dr. N: Give me an example?

S: Sexually and in business. I’m in the power game again … pushing aside principles

… getting off track as before (as Ross). This time I manipulate real estate deals. I’m too interested in acquiring money. I want status.

Dr. N: And how does this hurt you, Hester?

S: The influence of money and position is a drug to me as it was in my last life. My

being a woman now has done nothing to change my desire to control people. So … stupid …

Dr. N: Then do you think your motivations were wrong in choosing to be a female? S: Yes, I do feel more natural living as a man. But I thought as a woman this time

around I would be… more subtle. I wanted this chance to try again in a different sex

and Clodees let me take it. (client slumps down in her chair) What a blunder.

Dr. N: Don’t you think you are being a little hard on yourself, Hester? I have the sense you also chose to be a woman because you wanted a woman’s insight and intuition to give you a different perspective to tackle your lessons. You can have masculine energy, if you want to call it that, and still be feminine.

Before finishing this case, I should touch on the issue of homosexuality. Most of my subjects select the bodies of one gender over another 75 percent of the time. This pattern is true of all but the advanced souls, who maintain more of a balance in choosing to be men and women. A gender preference by a majority of earthbound souls does not mean they are unhappy the other 25 percent of the time as males or females.

Hester is not necessarily gay or hi-sexual because of her body choice. Homosexuals may or may not be comfortable with their anatomy as humans. When I do have a client who is gay, they often ask if their homosexuality is the result of choosing to be “‘the wrong sex” in this life. When their sessions are over this inquiry is usually answered.

Regardless of the  circumstances which  lead  souls  to  make  gender choices,  this

decision was made before arriving on Earth. Sometimes I find that gay people have chosen in advance of their current lives to experiment with a sex that was seldom used in former lives.

Being gay carries a sexual stigma in our society which presents a more difficult road

in life. When this road is chosen by one of my clients, it can usually be traced to a karmic need to accelerate personal understanding of the complex differences in gender identity as related to certain events in their past. Case 13 chose to be a woman in this life to try and get over the stumbling blocks experienced as Ross Feldon.

Would Hester have benefited from knowing about her past as Ross from birth

rather than having to wait over thirty years and undergo hypnosis? Having no conscious memory of our former existences is called amnesia. This human condition is perplexing to people attracted to reincarnation. Why should we have to grope around in life trying to figure out who we are and what we are supposed to do and wondering if some spiritual divinity really cares about us? I closed my session with this woman by asking about her amnesia.

Dr. N: Why do you think you had no conscious memory about your life as Ross Feldon?

S: When we choose a body and make a plan before coming back to Earth, there is an agreement with our advisors.

Dr. N: An agreement about what?

S: We agree … not to remember … other lives. Dr. N: Why?

S: Learning from a blank slate is better than knowing in advance what  could happen to you because of what you did before.

Dr. N: But wouldn’t knowing about your past life mistakes be valuable in avoiding the same pitfalls in this life?

S: If people knew all about their past, many might pay too much attention to it rather than trying out new approaches to the same problem. The new life must be… taken seriously.

Dr. N: Are there any other reasons?

S: (pause) Without having old memories, our advisors say there is less preoccupation for … trying to … avenge the past … to get even for the wrongs done to you.

Dr. N: Well, it seems to me that so far this has been part of the motivation and conduct in your life as Hester.

S: (forcefully) That’s why I came to you.

Dr. N: And do you still think a total blackout of our eternal spiritual life on Earth is essential to progress?

S: Normally, yes, but it’s not a total blackout. We get flashes from dreams… during times of crisis… people have an inner knowing of what direction to take when it is necessary. And sometimes your friends can fudge a little …

Dr. N: By friends, you mean entities from the spirit world?

S: Uh-huh… they give you hints, by flashing ideas-I’ve done it.

Dr. N: Nevertheless, you had to come to me to unlock your conscious amnesia.

S: (pause) We have … the capacity to know when it is necessary. I was ready for change when I heard about you. Clodees allowed me to see the past with you because it was to my benefit.

Dr. N: Otherwise, your amnesia would have remained intact?

S: Yes, that would have meant I wasn’t supposed to know certain things yet.

In my opinion, when clients are unable to go into hypnosis at any given time, or if they have only sketchy memories in trance, there is a reason this blockage. This does not mean these people have no past memories, that they are not ready to have them exposed.

My client knew something was hindering her growth and wanted it revealed. The

superconscious identity of the soul houses our continuous memory, including goals. When the time in our lives is appropriate, we must harmonize human material needs with our soul’s purpose for being ‘. I try to take a common sense approach in bringing past and present experiences into alignment.

Our eternal identity never leaves us alone in the bodies we choose, despite our current status. In reflection, meditation, or prayer, the memories of who we really are do filter down to us in selective thought each day. In small, intuitive ways- through the cloud of amnesia-we are given clues the justification of our being.

After desensitizing the source of her headaches, I completed my session with Hester by reinforcing her choice to be a woman for reasons other than intimidating men. I gave her permission to lower her defenses a little and be less aggressive. We discussed options for restructuring occupational goals toward the helping professions and the possibilities of volunteer service work. She was finally able to see her life today as a great opportunity for learning rather than a failure of gender choice.

After a case is completed, I never cease to admire the brutal honesty of souls. When

a soul has lead a productive life beneficial to themselves and those around them, I notice they return to the spirit world with enthusiasm. However, when subjects like Case 13 report they wasted a past  life, especially from early suicide, then they describe going back rather dejected.

When orientation is upsetting to a subject, I find an underlying reason is the abruptness with which a soul is once again in full possession of all knowledge. After physical death, unencumbered by a human body, the soul has a sudden influx of perception. The stupid things we did in life hit us hard in orientation. I see more relaxation and greater clarity of thought move my subjects further into the spirit world.

Souls are created in a positive matrix of such love and wisdom that when a soul starts to come to a planet like Earth and join the physical beings who have evolved from a primitive state, the violence is a shock. Humans have the raw, negative emotions of anger and hate as an outgrowth of their fear and pain connected with survival going back to the Stone Age.

Both positive and negative emotions are mixed between soul and host for their

mutual benefit. If a soul only knew love and peace, it would gain no insight and never truly appreciate the value of these positive feelings. The test of reincarnation for a soul coming to Earth is the conquering of fear in a human body. A soul grows by trying to overcome all negative emotions connected to fear through perseverance

in many lifetimes, often returning to the spirit world bruised or hurt, as Case 13 indicated. Some of this negativity can be retained, even in the spirit world, and may reappear in another life with a new body. On the other hand, there is a trade-off. It’s in joy and unabashed pleasure that the true nature of an individual soul is revealed on earth in the face of a happy human being.

Orientation conferences with our guides allow us to begin the long process of self-

evaluation between lives. Soon we will have another conference, this time with more master beings in attendance. In the last chapter, I referred to the ancient Egyptian tradition of newly deceased souls being taken into a Hall of Judgement to account for their past life. In one form or another, the concept of a torturous courtroom trial awaiting us right after death has been part of the religious belief system of many cultures. Occasionally, a susceptible individual in a traumatic situation will say they had an out-of-body experience with nightmarish visions of being taken by frightening specters into an afterlife of darkness where they were sentenced in front of demonic judges. In these cases, I suspect a strong preconditioned belief system of hell.

In the quiet, relaxing state of hypnosis, with continuity on all mental levels, my subjects report that the initial orientation session with their guides prepares them to go before a panel of superior beings. However, the words courtroom and trial are not used to describe these proceedings. A number of my cases have called these wise beings, directors and even judges, but most refer to them as a Council of Masters or Elders. This board of review is generally composed of between three and seven members and since souls appear before them after arriving at their home base, I will go into this conference in more detail at the end of the next chapter.

All soul evaluation conferences, be they with our guides, peers, or a panel of masters have one thing in common. The feedback and past life analyses we receive in terms of judgement is based upon the original intent of our choices as much as the actions of a lifetime. Our motivations are questioned and criticized, but not condemned in such a way as to make us suffer. As I explained in Chapter Four, this does not mean souls are exonerated for their acts which harmed others simply because they are sorry. Karmic payment will come in a future life. I have been told that our spiritual masters constantly remind us that because the human brain does not have an innate moral sense of ethics, conscience is the soul’s responsibility. Nevertheless, there is overwhelming forgiveness in the spirit world. This world is ageless and so too are our learning tasks. We will be given other chances in our struggle for growth.

When the initial conference with our guide is over, we leave the place of orientation

and join a coordinated flow of activity involving the transit of enormous numbers of other souls into a kind of central receiving station.

6

Transition

ALL souls, regardless of experience, eventually arrive at a central port in the spirit

world which I call the staging area. I have said there are variations in the speed of soul movement right after death, depending upon spiritual maturity. Once past the orientation station there seems to be no further travel detours for anyone entering this space of the spirit world. Apparently, large numbers of returning souls are

conveyed in a spiritual form of mass transit.

Sometimes souls are escorted by their guides to this area. I find this practice is

especially true for the younger souls. Others are directed through by an unseen force which pulls them into the staging area and then beyond to waiting entities. From what I am able to determine, accompaniment by other entities depends upon the volition of one’s guide. In most cases haste is not an issue, but souls do not dawdle along on this leg of their journey. The feelings we have along this path depend on our state of mind after each life.

The assembly and transfer of souls really involves two phases. The staging area is not an encampment space. Spirits are brought in, collected, and then projected out to their proper final destinations. When I hear accounts of this particular junction, I visualize myself walking with large numbers of travelers through the central terminal of a metropolitan airport which has the capacity to fly all of us out in any direction. One of my clients described the staging area as resembling the hub of a great wagon wheel, where we are transported from a center along the spokes to our designated places.”

My subjects say this region appears to them as having a large number of unacquainted spirits moving in and out of the hub in an efficient manner with no congestion. Another person called this area “the Los Angeles freeway without gridlock.” There may be other similar wheel hubs with freeway-type on and off ramps in the spirit world, but each client considers their own route to and from this center to be the only one.

The observations I hear about the nature of the spirit world when entering the staging area have definitely changed from those first impressions of layering and foggy stratification. It is as if the soul is now traveling through the loosely-wound arms of a mighty galactic cloud into a more unified celestial field. While their spirits hover in the open arena of the staging area preparing for further transport out to prescribed spaces, I enjoy listening to the excitement in the voices of my subjects. They are dazzled by an eternal world spread out before them and believe that somewhere within lies the nucleus of creation.

When they look at the fully opened canopy around them, subjects will state that the spirit world appears to be of varied luminescence. I hear nothing about the inky blackness we associate with deep space. The gatherings of souls that clients see in the foreground in this amphitheater appear as myriads of sharp star lights all going in different directions. Some move fast while others drift. The more distant energy concentrations have been pictured as “islands of misty veils.” I am told the most outstanding characteristic of the spirit world is a continuous feeling of a powerful mental force directing everything in uncanny harmony. People say this is a place of pure thought.

Thought takes many forms. It is at this vantage point in their return that souls begin

to anticipate meeting others who wait for them. A few of these companions may have already been seen at the gateway, but most have not. Without exception, souls who wish to contact each other, especially when on the move, do so by just thinking of the entity they want. Suddenly, the individual called will appear in the soul mind of the traveler. These telepathic communications by the energy of all spiritual entities allow for a non-visual affinity, while two energy forms who actually come

near one another provide a more direct connection. There is uniformity in the accounts of my subjects as to their manner of spiritual travel, routes, and destinations, although what they see along the way is distinctive with each person.

I searched through my case files to find a subject whose experiences along this route

to an ultimate spiritual destination was both descriptive and yet representative of what many others have told me. I selected an insightful, forty-one-year-old graphic designer with a mature soul. This man’s soul had traveled over this course many times between a long span of lives.

Case 14

Dr. N: You are now ready to begin the final portion of your homeward journey toward the place where your soul belongs in the spirit world. On the count of three, all the details of this final leg of your travels will become clear to you. It will be easy for you to report on everything you see because you are familiar with the route. Are you ready?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: (raising my voice to a commanding tone) One-we are getting started. Two- your soul has now moved out of the area of orientation. Three! Quickly, what is your first impression?

S: Distances are … unlimited … endless space … forever … Dr. N: So, are you telling me the spirit world is endless?

S: (long pause) To be honest-from where I am floating-it looks endless. But when I begin to really move it changes.

Dr. N: Changes how?

S: Well … everything remains … formless … but when I am … gliding faster … I see I’m moving around inside a gigantic bowl-turned upside down. I don’t know where the rims of the bowl are, or even if any exist.

Dr. N: Then movement gives you the sense of a spherical spirit world?

S: Yes, but it’s only a feeling of… enclosed uniformity … when I am moving rapidly. Dr. N: Why does rapid movement-your speed-give you the feeling of being in a

bowl?

S: (long pause) It’s strange. Although everything appears to go on straight when my soul is drifting-that changes to … a feeling of roundness when I am moving fast on a line of contact.

Dr. N: What do you mean by a line of contact? S: Towards a specific destination.

Dr. N: How does moving with speed on a given line of travel change your observational perceptions of the spirit world to a feeling it is round?

S: Because with speed the lines seem to .. bend. They curve in a more obvious direction for me and give me less freedom of movement.

Note: Other subjects, who are also disposed toward linear descriptions, speak of traveling along directional force lines which have the spatial properties of a grid system. One person called them “vibrational strings.”

Dr. N: By less freedom, do you mean less personal control? S: Yes.

Dr. N: Can you more precisely describe the movement of your soul along these curving contact lines?

S: It’s just more purposeful-when my soul is being directed someplace on a line. It’s like I’m in a current of white water-only not as thick as water-because the current is lighter than air.

Dr. N: Then, in this spiritual atmosphere, you don’t have the sense of density such as in water?

S: No, I don’t, but what I am trying to say is I’m being carried along as if I were in a current underwater.

Dr. N: Why do you think this is so?

S: Well, it’s as if we are all swimming-being carried along-in a swift current which we can’t control … under somebody’s direction up and down from each other in space … with nothing solid around us.

Dr. N: Do you see other souls traveling in a purposeful way above and below you?

S: Yes, it’s as if we start in a stream and then all of us returning from death are pulled into a great river together.

Dr. N: When do the numbers of returning souls seem the highest to you? S: When the rivers converge into … I can’t describe it

Dr. N: Please try.

S: (pause) We are gathered into … a sea … where all of us swirl around … in slow motion. Then, I feel as though I’m being pulled away to a small tributary again and it’s quieter … further from the thoughts of so many minds … going to the ones I know.

Dr. N: Later, in your normal travels as a soul, is it the same as being propelled around in streams and rivers as you have just described?

S: No, not at all. This is different. We are like salmon going up to spawn-returning home. Once we get there we are not pushed about this way. Then we can drift.

Dr. N: Who is doing the pushing while you are being taken home?

S: Higher entities. The ones in charge of our movements to get us home. Dr. N: Entities such as your guide?

S: Above him, I think.

Dr. N: What else are you feeling at this moment?

S: Peace. There is such peace you never want to leave again. Dr. N: Anything more?

S: Oh, I have some anticipation, too, while moving slowly with the energy current.

Dr. N: All right, now I want you to continue to move further along with the current of energy closer to the area where you are supposed to go. Look around carefully and tell me what you see.

S: I see … a variety of lights … in patches … separated from each other by … galleries

Dr. N: By galleries, do you mean a series of enclosures?

S: Mmm … more like a long … corridor … bulging out in places … stretching out away from me into the distance.

Dr. N: And the lights?

S: They are people. The souls of people within the bulging galleries reflecting light outward to me. That’s what I’m seeing-patches of lights bobbing around..

Dr. N: Are these clusters of people structurally separated from each other in the bulges along the corridor?

S: No, there are no walls here. Nothing is structural, with angles and corners. It’s hard for me to explain, exactly…

Dr. N: You are doing fine. Now, I want you to tell me what separates the light clusters from each other along this corridor you are describing.

S: The people … are divided by … thin, wispy … filaments … making the light milky, like the transparency of frosted glass. There is an incandescent glow from their energy as I pass by.

Dr. N: How do you see individual souls within the clusters?

S: (pause) As light dots. I see masses of dots hanging in clumps as hanging grapes, all lit up.

Dr. N: Do these clumps represent various groups of soul energy masses with space between them?

S: Yes … they are separated into small groups … I am going to my own clump.

Dr. N: What else do you feel about them as you pass by on the way to your cluster? S: I can feel their thoughts reaching out … so varied … but together too … such

harmony … but … (stops) Dr. N: Go on.

S: I don’t know the ones I’m passing now… it doesn’t matter.

Dr. N: Okay, let’s pass on by these clusters which seem to bulge out along  a corridor. Give me an example of what the whole thing looks like to you from a distance.

S: (laughs) A long glow-worm, its sides bulging in and out … the movement is … rhythmic.

Dr. N: You mean the corridor itself appears to move?

S: Yes, parts of it … swaying as a ribbon in the breeze while I am going further away.

Dr. N: Continue floating and tell me what happens to you next.

S: (pause) I’m at the edge of another corridor… I’m slowing down. Dr. N: Why?

S: (grows excited) Because … oh, good! I’m coming in towards the site where my friends are attached.

Dr. N: And how do you feel at this moment?

S: Fantastic!  There is a  familiar pulling of  minds …  reaching out  to me…  I’m catching the tail of their kite … joining them in thought I’m home!

Dr. N: Is your particular cluster group of friends isolated from the other groups of souls living in other corridors?

S: No one is really isolated, although some of the younger ones may think so. I’ve been around a long time, though, and I have a lot of connections (said with modest confidence).

Dr. N: So you felt connections with those other corridors, even with spirits in them you might not know from past experience?

S: I do because of the connections I have had. There is a oneness here.

Dr. N: When you are moving around as a spirit, what is the major difference in your interactions with other souls, compared to being in human form on Earth?

S: Here no one is a stranger. There is a total lack of hostility toward anyone.

Dr. N: You mean every spirit is friendly to every other spirit, regardless of prior associations in many settings?

S: That’s right, and it’s more than just being friendly. Dr. N: In what way?

S: We recognize a universal bond between us which makes us all the same. There is no suspicion toward each other.

Dr. N: How does this attitude manifest itself between souls who first meet? S: By complete openness and acceptance.

Dr. N: Living on Earth must be difficult for souls, then?

S: It is, for the newer ones especially, because they go to earth expecting to be

treated fairly. When they aren’t, it’s a shock. For some, it takes quite a few lives to get used to the earth body.

Dr. N: And if the newer souls are struggling with these earth conditions, are they less efficient when working within the human mind?

S: I would have to say yes, because the brain drives a lot of fear and violence into our souls. It’s hard for us, but that’s why we come to earth … to overcome …

Dr. N: In your opinion, might the newer souls tend to be more fragile and in need of group support upon returning to their cluster?

S: That’s absolutely true. We all want to return home. Will you let me stop talking now, so I can meet with my friends?

I have touched on the commonality of word usage by different clients to describe spiritual phenomena. Case 14 offered us a few more. One person’s “glow worms bulging out in places” is another’s “floating trail of balloons.” A description about “clumps of huge, translucent bulbs” in one case becomes “giant bunches of transparent bubbles” from somebody else mentally returning to the spirit world. I regularly hear such water-words as currents and streams used to explain a flowing directional movement, where a sky-word like cloud denotes a freedom of motion associated with drifting. Visual images which call up expressions of energy mass and group clusters to indicate souls themselves are especially popular. I have adopted some of this spiritual language myself.

At  the  final debarkation  zone  for the  incoming  soul,  waiting cluster groups  of

familiar entities may be large or small, depending upon the soul developmental level and other factors which I will take up as we get a little further along. By way of comparison with Case 14, the next case demonstrates a more insular perception of the spirit world from a soul with less maturity.

In Case 15, the transition of this soul from the staging area to her home cluster is fairly rapid in her mind. The case is informative because it presents attributes of propriety felt by this soul to a designated space, as well as deference toward those who manage the system. Because this subject is less experienced and a bit edgy over what she sees as a need for conformity, we are given another interpretation of spiritual guidelines for group placement.

Case 15

Dr. N: I want to talk to you about your trip into the place where you normally stay

in the spirit world. Your soul is now moving toward this destination. Explain what you see and feel.

S: (nervously) I’m … going … outward, somehow … Dr. N: Outward?

S: (puzzled) I am… floating along… in a chain of some kind. It’s as though I’m

weaving through a series of … connecting links … a foggy maze … then … it opens up

… oh!

Dr. N: What is it?

S: (with awe) I have come into … a grand arena … I see many others … criss-crossing around me … (subject grows uncomfortable)

Dr. N: Just relax-you are in the staging area now. Do you still see your guide? S: (with hesitation) Yes … nearby … otherwise I would be lost … it’s so … vast …

Dr. N: (I place my hand on the subject’s forehead) Continue to relax and remember you have been here before, although everything may seem new to you. What do you do now?

S: I ‘m … carried forward … rapidly … straight past others … then I’m in… an empty space… open

Dr. N: Does this void mean everything is black around you?

S: It’s never black here … the light … just contracts to darker shades because of my speed. When I slow down things get brighter. (others confirm this observation)

Dr. N: Continue on and report back to me what you see next. S: After a while I see … nests of people

Dr. N: You mean groups of people?

S: Yes-like hives-I see them as bunches of moving lights … fireflies Dr. N: All right, keep moving and tell me what you feel?

S: Warmth … friendship … empathy … it’s dreamy … ….. .? Dr. N: What is it?

S: I have slowed way down-things are different. Dr. N: How?

S: More clearly defined (pause)-I know this place.

Dr. N: Have you reached your own hive (cluster group)?

S: (long pause) Not yet, I guess

Dr. N: Just look about you and report back to me exactly what you see and feel.

S: (subject begins to tremble) There are … bunches of people … together … off in the distance … but … there!

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: (fearfully) People I know… some of my family… off in the distance … but … (with anguish) I don’t seem to be able to reach them!

Dr. N: Why?

S: (in tearful bewilderment) I don’t know! God, don’t they know I’m here? (subject begins to struggle in her chair and then extends her arm and open hand at my office wall) I can’t reach my father!

Note: I briefly stop my questioning. This client’s father had a great influence in her most immediate past life and she needs additional calming techniques. I also decide to reinforce her protective shield before continuing.

Dr. N: What do you think is the reason your father is off in the distance so you can’t reach him?

S: (during a long pause I use the time to dry subject’s face, which has become wet with tears and perspiration) I don’t know …

Dr. N: (I place my hand on subject’s forehead and command) Connect with your father-now!

S: (after a pause the subject relaxes) It’s okay … he is telling me to be patient and everything will become clear to me … I want to go over there and be near him.

Dr. N: And what does he tell you about that?

S: (sadly) He says … that he can always be in my mind if I need him and… I will learn to do this better (think telepathically), but he has to stay where he is…

Dr. N: What do you think is the basic reason for your father remaining in this other place?

S: (tearfully) He does not belong in my hive. Dr. N: Anything else?

S: The … directors … they don’t … (crying again) I’m not sure …

Note: Normally, I try to avoid too much intervention when subjects are describing their spiritual transitions. In this case, my client is confused and disoriented, so I offer a little guidance of my own.

Dr. N: Let’s analyze why you can’t reach your father’s position right now. Could this separation be the result of higher entities believing this is a time for individual reflection on your part and that you should associate only with other souls at your own level of development?

S: (subject is more restored) Yes, those messages are coming through. I have to work things out for myself … with others like me. The directors encourage us … and my father is helping me understand, too.

Dr. N: Are you satisfied with this procedure? S: (pause) Yes.

Dr. N: All right, please continue with your passage from the moment you see some of your family in the distance. What happens next?

S: Well, I’m still slowing down … moving gradually … I’m being taken along a course I have been on before. I’m passing some other bunches of people (group clusters). Then, I stop.

Note: The final transit inward is especially important for the younger souls. One client, upon awakening, described this scene as giving him the sense he was arriving back home at twilight after a long trip away. Having passed from the countryside into his town, he finally reached the proper street.

The front windows of his neighbors’ houses were lit, and he could see people inside as he drove slowly past before reaching the driveway of his own home. Although people in trance may use such words as “clumps” and “hives” to describe how their home spaces look from a distance, this view becomes more individualistic once they go into each cluster. Then the subjects’ spiritual surroundings are associated with towns, schools, and other living areas identified with earthly landmarks of security and pleasure.

Dr. N: Now that you are stationary, what are your impressions?

S: It’s … large … activity… there are a lot of people in the vicinity. Some are familiar to me, others are not.

Dr. N: Can we get a little closer to all of them?

S: (abruptly my subject raises her voice with indignation) You don’t understand! I

don’t go over there. (points a finger toward my office wall) Dr. N: What’s the problem?

S: I’m not supposed to. You can’t just go off anywhere. Dr. N: But, you have reached your destination?

S: It doesn’t matter. I don’t go over there. (again points a finger at her mental picture)

Dr. N: Does this tie in with the messages you received about your father? S: Yes, it does.

Dr. N: Are you saying to me your soul energy cannot arbitrarily float anywhere- such as outside your group?

S: (pointing outward) They are not in my group over there. Dr. N: Define what you mean by over there?

S: (in a grave tone of voice) Those others nearby-that is their place. (points down to the floor) This is our place. We are here. (nods head to confirm her statement)

Dr. N: Who are they?

S: Well, the others, of course, people not in my group. (in a burst of nervous laughter) Oh, look! … my own people, it’s wonderful to see them again. They are coming toward me!

Dr. N: (I act as though I am hearing this information for the first time, to encourage spontaneous answers) Really? This does sound wonderful. Are these the  same people who were involved with your past life?

S: More than one life, I can tell you. (with pride) These are my people! Dr. N: These people are entities who are members of your own group?

S: Of course, yes, I have been with them for so long. Oh, it’s fun seeing them all again. (subject is overjoyed and I give her a few moments with this picture)

Dr. N: I see quite a change in your understanding in just the short time since we arrived here. Look off in the distance at the others around this space. What is it like where they live?

S: (agitated) I don’t want to know. That is their business. Can’t you see? I’m not attached to them. I’m too busy with the people I am supposed to be with here. People I know and love.

Dr. N: I do see, but a few minutes ago you were quite distressed at not being able to get close to your father.

S: I know now he has his own gathering place with people. Dr. N: Why didn’t you know that when we arrived here?

S: I’m not sure. I admit it was a shock at first. Now I know the way things are. It’s all coming back to me.

Dr. N: Why wasn’t your guide around to explain all this to you before you saw your father?

S: (long pause) I don’t know.

Dr. N: Probably other people you have known and loved besides your father are also in these groups. Are you saying you have no contact with them now that you are in your proper place in the Spirit world?

S: (upset with me) No, I have contact with my mind. Why are you being so difficult? I am supposed to stay here.

Dr. N: (I prod the subject once more to gain additional information) And you don’t just drift over to those other groups for visits?

S: No! You don’t do that! You don’t go into their groups and interfere with their energy.

Dr. N: But mental contact offers no interference with their energy? S: At the right time. When they are free to do this with me …

Dr. N: So, what you are telling me is that everyone here is located in their own group spaces and you don’t go wandering around visiting or making too much mental contact at the wrong times?

S: (calming down) Yes, they are in their own spaces with instruction going on. It’s the directors who move around mostly …

Dr. N: Thank you for clearing all this up for me. You want me to know that you and your group friends are especially careful about infringing upon others’ spaces?

S: That’s right. At least that’s the way things are around my space. Dr. N: And you don’t feel confined by this custom?

S: Oh no, there are great expanses of space and such a sense of freedom here, as long as we pay attention to the rules.

Dr. N: And what if you don’t? Who decides what is the proper location for each group of souls?

S: (pause) The teachers help us, otherwise we would be lost.

Dr. N: It seemed to me you were lost when we first arrived here?

S: (with uncertainty) I didn’t connect … I wasn’t mentally in tune… I messed up … I don’t think you realize how big it is around here.

Dr. N: Look around you at all the occupied spaces. Isn’t the spirit world crowded with souls?

S: (laughs) Sometimes we do get lost-that’s our own fault-this place is big! That’s why it never gets crowded.

The two cases in this chapter represent different reactions from a beginner and a more advanced soul recalling the final phase of their return passages back to the spirit world. Every participant has their own interpretation of the panoramic view from the staging area to the terminus in their cluster group. Some of my subjects find the transition from the gateway to group placement to be so rapid that they need time to adjust upon arrival.

When recalling their memories between homecoming and placement, my subjects

sometimes express concern that an important individual was not present in light form or did not communicate with them telepathically. Often this is a parent or spouse in the life just completed. By the end of the transition stage, the reason usually becomes evident. Frequently it has to do with embodiment.

We have seen how the average returning soul is overwhelmed by pleasure. Familiar beings are clustered together in undulating masses of bright light. On occasion, resonating musical sounds with specific chords guide the incoming traveler. One subject remarked, ‘As I come near my place, there is a monotone of many voices sounding the letter A, like Aaaaa, for my recognition, and I can see them all vibrating fast as warm, bright energy, and I know these are the disembodied ones right now.”

What this means is that those souls who are currently incarnated in one or more

bodies at the moment may not be actively engaged with welcoming anybody back. Another subject explained, “It is as if they are sleeping on autopilot-we always know who is out and who is in:’ Those souls who are not totally discarnated radiate a dim light with low pulsating energy patterns and don’t seem to communicate much with

anyone. Even so, these souls are able to greet the returning soul in a quiet fashion within the group setting.

The sense of a barrier between various groups, as experienced by Case 15, has different versions among my subjects, depending upon the age of the soul. I will

have another perspective about mobility in the next case. The average soul with a great deal of basic work to do describes the separation of their group from others as

similar to being in different classrooms in the Same schoolhouse. I have also had clients who felt they were entirely separated in their own schoolhouse. The analogy

of spiritual schools directed by teacher-guides is used so often by people under hypnosis that it has become a habit for me to use the same terminology.

As I mentioned earlier, after souls arrive back into their soul groups, they are summoned  to  appear  before  a  Council  of  Elders.  While  the  Council  is  not

prosecutorial, they do engage in direct examination of a soul’s activities before returning them to their groups. It is not unusual for my subjects to have some

difficulty providing me with full details of what transpires at these hearings, and I am sure these blocks are intentional.

Here is a report from one case. “After I meet with my friends, my guide Veronica (subject’s younger teacher) takes me to another place to meet with my panel of

Elders. She is at my side as an interpreter for what I don’t understand and to provide support for explanations of my conduct in the last life. At times, she speaks

on my behalf as a kind of defense advocate but Quazel (subject’s senior guide who arrived before Veronica) carries the most weight with the panel. There are always

the same six Elders in front of me who wear long white robes. Their faces are kindly, and they evaluate my perceptions of the life I have just lived and how I could

have done better with my talents and what I did that was beneficial. I am freely allowed to express my frustrations and desires. All the Elders are familiar to me,

especially two of them who address me more than the others and who look younger than the rest. I think I can distinguish appearances which are male or female. Each

has a special aspect in the way they question me but they are honest and truthful, and I am always treated fairly. I can hide nothing from them, but sometimes I get

lost when their thoughts are transmitted back and forth in the rapid communication between them. When it is more than I can handle, Veronica translates what they are

saying about me, although I have the feeling she does not tell me everything. Before I return to Earth, they will want to see me a second time.”

Souls consider themselves having finally arrived home when they rejoin familiar classmates in group settings. Their attendance here with certain other souls does

resemble an educational placement system in form and function. The criteria for group admission is based upon knowledge and a given developmental level. As in

any classroom situation, some students connect well with teachers and others less so. The next chapter will examine the sorting-out process for soul groups and how souls

view themselves in their respective spiritual locations. 7

Placement

MY impression of the people who believe we do have a soul is that they imagine all

souls are probably mixed into one great congregation of space. Many of my subjects believe this too, before their sessions begin. After awakening, it is no wonder they

express surprise with the knowledge that everyone has a designated place in the spirit world. When I began to study life in the spirit world with people under hypnosis, I was unprepared to hear about the existence of organized soul support groups. I had pictured spirits just floating around aimlessly by themselves after leaving Earth.

Group placement is determined by soul level. After physical death, a soul’s journey

back home ends with debarkation into the space reserved for their own colony, as long as they are not a very young soul or isolated for other reasons as mentioned in Chapter Four. The souls represented in these cluster groups are intimate old friends who have about the same awareness level.

When people in trance speak of being part of a soul cluster group, they are talking about a small primary unit of entities who have direct and frequent contact, such as we would see in a human family. Peer members have a sensitivity to each other which is far beyond our conception on Earth.

Secondary groups of souls are arranged in the form of a community Support group which is much less intimate with one another. Larger secondary groups of entities are made up of giant sets of primary clusters as lily pads in one pond. Spiritual ponds appear to be endless. Within these ponds, I have never heard of a secondary group estimated at less than a thousand souls. The many primary group clusters which make up one secondary group seem to have sporadic relationships, or no contact at all between clusters. It is rare for me to find souls involved with each other in any meaningful way who are members of two different secondary groups, because the number of souls is so great it is not necessary.

The smaller sub-group primary clusters vary in number, containing anywhere from

three to twenty-five souls. I am told the average assemblage is around fifteen, which is  called  the  Inner Circle.  Any  working  contact  between  members  of  different cluster groups is governed by the lessons to be learned during an incarnation. This may be due to a past life connection, or the particular identity trait of the souls involved.  Soul  acquaintanceships  between  members  of  different  cluster  groups usually involve peripheral roles in life on Earth. An example would be a high school classmate who was once a close friend, but who you now see only at class reunions. Members of the same cluster group are closely united for all eternity. These tightly- knit clusters are often composed of like-minded souls with common objectives which they continually work out with each other. Usually they choose lives together as relatives and close friends during their incarnations on Earth.

It is much more common for me to find a subject’s brother or sister from former

lives in the same cluster group rather than souls who have been their parents. Parents can meet us at the gateway to the spirit world after a death on Earth, but we may not see much of their souls in the spirit world. This circumstance exists not for reasons of maturity, since a parent soul could be less developed than their human offspring. Rather, it is more a question of social learning between siblings who are contemporary in one time frame. Although parents are a child’s primary identification figures for both good and bad karmic effects, it is frequently our relations with spouses, brothers, sisters, and selected close friends over a whole lifetime that most influences personal growth. This takes nothing away from the importance of parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents who serve us in different

ways from another generation.

Figures 1 and 2 (pages 89-90) represent a random spiritual setting of souls. In

Figure 1, a soul in primary Group 1, located within the larger secondary Group A, would work closely with all other souls in Group 1. However, some souls in primary Groups 9 and 10 (detailed in Figure 2) could also work together. The younger souls within secondary Groups A, B, and C would probably have little or no contact with each other in the spirit world or on Earth. Close association between souls depends on their assigned proximity to one another in cluster groups,  where there is a similarity 0f knowledge and affinity brought about by shared earthly experiences. The next case offers us an account of what it is like coming back to one’s cluster group after physical death.

Case 16

Dr. N: Once you leave the staging area and have arrived in the spiritual space where you belong, what do you do then?

S: I go to school with my friends.

Dr. N: You mean you are in some kind of spiritual classroom? S: Yes, where we study.

Dr. N: I want you to take me through this school from the time of your arrival so I can appreciate what is happening to you. Start by telling me what you see from the outside.

S: (with no hesitation) I see a perfectly square Greek temple with large sculptured columns-very beautiful. I recognize it because this is where I return after each cycle (life).

Dr. N: What is a classical Greek temple doing in the spirit world?

S: (shrugs) I don’t know why it appears to me that way, except it seems natural … since my lives in Greece.

Dr. N: All right, let’s continue. Does anyone come to meet you? S: (subject smiles broadly) My teacher Karla.

Dr. N: And how does she appear to you?

S: (confidently) I see her coming out of the entrance of the temple towards me… as a goddess … tall … wearing long flowing robes … one shoulder is bare … her hair is piled up and fastened with a gold clasp … she reaches out to me.

Dr. N: Look down at yourself. Are you dressed in the same garments?

S: We… all seem to be dressed the same … we shimmer with light… and we can change … Karla knows I like the way she looks.

Dr. N: Where are the others?

S: Karla has taken me inside my temple school. I see a large library. Small gatherings of people are speaking in quiet tones… at tables. It is … sedate … warm … a secure feeling which is so familiar to me.

Dr. N: Do all these people appear as adult men and women? S: Yes, but there are more women in my group.

Dr. N: Why?

S: Because that’s the valence they are most comfortable with right now.

Note: The word valence used by this subject to indicate gender preference is an odd choice, yet it does fit. Valences in chemistry are positive or negative properties which, when combined with other elements, give proportion. Souls in groups may be inclined toward male and female personages or mixed.

Dr. N: Okay, what do you do next?

S: Karla leads me to the nearest table and my friends immediately greet me. Oh, it’s so good to be back.

Dr. N: Why are these particular people here with you in this temple?

S: Because we are all in the same study group. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be with them once more. (subject becomes distracted with this scene and it takes me a minute to get her started again)

Dr. N: Tell me how many people are in this library with you? S: (pauses while mentally counting) About twenty.

Dr. N: Are all twenty very close friends of yours?

S: We are all close-I’ve known them for ages. But five are my dearest friends. Dr. N: Are every one of the twenty people at about the same level of learning?

S: Uh… almost. Some are a little further along than the rest.

Dr. N: Where would you place yourself in the group as far as knowledge? S: Around the middle.

Dr. N: As to learning lessons, where are you in relation to your five closest friends? S: Oh, we are about the same-we work together a lot.

Dr. N: What do you call them?

S: (chuckles) We have pet names for each other. Dr. N: Why do you have nicknames?

S: Hmm … to define our essence. We see each other as representing earth things. Dr. N: What is your pet name?

S: Thistle.

Dr. N: And this represents some personal attribute?

S:(pause)I… am known for sharp … reactions to new situations in my rotations (life cycles).

Dr. N: What is the entity you feel closest to called, and why?

S: (soft laughter) Spray. He goes flat out in his rotations … dispensing his energy so rapidly it splashes in all directions, just like the water he loves so much on Earth.

Dr. N: Your family group sounds very distinctive. Now would you explain to me what you and your friends actually do in this library setting?

S: I go to my table and we all look at the books. Dr. N: Books? What sort of books?

S: The life books.

Dr. N: Describe them as best you can for me.

S: They are picture books-thick white edges-two or three inches thick-quite large … Dr. N: Open one of the life books for me and explain what you and your friends at

the table see.

S: (pause, while the subject’s hands come together and move apart as though she were opening a book) There is no writing. Everything we see is in live pictures.

Dr. N: Action pictures-different than photographs?

S: Yes, they are multi-dimensional. They move… shift… from a center of … crystal … which changes with reflected light.

Dr. N: So, the pictures are not flat, the moving light waves have depth? S: That’s right, they are alive.

Dr. N: Tell me how you and your friends use the books?

S: Well, at first it’s always out of focus when the book is opened. Then we think of what we want, the crystal turns from dark to light and … gets into alignment. Then we can see … in miniature… our past lives and the alternatives.

Dr. N: How is time treated in these books?

S: By frames … pages … time is condensed by the life books.

Dr. N: I don’t want to dwell on your past right now, but take a look at the book and just tell me the first thing you see.

S: A lack of self-discipline in my last life because this is what is on my mind. I see myself dying young, in a lover’s quarrel-my ending was useless.

Dr. N: Do you see future lives in the life book?

S: We can look at future possibilities … in small bites only … in the form of lessons … mostly these options come later with the help of others. These books are intended to emphasize our past acts.

Dr. N: Would you give me your impression of the intent behind this library atmosphere with your cluster group?

S: Oh, we all help one another go over our mistakes during this cycle. Our teacher is in and out and so we do a lot of studying together and discuss the value of our choices.

Dr. N: Are there other rooms where people study in this building?

S: No, this is for our group. There are different buildings where various groups

study near us.

Note: The reader may refer to Figure 1 (page 89), circle B, as an example of what is meant here. In the graph, clusters 3-7 represent infrequent group interaction, although they are in close proximity to each other in the spirit world.

Dr. N: Are the groups of people who study in these buildings more or less advanced than those in your group?

S: Both.

Dr. N: Are you allowed to visit these other buildings where souls study? S: (long pause) There is one which we go to regularly.

Dr. N: Which one?

S: A place for the newer ones. We help them when their teacher is gone. It’s nice to be needed.

Dr. N: Help them how?

S: (laughs) With their homework.

Dr. N: But don’t the teacher-guides have that responsibility?

S: Well, you see the teachers are … so much further along (in development) … this group appreciates our assistance because we can relate to them easily.

Dr. N: Ah, so you do a little student teaching with this group? S: Yes, but we don’t do it anywhere else.

Dr. N: Why not? Why couldn’t more advanced groups come to your library to assist you once in a while?

S: They don’t because we are further along than the newer ones. And, we don’t infringe on them either. If I want to connect with someone, I do it outside the study center.

Dr. N: Can you wander about anywhere as long as you don’t bother other souls in their study areas?

S: (responds with some evasiveness) I like to stay around the vicinity of my temple, but I can reach out to anyone.

Dr. N: I get the impression that your soul energy is restricted to this spiritual space even though you can mentally reach out further.

S: I don’t feel restricted … we have plenty of room to go about … but I’m not attracted to everyone.

The statement  about non-restriction, cited by Case 16, seems contrary to those boundaries of spiritual space seen by the last case. When I initially bring subjects into the spirit world, their visions are spontaneous, particularly as to spiritual order and their place in a community of soul life. While the average subject may talk about having private spaces, as far as living and working, none sees the spirit world as confining. Once their superconscious recall gets rolling, most people are able to tell me about having freedom of movement and going to open spaces where souls of many learning levels gather in a recreational atmosphere.

In these communal areas, floating souls socially engage in many activities. Some are quite playful, as when I hear of older souls “teasing” the younger ones about what lies ahead for them. One subject put it this way, “We play tricks on each other like a bunch of kids. During hide-and-seek, some of the younger ones get lost and then we help them find themselves.” I am also told “guests” can appear in soul groups at times to entertain and tell stories, similar to the troubadours of the Middle Ages. Another subject mentioned that her group loved to see an odd-looking character known as “Humor” show up and make them all laugh with his antics.

Frequently, people in hypnosis find it hard to clearly explain the strange meanings behind their intermingling as souls. One diversion I hear rather often is of souls forming a circle to more fully unify and project their thought energy. Always, a connection with a higher power is reported here. Some people have told me, “Thought rhythms are so harmonized they bring forth a form of singing.” Gracefully subtle dancing can also take place when souls whirl around each other in a mixture of energy, blending and separating in exotic patterns of light and color. Physical things such as shrines, boats,  animals,  trees, or ocean beaches can be conjured up at the center of these dances as well. These images have special meaning to soul groups as planetary symbols which reinforce positive memories from former lives together. This sort of material replication apparently does not resent sadness by spirits who long to be in a physical state again, but are a joyful communion with historical events that helped shape their individual identities. For me, these mythic expressions by souls are ceremonial in nature and yet they go far beyond basic ritual.

Although  certain  places  in  the  spirit  world  are  described  as  having  the  same

function by subjects in superconscious, their images in each of these regions can vary. Thus, a study area described as a Greek temple in this case is represented as a modern school building by another person. Other statements may seem more contradictory. For instance, many subjects mentally traveling from one location to another in the spirit world will tell me the space around them is like a sphere, as we saw in the last chapter, but then they will add that the spirit world is not enclosed because it is “limitless.” I think what we have to keep in mind is that people tend to structure their frame of reference during a trance state with what their conscious

mind sees and has experienced on Earth. Quite a few people who come out of trance tell me there is so much about the spirit world they were unable to describe in earthly terms. Each person translates abstract spiritual conditions of their experience into symbols of interpretation which make sense to them. Sometimes a subject will even express disbelief at their own visions when I first take them into a spiritual place. This is because the critical area of their conscious mind has not stopped dropping message units. People in trance soon adapt to what their unconscious mind is recording.

When I began to gather information about souls in groups, I based my assessments of where  these  souls belonged on the  level of their knowledge.  Using only this criterion of identification, it was difficult for me to swiftly place a client. Case 16 came to me early in my studies of life in the spirit world. It was a significant one, because during the session I was to learn about the recognition of souls by color. Before this case, I listened to my subjects describing the colors they were seeing in the spirit world without appreciating the importance of this information in relation to souls themselves. My clients reported about shades of soul energy mass, but I didn’t piece these observations together. I was not asking the right questions.

I  was  familiar with  Kirlian  photography  and  the  studies  in  parapsychology  at

U.C.L.A., where research has indicated each living person projects their own colored aura. In human form, apparently we have an ionized energy field flowing out and around our physical bodies connected by a network of vital power points called chakras. Since spiritual energy has

been described to me as a moving, living force, the amount of electromagnetic energy required to hold a soul on our physical plane could be another factor in producing different earthly colors.

It has also been said that a human aura reflects thoughts and emotions combined

with the physical health of an individual. I wondered if these personal meridians projected by humans had a direct connection to what I was being told about the light emitted by souls in the spirit world.

With Case 16, I realized that radiated soul light visualized by spirits is not all white.

In the minds of my subjects, every soul generates a specific color aura. I credit this case with helping me decipher the meaning of these manifestations of energy.

Dr. N: All right, let’s float outside your temple of study. What do you see around you, or off in the distance?

S: People-large gatherings of people. Dr. N: How many would you say?

S: Hmm…. in the distance … I can’t count… hundreds and hundreds … there are so many.

Dr. N: And do you identify with all these souls-are you associated with them?

S: Not really-I can’t even see all of them-it’s sort of… fuzzy out there … but my gang

is near me.

Dr. N: If I could call your gang of about twenty souls your primary cluster group, are you associated with the larger secondary body of souls around you now?

S: We … are all … associated-but not directly. I don’t know those others …

Dr. N: Do you see the physical features of all these other souls in the same way as you did your own group in the temple?

S: No, that isn’t necessary. It is more … natural out here in the open. I see them all as spirits.

Dr. N: Look out in the distance from where you are now. How do you see all these spirits? What are they like?

S: Different lights-buzzing around as fireflies.

Dr. N: Can you tell if the souls who work with each other, such as teachers and students, stick together all the time?

S: People in my gang do, but the teachers kind of stick to themselves when they are not assisting in our lessons.

Dr. N: Do you see any teacher-guides from where we are now?

S: (pause) Some … yes … there are much fewer of them than us, of course. I can see Karla with two of her friends.

Dr. N: And you know they are guides, even without seeing any physical features? You can look out there at all the bright white lights and just mentally tell they are guides?

S: Sure, we can do that. But they are not all white. Dr. N: You mean souls are not all absolutely white?

S: That’s partially true-the intensity aspect of our energy can make us less brilliant. Dr. N: So Karla and her two friends display different shades of white?

S: No, they aren’t white at all. Dr. N: I don’t follow you.

S: She and her two friends are teachers.

Dr. N: What is the difference? Are you saying these guides radiate energy which is not white?

S: That’s right.

Dr. N: Well, what color are they? S: Yellow, of course.

Dr. N: Oh … so all guides radiate yellow energy? S: No, they don’t.

Dr. N: What?

S: Karla’s teacher is Valairs. He is blue. We see him sometimes here. Nice guy. Very smart.

Dr. N: Blue? How did we get to blue? S: Valairs shows a light blue.

Dr. N: I’m confused. You didn’t say anything about another teacher called Valairs being part of your group.

S: You didn’t ask me. Anyway, he is not in my group. Neither is Karla. They have their own groups.

Dr. N: And these guides have auras which are yellow and blue? S: Yes.

Dr. N: How many other energy colors do you see floating around here? S: None.

Dr. N: Why not red and green energy lights? S: Some are reddish, but no green lights.

Dr. N: Why not?

S: I don’t know, but sometimes when I look around, this place is lit up like a Christmas tree.

Dr. N: I’m curious about Valairs. Does every spiritual group have two teachers assigned to their cluster?

S: Hmm … it varies. Karla trains under Valairs, so we have two. We see little of him. He works with other groups besides us.

Dr. N: So, Karla herself is student teaching as a less advanced guide? S: (somewhat indignantly) She is advanced enough for me!

Dr. N: Okay, but will you help me straighten out these color schemes? Why is Karla’s energy radiating yellow and Valairs blue?

S: That’s easy. Valairs … precedes all of us in knowledge and he gives off a darker intensity of light.

Dr. N: Does the shade of blue, compared to yellow or plain white, make a difference between souls?

S: I’m trying to tell you. Blue is deeper than yellow and yellow is more intense than white, depending on how far along you are.

Dr. N: Oh, then the luminosity of Valairs radiates less brightly than Karla and she is less brilliant than your energy because you are further down in development?

S: (laughs) Much further down. They both have a heavier, more steady light than me.

Dr. N: And how does Karla’s yellow color vary from your whiteness in terms of where you are going with your own advancement?

S: (with pride) I’m turning into a reddish-white. Eventually, I’ll have light gold. Recently I’ve noticed Karla turning a little darker yellow. I expected it. She is so knowledgeable and good.

Dr. N: Really, and then will she eventually take her energy level to dark blue in intensity?

S: No, to a light blue at first. It’s always gradual, as our energy becomes more dense. Dr.  N:  So,  these  three  basic  lights  of  white,  yellow,  and  blue  represent  the

development stages of souls and are visibly obvious to all spirits?

S: That’s right, and the changes are very slow.

Dr. N: Look around again. Do you see all the energy colors equally represented by

souls in this area?

S: Oh no! Mostly white, some yellows, and few blues. Dr. N: Thank you for clarifying this for me.

I routinely question everyone about their color hues while they are in trance. Aside from the general whiteness of the spirit world itself, my subjects report seeing a majority of other souls displaying shades of white. Apparently, a neutral white or gray is the starting point of development. Spirit auras then mix the primary colors of red, yellow, and blue from a base of white. A few people see greenish hues mixed with yellow or blue.

To equate what I have heard about soul energy with the physical laws which govern the color spectrum we see in the heavens is just supposition. However, I have found some similarities. The energy of radiated light from cooler stars in the sky is a red- orange, while the hotter stars increase from yellow to blue-white. Temperature acts on  light  waves  that  are  also  visible  vibrations  of  the  spectrum  with  different frequencies. The human eye registers these waves as a band of light to dark colors. The energy colors of souls probably have little to do with such elements as hydrogen and  helium,  but  perhaps  there  is  an  association  with  a  high  energy  field  of electromagnetism. I suspect all soul light is influenced by vibrational motion in tune with a harmonious spiritual oneness of wisdom. Some aspects of quantum physics suggest the universe is made up of vibrational waves which influence masses of physical objects by an interaction of different frequencies. Light, motion, sound, and time are all interrelated in physical space. I was hearing these same relationships applied to spiritual matter from my cases.

Eventually, I concluded both our spiritual and physical consciousness project and receive light energy. I believe individual vibrational wave patterns represent each soul’s aura. As souls, the density, color, and form of light we radiate is proportional to the power of our knowledge and perception as represented by increasing concentrations of light matter as we develop. Individual patterns of energy not only display who we are, but indicate the degree of ability to heal others and regenerate ourselves.

People in hypnosis speak of colors to describe how souls appear, especially from a

distance, when they are shapeless. From my cases, I have learned the more advanced souls project masses of faster moving energy particles which are reported to be blue in color, with the highest concentrations being purple. In the visible spectrum on Earth, blue-violet has the shortest wavelength, with energy peaking in the invisible ultraviolet. If color density is a reflection of wisdom, then the lower wavelengths of white through yellow emanating from souls must represent lower concentrations of vibrational energy.

Figure 3 (page 103) is a chart I have designed for the classification of souls by color

coding, as reported by my subjects. The first column lists the soul’s spiritual state, or grade-level of learning. The last column shows our guide status and denotes our ability and readiness to serve in that capacity for others, which will be explained further in the next chapter. Learning begins with our creation as a soul and then

accelerates with the first physical life assignment. With each incarnation, we grow in understanding, although we may slip back in certain lives before regaining our footing and advancing again. Nevertheless, from what I can determine, once a spiritual level is attained by the soul, it stays there.

In Figure 3, I show six levels of incarnating souls. Although I generally place my subjects into the broad categories of beginner, intermediate, and advanced souls, there are subtle differences in between, at Levels II and IV. For example, to determine whether a soul is starting to move out of the beginner stage at Level I into Level II, I must not only know how much white energy remains, but analyze the subject’s responses to questions which demonstrate learning. A genealogy of past life successes, future expectations, group associations, and conversations between my subjects and their guides, all form a profile of growth.

Some of my subjects object to my characterizing the spirit world as a place governed by societal structure and organizational management symbolized by Figure 3. On the other hand, I continually listen to these same subjects describe a planned and ordered process of self-development influenced by peers and teachers. If the spirit world does resemble one great schoolhouse with a multitude of classrooms under the direction of teacher souls who monitor our progress-then it has structure. Figure 3 represents a basic working placement model for my own use. I know it has imperfections. I hope follow-up research by regression therapists in future years may build upon my conceptualizations with their own replications to measure soul maturity.

This chapter may give the reader the impression that souls are as segregated by light level in the spirit world as people are by class in communities on Earth. Societal conditions on Earth cannot be compared with the spirit world. The differences in light frequency measuring knowledge in souls all comes from the same energy source. Souls are fully integrated by thought. If all levels of performance in the spirit world were on one grade level, souls would have a poor system of training. The old one-room schoolhouse concept of education on Earth limited students of different ages. In spiritual peer groups, souls work at their own developmental level with others like them. Mature teacher-guides prepare succeeding generations of souls to take their places.

And so there are practical reasons why conditions exist in the spirit world for a system designed to measure learning and development. The system fosters enlightenment and ultimately the perfection of souls. It is important to understand that while we may suffer the consequences of bad choices in our educational tasks, we are always protected, supported, and directed within the system by master souls. I see this as the spiritual management of souls.

The whole idea of a hierarchy of souls has been part of both Eastern and Western cultures for many centuries. Plato spoke of the transformation of souls from childhood to adulthood passing through many stages of moral reason. The Greeks felt humankind moves from amoral, immature, and violent beings over many lives to people who are finally socialized with pity, patience, forgiveness, honesty, and love. In the second century AD, the new Christian theology was greatly influence by Polotinus, whose Neoplatonist cosmology involved souls having a hierarchy of degrees of being. The highest being was a transcendent One, or God-creator, out of

which the soul-self was born which would occupy humans. Eventually, these lower- souls would return to complete reunion with the universal over-soul.

My classification of soul development is intended to be neither socially nor intellectually elitist. Souls in a high state of advancement are often found in humble

circumstances on Earth. By the same token, people in the strata of influence in human society are by no means in a blissful

state of soul maturity. Often, just the reverse is true.

In terms of placement by soul development, I cannot overemphasize the importance

of our spiritual groups. Chapter Nine, on beginner souls (Levels I and II), will more closely examine how a soul group functions. Before going further, however, I want to summarize what I have learned about the principles of soul group assignments.

  • Regardless of the relative time of creation after their novice status is completed, all beginner souls are assigned to a new group of souls at their level of understanding.
  • Once a new soul support group is formed, no new members are added in the future.
  • There appears to be a systematic selection procedure for homogeneous groupings of souls.  Similarities of ego,  cognitive awareness,  expression, and desire are all considerations.
  • Irrespective of size, cluster groups do not directly intermix with each other’s energy, but souls can communicate with one another across primary and secondary group boundaries.
  • Primary clusters in Levels I and II may split into smaller subgroups for study, but are not separated from the integrated whole

within a single cluster of souls.

  • Rates of learning vary among peer group members. Certain souls will advance faster than others in a cluster group, although these students may not be equally competent and effective in all areas of their curricula. Around the intermediate level of learning, souls demonstrating special talents (healing, teaching, creating, etc.) are permitted to participate in specialty groups for more advanced work while still remaining with their cluster group.
  • At the point where a soul’s needs, motives and performance abilities are judged to be fully at Level III in all areas of self-development, they are then loosely formed into an “independent studies” work group. Usually, their old guides continue to monitor them through one master teacher. Thus, a new pod of entities graduating into full Level III could be brought together from many clusters within one or more secondary groups.
  • When they approach Level IV, souls are given more independence outside group

activities. Although group size diminishes as souls advance, the intimate contact between original peer group members is never lost.

  • Spirit guides have a wide variety of teaching methods and instructional personifications depending upon group composition.

8

Our Guides

I HAVE never worked with a subject in trance who did not have a personal guide. Some guides are more in evidence than others during hypnosis sessions. It is my custom to ask subjects if they see feel a discarnate presence in the room. If they do, this third party is usually a protective guide. Often, a client will sense the presence of a discarnate figure before visualizing a face or hearing a voice. People who meditate a great deal are naturally more familiar with these visions than someone who never called upon his or her guide.

The recognition of these spiritual teachers brings people into the company of a

warm, loving creative power. Through our guides, we become more acutely aware of the continuity of life and our identity as a soul. Guides are figures of grace in our existence because they are part of the fulfillment of our destiny.

Guides are complex entities, especially when they are master guides. The awareness

level of the soul determines to some extent the degree of advancement of the guide assigned to them. In fact, the maturity of a particular guide also has a bearing on whether these teachers have only one student or many under their direction. Guides at the senior level of ability and above usually work with an entire group of souls in the spirit world and on earth. These guides have other entities who assist them. From what I can see, every soul group usually has one or more rather new teachers in training. As a result, some people may have more than one guide helping them. The  personal  names  my  clients  attach  to  their  guides  range  from  ordinary, whimsical, or quaint-sounding words, to the bizarre. Frequently, these names can be traced back to a specific past life a teacher spent with a student. Some clients are unable to verbalize their guide’s name because the sound cannot be duplicated, even when they see them clearly while under hypnosis. I tell these people it is much more important that they under stand the purpose of why certain guides are assigned to them,  rather than possessing their names.  A  subject may simply use a general designation  for  their  guide  such  as:  director,  advisor,  instructor,  or  just  “my friend.”

One has to be careful how the word friend is interpreted. Usually, when a person in trance talks about a spiritual friend, they are referring to a soul-mate or peer group associate rather than a guide. Entities who are our friends exist on levels not much higher or lower than ourselves. These friends are able to offer mental encouragement from the spirit world while we are on Earth, and they can be with us as incarnated human companions while we walk the roads of life.

One of the most important aspects of my therapeutic work with clients is assisting them, on a conscious level, with appreciating the role their guides play in life. These teacher entities edify all of us with their skillful instruction techniques. Ideas we claim as our own may be generated by a concerned guide. Guides also comfort us

during the trying periods in our lives, especially when we are children in need of solace. I remember a charming remark made by a subject after I asked when she began seeing her guide in this life. “Oh, when I was daydreaming,” she said. “I remember my guide was with me on my first day of school when I was really scared. She sat on top of my desk to keep me company and then showed me the way to the bathroom when I was too afraid to ask the teacher.”

The concept of  personalized spiritual beings goes far back in antiquity to our earliest origins as thinking human beings. Anthropological studies at the sites of prehistoric people suggest their totemic symbols evoked individual protection. Later, some 5,000 years ago as city-states arose, official deities became identified with state religions. These gods were more remote and even generated fear. Thus, personal and family deities assumed great importance in the day-to-day life of people for protection. A personal soul deity served as a guardian angel to each person or family, and could be called upon for divine help during a crisis. This tradition has been carried down into our cultures of today.

We have two examples at opposite ends of the United States. Aumakua is a personal

god to Hawaiians. The Polynesians believe one’s ancestors can assume a personal god relationship (as humans, animals, or fish) to living family members. In visions and dreams, Aumakua can either assist or reprimand an individual. In northeastern America, the Iroquois believe a human’s own inner spiritual power is called Orenda, which is connected to a higher personal Orenda spirit. This guardian is able to resist the powers of harm and evil directed at an individual. The concept of soul watchers who function as guides is part of the belief system of many Native American cultures. The Zuni tribes of the Southwest have oral traditions in their mythology of god-like beings with personal existences. They are called “the makers and holders of life paths” and are considered the caretakers of souls. There are other cultures around the world which also believe someone other than God is watching over them to personally intercede on their behalf. I think human beings have always needed anthropomorphic figures below a supreme God to portray the spiritual forces around them. When people pray or meditate, they want to reach out to an entity with whom they are acquainted for inspiration. It is easier to ask for aid from a figure which can be clearly identified in the human mind. There is a lack of imagery with a supreme God which hinders a direct connection for many people. Regardless of our diverse religious preferences and degrees of faith, people also feel if there is a supreme God, this divinity is too busy to bother about their individual problems. People often express an unworthiness for a direct association with God. As a result, the world’s major religions have used prophets who once lived on Earth to serve as our intermediaries with God.

Possibly because some of these prophets have been elevated to divine status themselves, they are not personal enough anymore. I say this without diminishing the vital spiritual influence all the great prophets have had on their followers. Millions of people derive benefit from the teachings of these powerful souls who incarnated on Earth as prophets in our historical past. And yet, people know in their hearts-as they have always known-that someone, some personal entity individual to them-is there, waiting to be reached.

I have the theory that guides appear to people who are very religious as figures of

their faith. There was a case on a national television show where the child of a devout Christian family suffered a near-death experience and said she saw Jesus. When asked to draw with crayons what she saw, the little girl drew a featureless blue man standing within a halo of light.

My subjects have shown me how much they depend upon and make use of their spiritual guides during life. I have come to believe we are their direct responsibility- not God’s. These learned teachers remain with us over thousands of earth years to assist in our trials before, during, and after countless lives. I notice that, unlike people walking around in a conscious state, subjects in trance do not blame God for their misfortunes in life. More often than not, when we are in the soul state, it is our personal guide who takes the brunt of any dissatisfaction.

I am often asked if teacher-guides are matched to us or just picked at random. This

is a difficult question to answer. Guides do appear to be assigned to us in the spirit world in an orderly fashion. I have come to believe their individual teaching styles and management techniques support and beautifully integrate with our permanent soul identity.

For instance, I have heard about younger guides, whose past lives included overcoming particularly difficult negative traits, being assigned to souls with the same behavior patterns. It seems these empathetic guides are graded on how well they do in their assignments to affect positive change.

All guides have compassion for their students, but teaching approaches vary. I find some guides constantly helping their students on Earth, while others demand their charges work out lessons with little overt encouragement. The maturity of the soul is, of course, a factor. Certainly graduate students get less help than freshmen. Aside from the developmental level, I look at the intensity of individual desire as another consideration in the frequency of appearance and form of assistance one receives from his or her guide during a life.

As  to  gender  assignments,  I  find  no  consistent  correlation  of  male  and  female

subjects to masculine or feminine appearing guides. On the whole, people accept the gender portrayed by their guide as quite natural. It could be argued that this is because they have become used to them over eons of relative time as males or females rather than the assumption that one sex IS more effective than another between specific students  and teachers. Some guides appear as mixed genders, which lends support to souls being truly androgynous. One client told me, “My guide is sometimes Alexis or Alex, dropping in and out of both sexes, depending on my need for male or female advice.”

From what I can determine, the procedure for teacher selection is carefully managed in the spirit world. Every human being has at least one senior, or a higher master guide, assigned to their soul since the soul was first created. Many of us inherit a newer, secondary guide later in our existence, such as Karla, in the previous chapter. For want of a better term, I have called these student teachers junior guides.

Aspiring junior guides can anticipate the beginning of their training near the end of Level III, as they progress  into the upper intermediate stages  of development. Actually, we begin our training as subordinate guides long before attaining Level

IV. In the lower stages of development we help others in life as friends and between

lives assist our peer group associates with counseling. Junior and senior teaching assignments appear to reflect the will of master guides, who form a kind of governing body, similar to a trusteeship, over the younger guides of the spirit world. We will see examples of how the process of guide development works in Chapters Ten and Eleven, which cover cases of more advanced souls.

Do all guides have the same teaching abilities, and does this affect the size of the

group to which we are assigned in the spirit world? The following passage is from the case file of an experienced soul who discussed this question with me.

Case 17

Dr. N: I’m curious about teacher assignments in the spirit world in relation to their abilities to help undeveloped souls. When souls progress as guides, are they given quite a few souls to work with?

S: Only the more practiced ones.

Dr. N; I would imagine large groups of souls needing guides could become quite a responsibility for one advanced guide-even with an assistant.

S: They can handle it. Size doesn’t matter. Dr. N: Why not?

S: Once you attain competency and success as a teacher, the number of souls you are given doesn’t matter. Some sections (clusters) have lots of souls and others don’t.

Dr. N: So, if you are a senior in the blue light aura, class size has no relation to assignments, because you have the ability to handle large numbers of souls?

S: I didn’t exactly say that. Much depends upon the types of souls in a section and the experience of the leaders. In the larger sections they have help too, you know.

Dr. N: Who does?

S: The guides you are calling seniors. Dr. N: Well, who helps them?

S: The overseers. Now, they are the real pros.

Dr. N: I have heard them also called master teachers. S: That’s not a bad description for them.

Dr. N: What energy color do they project to you?

S: It’s … purplish.

Note: As signified in Figure 3 in the last chapter, the lower ranges of a Level V radiate a sky-blue energy. With advancing maturity this aura grows more dense, first to a muted midnight blue and finally to deep purple, representing the total integration of a Level VI ascended master.

Dr. N: Since guides seem to have different approaches to teaching, what do they all have in common?

S: They wouldn’t be teachers if they didn’t have a love of training and a desire to help us join them.

Dr. N: Then define for me why souls are selected as guides. Take a typical guide and tell me what qualities that advanced soul possesses.

S: They must be compassionate without being too easy on you. They aren’t judgmental. You don’t have to do things their way. They don’t restrain by imposing their values on you.

Dr. N: Okay, those are things guides don’t do. If they don’t over-direct souls, what are the important things they do, as you see it?

S: Uh … they build morale in their sections and instill confidence-we all know they have been through a lot themselves. We are accepted for who we are as individuals with the right to make our own mistakes.

Dr. N: I must say, I have found souls very loyal to their guides. S: That’s why-because they never give up on you.

Dr. N: What would you say is the most important attribute of any guide? S: (without hesitation) The ability to motivate you and instill courage.

My next case provides an example of the actions of a still-incarnating guide. This guide is called Owa, and he represents the qualities of a devoted teacher reported by the last case. Evidently, his early assignments as a guide involved looking after the subject in Case 18 in a direct fashion, and his methods apparently have not changed. My client was stunned once she recognized her guide’s latest incarnation.

Owa made his first appearance as a guide in my client’s past about 50 BC. He was described as an old man living in a Judean village which had been overrun by Roman soldiers. Case 18 was then a young girl, orphaned by a Roman raid against local dissidents. In the opening scene Of this past life, she spoke about working in a tavern as a virtual slave. As a serving girl, she was constantly beaten by the owner and  occasionally  raped  by  Roman  customers.  She  died  at  age  twenty-six  of

overwork, mistreatment, and despair. This subject made the following statement from her subconscious mind about an old man in her village: “I worked day and night and felt numb with pain and humiliation. He was the only person who was kind to me-who taught me to trust in myself-to have faith in something higher and finer than the cruel people around me.”

Later in the superconscious state, this client detailed parts of other difficult lives

where Owa appeared as a trusted friend, and once as a brother. In this state she saw these people were all the same entity and was able to name this soul as Owa, her guide. There were many lives when Owa did not appear, and sometimes his physical contact was only fleeting when he came to help her. Abruptly, I asked if Owa might possibly be in her life now? After a moment of hesitation, my subject began to shake uncontrollably. Tears came to her eyes and she cried out from the vision in her mind.

Case 18

S: Oh, Lord-I knew it! I knew there was something different about him. Dr. N: About who?

S: My son! Owa is my son Brandon. Dr. N: Your son is actually Owa?

S: Yes, yes! (laughing and crying at the same time) I knew it! I felt it right from the day I delivered him-something wonderfully familiar and special to me-more than just a helpless baby… oh

Dr. N: What did you know the day he was born?

S: I didn’t really know-I felt it inside-something more than the excitement a mother feels at the time of her firstborn. I felt he came here-to help me-don’t you see? Oh, it’s so fantastic-it’s true-it’s him!

Dr. N: (I work on calming my client before continuing, because her excited wiggling around is about to carry her over the side of the office recliner) Why do you think Owa is here as your baby son Brandon?

S: (quieter now, but still crying softly) To get me through this bad time … with hard people who won’t accept me. He must have known I was in for a long period of trouble and decided to come to me as my son. We didn’t talk about doing this before I was born… what a wonderful surprise…

Note: At the time of this session, my client was struggling to gain recognition in a highly competitive business. She was also having marital difficulties at home, partly due to being the major wage earner. I have since learned she is divorced.

Dr. N: Did you sense something unusual about your baby after you took him home?

S: Yes, it started at the hospital and this feeling never left me. When I look into his eyes he… soothes me. Sometimes I come home so worn out-so tired and beat down-I am short-tempered with him when the baby-sitter leaves. But he is so patient with me. I don’t even need to hold him. The way he looks at me is … so wise. I didn’t fully understand what this meant until now. Now, I know! Oh, what a blessing. I wasn’t sure if I should even have the baby-now I see it all.

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: (in a firm voice) As I try to advance in my profession, people are getting … harder

… not accepting what I know and can do. My husband and I are having trouble. He

puts me down for pushing too hard … wanting to achieve. Owa-Brandon-is here to keep me strong so I can overcome

Dr. N: And do you think it is all right we discovered your guide is with you as Brandon in this life?

S: Yes, if Owa didn’t want me to know that he decided to come into life, I wouldn’t have come to see you-it wouldn’t have been on my mind.

This exceptional case represents the emotional intoxication a subject feels when an in-life contact is made with their guide. Notice the role Owa chose did not infringe upon the most typical role usually taken by a soulmate. He did not come through as her spouse, and never has, in any of her past lives. Certainly, soulmates take other roles besides spouses, but an incarnating guide does not normally take a role which might transgress between two soulmates working on their lives together. This client’s soulmate happens to be an old flame from high school.

Based upon all the information I was able to gather, Owa seems to have moved into the level of a junior guide in the last two-thousand years. He may possibly graduate into the blue level of a senior guide before this client is qualified herself to rise from white to a yellow energy aura. Regardless of the number of centuries this takes, Owa will remain as her guide, even though he may never incarnate again with her in a life.

Do we ever catch up to our guides in development? Eventually, perhaps, but I can

say I have not seen any evidence of this in my cases. Souls who develop relatively fast are gifted, but so are the guides who assist them.

It is not uncommon to find guides working in pairs with people on Earth, each with their own approaches to teaching. In these cases one is dominant, although the more

experienced senior guide may actually be less evident in day-to-day activities of their charges. The reason for this spiritual arrangement in tandem is because one of the

pair is either in training (such as a junior guide under a senior), or the association is so  long-standing between the two guides (as  with  a senior to a  master)  that  a

permanent relationship has evolved. The senior guide may have acquired his or her own cluster of souls, which is still monitored by a master overseeing a number of soul groups.

Teams of guides do not interfere with each other in or out of the spirit world. I have

a close friend whose  guides illustrate how  two teachers working  together complement each other. Using this individual’s case is appropriate, because I have observed the way this person’s two guides interact in various life circumstances. My friend’s junior guide appears in the form of a kindly, nurturing Native American medicine woman called Quan. Dressed simply in a deerskin sheath, her long hair pulled back, Quan’s soft face is bathed in vivid light during her appearances. When she is called,

Quan provides a vehicle for insight and understanding events and the individuals

associated with those events, which are troubling to my friend.

Quan’s desire to lighten the load of the rather difficult life my friend has chosen is

tempered by a challenging male figure called Giles. Giles is clearly a senior guide who may be close to being a master in the spirit world. In this capacity, he does not appear nearly as often as Quan. When Giles does come into my friend’s higher consciousness, he does so abruptly. Here is a sample of how a senior guide operates differently from one of junior status.

Case 19

Dr. N: When you are in deep reflection over a serious problem, how does Giles come to you?

S: (laughs) Not the same as Quan-I can tell you. Usually, he likes to … hide a little… at first… behind a shadow of … blue vapor. I hear him chuckling before I see him.

Dr. N: You mean he appears first as a blue energy form?

S: Yes … to hide himself a bit-he likes to be secretive, but it doesn’t last long. Dr. N: Why?

S: I don’t know-to make sure I really want him, I guess.

Dr. N: Well, when he shows himself, what does Giles look like to you? S: An Irish Leprechaun.

Dr. N: Oh, then he is a small man?

S: (laughs again) An elf figure-tangled hair all over his wrinkled face-he looks a mess and moves constantly in all directions.

Dr. N: Why does he do that?

S: Giles is a slippery character-impatient, too-he frowns a lot while he paces back and forth in front of me with his arms clasped in back of him.

Dr. N: And how would you interpret this behavior?

S: Giles is not dignified like some (guides) … but he is very clever … crafty. Dr. N: Could you be more specific as to how this conduct relates to you?

S: (strained) Giles has made me look upon my lives as a chess game with the Earth as the board. Certain moves bring certain results and there are no easy solutions. I plan, and then things go wrong during the game in my life. I sometimes think he lays traps for me to work through on the board.

Dr. N: Do you prosper with this technique of your advanced guide? Has Giles been a help to your problem-solving during the game of life?

S: (pause) … More afterward … here (in the spirit world) … but, he makes me work so damn hard on Earth.

Dr. N: Could you get rid of him and just work with Quan?

S: (smiles ruefully) It doesn’t work that way here. Besides, he is brilliant. Dr. N: So, we don’t get to choose our guides?

S: No way. They choose you.

Dr. N: Do you have any idea why you have two guides who approach your problems so differently in the way they help you?

S: No, I don’t, but I consider myself very fortunate. Quan… is gentle… and steady with her support.

Note: The embodiments of Native Americans who once lived in North America make powerful spiritual guides for those of us who have followed them to live in this land. The large number of Americans who report having such guides lends support to my belief that  souls are attracted to geographical settings they have known during earlier incarnations.

Dr. N: What do you like most about Giles’ teaching methods?

S: (pensively) Oh, the way he-well, trifles with me-almost mocking me to do better during the game and stop feeling sorry for myself. When things get especially rough he prods me and keeps me going … insisting I use all my abilities. There is nothing

soft about Giles.

Dr. N: And you feel this coaching on Earth, even when you and I are not working together?

S: Yes, when I meditate and go inside myself… or during my dreams. Dr. N: And Giles comes when you want him?

S: (after some hesitation) No … although it seems as though I have been with him forever. Quan does come to me more. I can’t just

grab hold of Giles in any situation I want, unless what I have going on is really

serious. He is elusive.

Dr. N: Sum up your feelings about Quan and Giles for me.

S: I love Quan as a mother, but I wouldn’t be where I am without Giles’ discipline.

They are both skillful because they allow me to

benefit from my mistakes.

These two guides are a cooperating team of instructors, which is standard procedure for those people who have two guides. In this case, Giles enjoys teaching karmic lessons by the Socratic method. Providing no clues in advance, he makes sure problem-solving on major issues is never easy for my friend. Quan, on the other hand, provides comfort and gentle encouragement.

When my friend comes to me for a hypnosis session, I am aware that Quan remains

in the background when Giles is on-board and active. Giles is a caring guide, as all guides are, but without a trace of indulgence. Adversity is allowed to build to the absolute limits of my friend’s ability to cope before solutions suddenly begin to unfold. To be honest, I see Giles as a wicked taskmaster. This view is not really shared by my friend, who is grateful for the challenges offered by this complex teacher.

What is the average spiritual guide like? In my experience, no two guides are the same. These dedicated higher entities give me the impression of having attitudinal swings toward me from one session to the next, and even within the same session with a client. They can be cooperative or obstructive, tolerant or disobliging, evasive or revealing, or just flat out unconcerned with anything I do with a subject. I have great respect for guides because these powerful figures play such an important part in our destiny, but I must admit  they can frustrate my inquiries. I find them enigmatic because they are unpredictable in their relations with me as a facilitator.

Early in this century, it was common for mediums working with people in hypnosis to call any discarnate entity in the room a ”control,” because they acted as the director of communications on the spiritual side for the subject. It was recognized that a spiritual control (whether a guide or not) had energy patterns which were in emotional, intellectual, and spiritual attunement with the subject. The importance of

a harmonious energy pattern between facilitator and these entities was also known. If a control is blocking my investigations with a client, I search for the reason why this  is  happening.  With  some  blocking  guides  I  must  fight  for  every  scrap  of information, while others give me a great deal of latitude in a session. I never forget that guides have every right to block my approach to problems with souls under their care. After all, I have their people as my subjects for only a short while. Frankly, I would much rather have no contact with a client’s guide than work with one who might assist me at one point and then block the rhythm of memory in the next portion of a session.

I believe a guide’s motivation for blocking information goes far beyond resisting the

immediate psychological direction a therapy session is taking. I am constantly searching for new data on the spirit world. A guide who lends support to a free flow of past life memories from one of my subjects may balk at my far-reaching questions about life on other planets, the structure of the spirit world, or creation itself. This is why I am only able to collect these spiritual secrets in fragments from a large body of client information reflecting the discretion of many guides. I also feel that I am receiving assistance from my own spiritual guide during communications with subjects and their guides.

Occasionally, a subject will express dissatisfaction with his or her particular guide. This is usually temporary. At any time, people are capable of believing their guides are too difficult and not working in their best interests, or just not paying enough attention to them. A subject once told me that he had tried for a long time to be assigned another guide. He said, “My guide is stonewalling me, she doesn’t give enough of herself.” The man told me his desire for a change in guides was not honored. I observed that he spent considerable time alone, without much group interaction after his last two lives, because he refused to deal with his issues. He projected anger toward his guide for not rescuing him from bad situations.

Our teachers really don’t get perturbed with us to the point of alienation, but I

notice they have a way of making themselves scarce when disgruntled students avoid real problem-solving. Guides only want the best for us and sometimes this means they must watch us endure much pain to reach certain objectives. Guides cannot assist in our progress until we are ready to make the necessary changes in order to take full advantage of life’s Opportunities.

Do we have reason to be fearful of our guides? In Chapter Five, with Case 13, we

saw an obviously younger soul who expressed some trepidation right after death about meeting the guide Clodees for debriefing. Typically, this concern does not last. We may feel chagrined over having to explain to our guides why goals were not attained, but they understand. They want us to interpret our past lives so we will have the benefit of assisting in the analysis of mistakes.

My clients express all sorts of sentiments about their guides, but fear is not among

them. On the contrary, people are more worried about being abandoned by spiritual advisors during difficult periods in their lives. Our relationship with guides is one of students and teachers rather than defendants and judges. Our personal guides help us cope with the separateness and isolation which every soul inherits at physical birth, regardless of the degree of love extended by our family. Guides give us an affirmation of Self in a crowded world.

People want to know if their guides always come whenever they call for help. Guides are not consistent in the manner in which they choose to assist us, because they carefully evaluate how badly they are needed. I am also asked if hypnosis is the best way to get in contact with one’s guide. Naturally, I lean toward hypnosis, because I know how potent and effective this medium  can be to obtain detailed spiritual information. However, hypnosis by a trained facilitator is not convenient on a daily basis, where meditation, prayer, and perhaps channeling with another person would be. Self-hypnosis, as a form of deep meditation, is an excellent alternative and may be preferred by those who have a fear of being hypnotized by others, or don’t want the interference of a second party in their spiritual life.

Regardless of the method used, we all have the capacity to send out far-reaching thought waves from our higher consciousness. Every person’s thoughts represent a mental fingerprint to guides marking who and where we are. During our lives, especially in periods of great stress, most people feel the presence of someone watching out for them. We may not be able to describe this power, but it is there nonetheless.

Reaching our soul is the first step on the ladder of finding our higher power. All lines of mental communication we use to reach a God-head are monitored by our guides on this step. They, too, have their guides further up the ladder. The entire ladder serves as one unbroken conduit to the source of all intelligent energy, with each rung being part of the whole. It is essential for people to have faith that a prayer for help will be answered by

their own higher power. This is why guides are vitally important to our spiritual and temporal lives. If we are relaxed and in a state of concentrated focus, an inner voice speaks to us. And, even if we didn’t initiate the message, we should trust what we hear.

National surveys by psychologists indicate one person in ten admits to hearing voices which are frequently positive and instructional in nature. It is a relief for many people to learn their inner voices are not the hallucinations associated with the mentally ill. Rather than something to be worried about, an inner voice is like having your own resident counselor on call. More often than not, these voices are those of our guides.

Guides assigned to different souls do work together relaying urgent mental messages for each other. People unable to help themselves in critical situations may find counselors, friends, and even strangers coming to their aid at just the right moment.

The inner strength which comes to us in our daily lives does not arrive as much by a visual picture of actually seeing our guides, as from the feelings and emotions which convince us we are not alone. People who listen and encourage their inner voice through quiet contemplation say they feel a personal connection with an energy beyond themselves which offers support and reassurance. If you prefer to call this internal guidance system inspiration or intuition, that is fine, because the system which aids us is an aspect of ourselves as well as higher powers.

During troublesome times in our lives, we have the tendency to ask for guidance to

immediately set things right. When they are in trance, my clients see that their guides don’t help them solve all their problems at once,  rather they illuminate

pathways by the use of clues. This is one reason why I am cautious about client- blocking during hypnosis. Insight is best revealed with a controlled pace relative to each person. A concerned teacher may not want all aspects of a problem uncovered at a given point in time for his or her student. We vary in our ability to handle revelations.

When asking for help from your higher spiritual power, I think it is best not to

demand immediate change. Our success in life is predicated on planning, but we do have alternative paths to choose from to reach certain goals. When seeking guidance, I suggest requesting help with just the next step in your life. When you do this, be prepared for unexpected possibilities. Have the faith and humility to open yourself up to a variety of paths toward solutions.

After death we do not experience sadness as souls with the same emotional definition as grief felt in physical form. Yet, as we have already seen, souls are not detached beings without feelings. I have learned those powers who watch over us also feel what I call a spiritual sorrow when they see us making poor choices in life and going through pain. Certainly, our soul-mates and peers suffer distress when we are tormented, but so do our guides. Guides may not show sorrow in orientation conferences and during soul group discussions between lives, but they keenly feel their responsibilities toward us as teachers.

In Chapter Eleven, we will get the perspective of a guide at Level V. I have never found a person who is a living grade VI, or master guide, as a subject. I suspect we don’t have a whole lot of these advanced souls on Earth at any one time. Most Level VI’s are much too involved with planning and directing from the spirit world to incarnate any longer. From the reports of the Level V’s I have had, it would seem the Level VI has no new lessons to learn, but I have a hunch a still-incarnating soul at Level V may not know all the esoteric tasks involved with master level entities. Once in a while during a session with a more advanced soul, I hear references to an even higher level of soul than Level VI. These entities, to whom even the masters report, are in the darkest purple range of energy. These superior beings must be getting close to the creator. I am told these shadowy figures are elusive, but highly venerated beings in the spirit world.

The average client doesn’t know if spiritual guides should be placed in a less than divine category, or considered lesser gods because of their advancement. There is nothing wrong with any spiritual concept, as long as it provides comfort, is uplifting, and makes sense to each individual. Although some of my clients have the tendency to consider guides god-like-they are not God. In my opinion, guides are no more or less divine than we are, which is why they are seen as personal beings. In all my cases God is never seen. People in hypnosis say they feel the presence of a supreme power directing the spirit world, but they are uncomfortable using the word “God” to describe a creator. Perhaps the philosopher Spinoza said it best with these words: “God is not He who is, but That which is.”

Every soul has a spiritual higher power linked to its existence. All souls are part of the same divine essence generated from one oversoul. This intelligent energy is universal in scope and so we all share in divine status. If our soul reflects a small portion of the oversoul we call God, then our guides provide the mirror by which we

are able to see ourselves connected to this creator. 9

The Beginner Soul

THERE are two types of beginner souls: souls who are truly young in terms of

exposure to an existence out of the spirit world, and souls who have been reincarnating on Earth for a long period of relative time, but still remain immature. I find beginner souls of both types in Levels I and II.

I believe almost three-quarters of all souls who inhabit human bodies on Earth

today are still in the early stages of development. I know this is a grossly discouraging statement because it means most of our human population is operating at the lower end of their training. On the other hand, when I consider a world population beset by so much negative cross-cultural misunderstanding and violence, I am not inclined to change my opinion about the high percentage of lower level souls on Earth. However, I do think each century brings improvement of awareness in all humans.

Over a number of years, I have maintained a statistical count of client soul levels in

my case files. Undoubtedly, the figures are weighted to some extent at the lower levels because these subjects were not selected at random. My cases could be over- represented by souls at the lower levels of development because they are the very people who require assistance in life and might come to me seeking information.

For those who are curious, the percentages by soul level of all my cases are as follows: Level I, 42%; Level II, 31%; Level III, 17%; Level IV, 9%; and Level V, 1%. Projecting these figures into a world population of five billion souls would be unreliable, using my small sample. Nevertheless, I see the Possibility we may have only a few hundred thousand people on Earth at Level V.

My subjects state that souls end their incarnations on Earth when they reach full

maturity. What is significant about the high percentage of souls in the early stages of development is our rapidly multiplying population and the urgency babies have for available souls. We are increasing by 260,000 children per day. This human necessity for souls means they must normally be drawn from a spiritual pool of less advanced entities who require more incarnations to progress and are, therefore, more available to return to another life.

I am sensitive to the feelings of clients whom I know to be in the early stages of development. I cannot count the number of times a new client has come into my office and said, “I know I am an old soul, but I seem to have problems coping with life.” We all want to be advanced souls because most people hate to be considered a beginner in anything. Every case is unique. There are many variables within each soul’s character, individual development rate, and the qualities of the guides assigned to them. I see my task as offering interpretations of what subjects report to me about the progression of their souls.

I have had many cases where a client has been incarnating for up to 30,000 years on Earth and is still in the lower levels of I and II. The reverse is also true with a few people, although rapid acceleration in spiritual development is uncommon. As with any educational model, students find certain lessons more difficult than others. One of my clients has not been able to conquer envy for 850 years in numerous lives, but she did not have too much trouble overcoming bigotry by the end of this same

period.  Another  has  spent  nearly  1700  years  off-and-on  seeking  some  sort  of authoritative power over others. However, he has gained compassion.

The next case represents an absolute beginner soul. This novice shows no evidence of having a spiritual group assignment as yet, because she has lived too few past

lives. In her first life she was killed in 1260 AD in Northern Syria by a Mongol invasion. Her name was Shabez,  and her settlement was sacked,  resulting in a

terrible massacre of the inhabitants when she was five years old.

Case 20

Dr. N: Shabez, now that you have died and returned to the spirit world, tell me what you feel?

S: (shouts) Cheated! That life was so cruel! I couldn’t stay. I was only a little girl unable to help anybody. What a mistake!

Dr. N: Who made this mistake?

S: (in a conspiratorial tone) My leader. I trusted his judgment, but he was wrong to send me into that cruel life to be killed before my life got started.

Dr. N: But you did agree to come into the body of Shabez?

S: (upset) I didn’t know Earth would be such an awful place full of terror-I wasn’t given all the facts-the whole stupid life was a mistake and my leader is responsible.

Dr. N: Didn’t you learn anything from this life?

S: (pause) I started to learn to love … yes, that was wonderful … my brother … parents … but it was so short …

Dr. N: Did anything good come out of this life? S: My brother Ahmed… to be with him …

Dr. N: Is Ahmed in your present life?

S: (suddenly my subject rises out of her chair) I can’t believe it! Ahmed is my husband Bill-the same person-how can …?

Dr. N: (after calming subject, I explain the process of soul transference to a new body and then continue) Do you see Ahmed on your return to the spirit world after dying as Shabez?

S: Yes, our leader brings us together here … where we stay.

Dr. N: Does Ahmed emit the same energy color as yourself or are there differences? S: (pause) We … are all white.

Dr. N: Describe what you do here.

S: While our leader comes and goes, Ahmed and I… just work together. Dr. N: Doing what?

S: We search out what we think about ourselves-our experience on Earth. I’m still sore about us being killed so soon … but there was

happiness … walking in the sun … breathing the air of Earth … love.

Dr. N: Go back further to the time before you and Ahmed had your life together, perhaps when you were alone. What was it like being created?

S: (disturbed) I don’t know… I was just here .. with thought.

Dr. N: Do you remember during your own creation when you first began to think as an intelligent being?

S: I realized … I existed … but I didn’t know myself as myself until I was moved into this quiet place alone with Ahmed.

Dr. N: Are you saying your individual identity came more into focus when you began interacting with another soul entity besides your guide?

S: Yes, with Ahmed.

Dr. N: Keep to the time before Ahmed. What was it like for you then? S: Warm … nurturing … my mind opening .. she was with me then. Dr. N: She? I thought your leader displayed a male gender to you?

S: I don’t mean him… someone was around me with the presence of a … mother and father … mostly mother

Dr. N: What presence?

S: I don’t know … a soft light … changing features… I can’t grasp it … loving messages … encouragement

Dr. N: This was at the time of your creation as a soul?

S: Yes … it’s all hazy … there were others … helpers … when I was born. Dr. N: What else can you tell me about the place of your creation?

S: (long pause) Others … love me … in a nursery… then we left and I was with Ahmed and our leader.

Dr. N: Who actually created you and Ahmed? S: The One.

I have learned there seems to be a kind of spirit world maternity ward for newborn souls. One client  told me, “This place is where infantile light  is arranged in a honeycomb fashion as unhatched eggs, ready to be used.” In Chapter Four, on displaced souls, we saw how damaged souls can be “remodeled .” My conjecture is these creation centers described by Shabez have the same function. In the next chapter, Case 22 will explain more about spiritual areas of ego creation where raw, undefined energy can be manipulated into a genesis of Self.

Case 20 has some obvious traits of the immature soul. The subject is a sixty-seven- year-old woman who has had a lifetime of getting into disastrous ruts. She does not demonstrate a generosity of spirit toward others, nor does she take much personal responsibility for her actions. This client came to me searching for answers as to why life had “cheated me out of happiness.” In our session we learned Ahmed was her first husband, Bill. She  left him long ago for another man, whom she also divorced, because of her inability to bond with people. She does not feel close to any of her children.

The beginner soul may live a number of lives in a state of confusion and ineffectiveness, influenced by an Earth curriculum which is different from the coherence and supportive harmony of the spirit world. Less developed souls are inclined to surrender their will to the controlling aspects of human society, with a socio-economic structure which causes a large proportion of people  to be subordinate to others. The inexperienced soul tends to be stifled by a lack of independent thinking. They also lean towards being self-centered and don’t easily accept others for who they are.

It is not my intention to paint a totally bleak portrait of souls who comprise so much of our world population-if my estimates of the high numbers of this category of soul are accurate. Lower level souls are also able to lead lives which have many positive elements. Otherwise, no one would advance. No stigma should be attached to these souls, since every soul was once a beginner.

If we become angry, resentful, and confused by our life situations, this does not

necessarily mean we possess an underdeveloped spirit. Soul development is a complex matter where we all progress by degrees in a variety of areas in an uneven manner. The important thing is to recognize our faults, avoid self-denial, and have the courage and self-sufficiency to make constant adjustments in our lives.

One of the clear indications that souls are coming out of novice status is when they leave their spiritual existence of relative isolation. They are removed from small

family cocoons with other novices and placed in a larger group of beginner souls. At this stage they are less dependent upon close supervision and special nurturing from their guides.

For the younger souls, the first realization that they are part of a substantial group

of spirits like themselves is a source of delight. Generally, I find this important spiritual event has occurred by the end of a fifth life on Earth, regardless of the relative length of time the novice soul was in semi-isolation. Some of the entities of these new spiritual groups are the souls of relatives and friends with whom the young soul was associated in their few past lives on Earth. What is especially significant about the formation of a new cluster group is that other peer group members are also newer souls who find themselves together for the first time.

In Chapter Seven on placement, we saw how a soul group appeared when Case 16

rejoined them,  and the manner in which life experiences were studied through pictorial scenes, as reported by this subject. Case 21 will offer a more detailed account of spiritual group dynamics and how members impact on each other. The capacity of souls to learn certain lessons may be stronger or weaker between one another depending upon inclination, motivation, and prior incarnation experience. Cluster groups are carefully designed to give peer support through a sensitivity of identity traits between all members. This cohesiveness is far beyond what we know on Earth.

Although the next case is presented from the perspective of one group member, his superconscious mind provides an objectivity into the process of what goes on in groups. My subject will describe a grandiose, male-oriented spiritual group. The raucous entities of this group are linked by exhibitionism which could be labeled narcissistic. The common approaches these souls use in finding personal value is one indication why they are working together.

The extravagant behavior modes of these souls is offset, to some extent, by their spiritual prescience. Since the complete truth is known by all group members about each other in a telepathic world, humor is indispensible. Some readers may find it hard to accept that souls do joke with each other about their failings, but humor is the basis upon which self-deception and hypocrisy are exposed.

Ego defenses are so well understood by everyone in spiritual groups that evidence of

a mastery of oneself among peers is a strong incentive for change. Spiritual “therapy” occurs because of honest peer feedback, mutual trust, and the desire to advance with others over eons of time. Souls can

hurt, and they need caring entities around them. The curative power of spiritual

group interaction is quite remarkable.

Soul members network by the use of criticism and acclaim as each strives toward

common goals. Some of the best help I am able to give my clients comes from information I receive about their soul group. Spiritual groups are a primary means of soul instruction. Learning appears to come as much from one’s peers as from the skill of guides who monitor these groups.

In the case which follows, my client has finished reliving his last past life as a Dutch artist living in Amsterdam. He died of pneumonia at a young age in 1841, about the time he was gaining recognition for his painting. We have just rejoined his spiritual group when my subject bursts out laughing.

Case 21

Dr. N: Why are you laughing?

S: I’m back with my friends and they are giving me a hard time. Dr. N: Why?

S: Because I’m wearing my fancy buckled shoes and the bright

green velvet jacket-with yellow piping down the sides-I’m flashing them my big floppy painter’s hat.

Dr. N: They are kidding you about projecting yourself wearing these clothes?

S: You know it! I was so vain about clothes and I cut a really fine figure as an artist in Amsterdam cafe society. I enjoyed this role and

played it well. I don’t want it to end.

Dr. N: What happens next?

S: My old friends are around me and we are talking about the foolishness of life. We rib each other about how dramatic it all is down there on Earth and how seriously we all take our lives.

Dr.  N:  You and your friends don’t think it  is important to take life on Earth seriously?

S: Look, Earth is one big stage play-we all know that. Dr. N: And your group is united in this feeling?

S: Sure, we see ourselves as actors in a gigantic stage production.

Dr. N: How many entities are in your particular cluster group in the spirit world?   S: (pause) Well, we work with … some others … but there are five of us who are

close.

Dr. N: By what name do they call you?

S: L … Lemm-no that’s not right-it’s Allum … that’s me. Dr. N: All right, Allum, tell me about your close friends.

S: (laughs) Norcross … he is the funniest … at least he is the most boisterous. Dr. N: Is Norcross the leader of your group?

S: No, he is just the loudest. We are all equal here, but we have our differences. Norcross is blunt and opinionated.

Dr. N: Really, then how would you characterize his Earth behavior? S: Oh, as being rather unscrupulous-but not dangerous.

Dr. N: Who is the quietest and most unassuming member of your group? S: (quizzical) How did you guess-it’s Vilo.

Dr. N: Does this attribute make Vilo the least effective contributing member of your group?

S: Where did you get that idea? Vilo comes up with some interesting thoughts about the rest of us.

Dr. N: Give me an example.

S: In my life in Holland-the old Dutch couple who adopted me after my parents died-they had a beautiful garden. Vilo reminds me of my debt to them-that the garden triggered my painting-to see life as an artist … and what I didn’t do with my talent.

Dr. N: Does Vilo convey any other thoughts to you about this?

S: (sadly) That I should have done less drinking and strutting around and painted more. That my art was … reaching the point of touching people … (subject pulls his shoulders back) but I wasn’t going to stay cooped up painting all the time!

Dr. N: Do you have respect for Vilo’s opinions?

S: (with a deep sigh) Yes, we know he is our conscience. Dr. N: So, what do you say to him?

S: I say, “Innkeeper, mind your own business-you were having fun, too.” Dr. N: Vilo was an innkeeper?

S: Yes, in Holland. Engaged in a business for profit, I might add.

Dr. N: Do you feel this was wrong of Vilo?

S: (contrite) No … not really … we all know he took losses to help those poor people on the road who needed food and shelter. His life was beneficial to others.

Dr.  N:  I  would  guess  telepathic  communication  makes  it  hard  to  sustain  your arguments when the complete truth is known by everyone?

S: Yes, we all know Vilo is progressing-damn!

Dr. N: Does it bother you that Vilo may be advancing faster than the rest of you?

S: Yes … we have had such fun … (subject then recalls an earlier life with Vilo where they traveled together as brothers in India)

Dr. N: What will happen to Vilo?

S: He is going to leave us soon-we all know that-to have associations with the others who have also gone.

Dr. N: How many souls have left your original group, Allum?

S: (A long pause, and then ruefully) Oh … a couple have moved on … we will eventually catch up to them … but not for a while. They haven’t disappeared-we just don’t see their energy as much.

Dr. N: Name the others of your immediate group for me besides Vilo and Norcross.

S: (brightening) Dubri and Trinian-now those two know how to have a good time!

Dr. N: What is the most obvious identifying characteristic of your group?

S: (with relish) Adventure! Excitement! We have some real pioneer types around here. (subject rushes on happily) Dubri just came off a wild life as a sea captain. Norcross was a free-wheeling trading merchant. We live life to its fullest because we are talented at taking what life has to offer.

Dr. N: I’m hearing a lot of self-gratification here, Allum.

S:  (defensively)  And  what’s  wrong  with  that?  Our  group  is  not  made  up  of shrinking violets, you know!

Dr. N: What’s the story on Trinian’s last life?

S: (reacts boisterously) He was a Bishop! Can you believe it? What hypocrisy.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: What self-deception! Norcross, Dubri, and I tell Trinian his choice to be a churchman had nothing to do with goodness, charity, or spirituality.

Dr. N: And what does Trinian’s soul mentally project to you in self-defense? S: He tells us he gave solace to many people.

Dr. N: What do you, Norcross and Dubri, tell him in response?

S: That he is going soft. Norcross tells him he wanted money or otherwise he would have been a simple priest. Ha-that’s telling him-and I’m saying the same thing. You can guess what Dubri thinks about all this!

Dr. N: No, tell me.

S: Humph-that Trinian picked a large city with a rich cathedral-spilling a ton of money into Trinian’s fat pockets.

Dr. N: And what do you tell Trinian yourself?

S: Oh, I’m attracted to the fancy robes he wore-bright red-the finest of cloth-his Bishop’s ring which he loved-and all the gold and silver around. I also mention his desire to bask in adulation from his flock. Trinian can hide nothing from us-he wanted an easy, cushy life where he was well-fed.

Dr. N: Does he try to explain his motivations for choosing this life?

S: Yes, but Norcross reproaches him. He confronts Trinian on seducing a young girl in the vestry. (jovially) Yes, it actually happened! … So much for providing solace to parishioners. We know Trinian for who he really is-an outright rogue!

Dr. N: Does Trinian offer any excuses to the group for his conduct?

S: (subject becomes quieter) Oh, the usual. He got carried away with the girl’s need for him-she had no family-he was lonely in his choice of a celibate church life. He says he was trying to get away from the customary lives we all choose by going into the church-that he fell in love with the girl.

Dr. N: And how do you, Norcross and Dubri, feel about Trinian now?

S: (severely) We think he is trying to follow Vilo (as an advancing soul), but he failed. His pious intentions just didn’t work for him.

Dr. N: Allum, you sound rather cynical about Trinian’s attempts to improve himself and make changes. Tell me honestly, how do you feel about Trinian?

S: Oh, we are just teasing him … after all…

Dr. N: Your amusement sounds as if you are scornful over what may have been Trinian’s good intentions.

S: (sadly) You’re right … and we all know that … but, you see … Norcross, Dubri, and I… well, we don’t want to lose him from the group, too…

Dr. N: What does Vilo say about Trinian?

S: He defends Trinian’s original good intentions and tells him that he fell into a trap of self-gratification during this life in the church. Trinian wants too much admiration and attention.

Dr. N: Forgive me for passing judgment on your group, Allum, but it seems to me this is something you all want, except perhaps Vilo?

S: Hey, Vilo can be pretty smug. Let me tell you, his problem is conceit and Dubri tells him that in no uncertain terms.

Dr. N: And does Vilo deny it?

S: No, he doesn’t … he says at least he is working on it. Dr. N: Who among you is the most sensitive to criticism?

S: (pause) Oh, I guess it would be Norcross, but it’s hard for all of us to accept our faults.

Dr. N: Level with me, Allum. Does it bother the members of your soul group when things can’t be hidden from the others-when all your shortcomings in a past life are revealed?

S: (pause) We are sensitive about it-but not morbid. There is great understanding here among us. I wanted to give artistic pleasure to people and grow through the meaning of art. So, what did I do? I ran around the Amsterdam canals a lot at night and got caught up in the fun and games. My original purpose was pushed aside.

Dr. N: If you admit all this to the group, what kind of feedback do you get? For example, how do you and Norcross regard each other?

S: Norcross often points out I hate to take responsibility for myself and others. With Norcross it’s wealth … he loves power … but we are both selfish … except that I am

more vain. Neither of us gets many gold stars.

Dr. N: How does Dubri fit into your group with his faults?

S: He enjoys controlling others by leadership. He is a natural leader, more than the rest of us. He was a sea captain-a pirate-one tough individual. You wouldn’t want to cross him.

Dr. N: Was he cruel?

S: No, just hard. He was respected as a captain. Dubri was merciless against his opponents in sea battles, but he took care of his own men.

Dr. N: You have told me that Vilo assisted people who were in need on the road, but you haven’t said much about the positive side of your lives. Is anyone in your group given any gold stars for unselfish acts?

S: (intently) There is something else about Dubri … Dr. N: What is that?

S: He did one outstanding thing. Once, during heavy seas, a sailor fell off the mast into the ocean and was drowning. Dubri tied a line

around his waist and dove off the deck. He risked his life and saved a shipmate.

Dr. N: When this incident is discussed in your group, how do you all respond to Dubri?

S: We praise him for what he did with admiration in our minds. We came to the same conclusion that none of us could match this single act of courage in our last lives.

Dr. N: I see. Yet, Vilo’s life at the inn, feeding and housing people who could not pay him, may represent acts of unselfishness for a longer term and therefore is more praiseworthy?

S: Granted, and we give him that. (laughs) He gets more gold stars than Dubri. Dr. N: Do you get any strokes from the group for your last life?

S: (pause) I had to scramble for patrons to survive as a painter, but I was good to people … it wasn’t much … I enjoyed giving pleasure. My group recognizes I had a good heart.

Every one of my clients has special attachments to their soul group, regardless of character makeup. People tend to think of souls in the free state as being without

human deficiencies. Actually, I think there are many similarities between groups of souls close to each other and human family systems. For instance, I see Norcross as the rebellious scapegoat for this group of souls, while he and Allum are the inventory takers for everyone’s shortcomings. Allum said Norcross is usually the first to openly scrutinize any rationalizations or self-serving justifications of past life failures offered by the other members. He appears to have the least self-doubt and emotional investment over standards of conduct. This may define his own insecurity, because Norcross is probably fighting the hardest to keep up with the advancing group.

I suspect Allum himself could be the group’s mascot (often the youngest child in

human families), with all his clowning around, preening, and making light of serious issues. Some souls in spiritual groups do seem to me to be more fragile and protected than other group members. Vilo’s conduct demonstrates he is the current hero (or eldest family member), with his drive for excellence. I have the impression from Allum that Vilo is the least defiant of the group, partly because he has the best record of achievement

in recent past lives. Just as in human family systems, the roles of spiritual group members can be switched around, but I was told Vilo’s kinetic energy is turning pink, signaling his growth into Level II.

I attach human labels on ethereal spirits because, after all, souls who come to Earth

do show themselves through human characteristics. However, I don’t see hatred, suspicion, and disrespect in soul groups. In a climate of compassion, there are no power struggles for control among these peer groups whose members are unable to manipulate each other or keep secrets. Souls distrust themselves, not each other. I do see fortitude, desire, and the will to keep trying in their new physical lives. In an effort to confirm some of my observations about the social dynamics among spiritual group members in this case, I ask Allum a few more questions.

Dr. N: Allum, do you believe your criticism of each other is always constructive?

S: Sure, there is no real hostility. We have fun at each other’s expense-I admit that- but it’s just a form of … acknowledgement of who we really are, and where we should be going.

Dr. N: Is any member of your soul group ever made to feel shame or guilt about a past life?

S: Those are … human weapons… and too narrow for what we feel.

Dr. N: Well, let me approach your feelings as a soul in another way. Do you feel safer getting feedback from one of your group members more than another?

S: No, I don’t. We all respect each other immensely. The greatest criticism comes from within ourselves.

Dr. N: Do you have any regrets for your conduct in any past life?

S: (long pause) Yes … I feel sorry if I have hurt someone … and then have everyone here know all about my mistakes. But we learn.

Dr. N: And what do you do about this knowledge?

S: Talk among ourselves… and try to make amends the next time.

Dr. N: From what you told me earlier, I had the idea that you, Nor-cross, and Dubri might be releasing some pent-up feelings over your own shortcomings by dumping on each other.

S: (thoughtfully) We make cynical remarks, but it’s not like being human anymore. Without our bodies we take criticism a little differently. We see each other for who we are without resentment or jealousy.

Dr. N: I don’t want to put words in your mouth, but I just wondered if all this flamboyance exhibited by your group might indicate underlying feelings of unworthiness?

S: Oh, that’s something else again. Yes, we do get discouraged as souls, and feel unworthy about our abilities … to meet the confidence placed in us to improve.

Dr. N: So, while you have self-doubts about yourselves, it’s okay to make cynical remarks about each other’s motivations?

S: Of course, but we want to be recognized by one another for being sincere in working on our individual programs. Sometimes self-pride gets in the way and we use each other to move past this.

In the next passage of dialogue, I introduce another spiritual phenomenon relating to group healing. I have heard a number of variations about this activity which are supported by the interpretations of Case 21.

Dr. N: Now Allum, as long as we are discussing how your group members relate to each other, I want you to describe the spiritual energy by which you all are assisted in this process.

S: (hesitant) I’m not sure I can tell you …

Dr. N: Think carefully. Isn’t there another means by which your group is brought into harmony with each other with intelligent energy?

S: (long pause) Ah … you mean from the cones?

Dr. N: (the word “cone” is new to me, but I know I’m on the right track) Yes, the

cones. Explain what you know about them relative to your group. S: (slowly) Well, the cones do assist us.

Dr. N: Please continue, and tell me what the cone does. I think I have heard about this before, but I want your version.

S: It’s shaped to go around us, you know.

Dr. N: Shaped in what way? Try to be more explicit.

S: It is cylindrical-very bright-it is above and all around us. The cone is small at the top and wide at the bottom, so it fits over all of us-like getting under a great white cap-we can float under the cone in order to use it.

Dr. N: Are you sure this isn’t the shower of healing you experienced right after your return to the spirit world?

S: Oh no, that was more individual purification-to repair Earth damage. I thought you knew …

Dr. N: I do. I want you to explain how the cone is different from the shower of healing.

S: The top funnels energy down as a waterfall in a spreading circle around all of us and allows us to really concentrate on our mental sameness as a group.

Dr. N: And what do you feel when you are under the cone?

S: We can feel all our thoughts being expanded … then drawn up … and returned back … with more knowledge added.

Dr. N: Does this intelligent energy help your unity as a group in terms of more focused thinking?

S: Yes, it does.

Dr. N: (deliberately confrontational) To be frank with you, Allum, I wonder if this cone is brainwashing your original thoughts? After all, the arguments and disagreements between you and the others of your group are what make you individuals.

S: (laughs) We aren’t brainwashed! Don’t you know anything about the afterlife? It gives us more collective insight to work together.

Dr. N: Is the cone always available?

S: It is there when we need it. Dr. N: Who operates the cone? S: Those who watch over us. Dr. N: Your guide?

S:(bursts out laughing) Shato? I think he is too busy traveling around on his circuit. Dr. N: What do you mean?

S: We think of him as a circus master-a stage manager-of our group. Dr. N: Does Shato take an active part in your group deliberations?

S: (shakes head) Not really-guides are above a lot of this stuff. We are left on our own quite a bit, and that’s fine.

Dr. N: Do you think there is one specific reason for the absences of Shato?

S: (pause) Oh, he probably gets bored with our lack of progress. He loves to show off as the master of ceremonies though.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: (chuckling) Oh, to suddenly appear in front of us during one of our heated debates-throwing off blue sparks-looking like a wizard who is an all-powerful moderator!

Dr. N: A wizard?

S: (still laughing) Shato appears in long, sapphire-blue robes with a tall, pointed hat. With his flowing white beard he looks simply great, and we do admire him.

Dr. N: I get the picture of a spiritual Merlin.

S: An Oriental Merlin, if you will. Very inscrutable sometimes. He loves making a grand entrance in full costume, especially when we are about to choose another life. He knows how much we appreciate his act.

Dr. N: With all this stage management, I am curious if Shato has much emotional connection to your group as a serious guide.

S: (scoffing at me) Listen, he knows we are a wild bunch, and he plays to that as a

non-conformist himself-but he is also very wise.

Dr.  N:  Is  Shato  indulgent  with  your  group?  He  doesn’t  seem  to  limit  your extravagance very much.

S: Shato gets results from us because he is not heavy-handed or preachy. That wouldn’t sit well with our people. We respect him.

Dr. N: Do you see Shato as a consultant who comes only once in a while to observe, or as an active supervisor?

S: He will pop in unannounced to set up a problem for our discussions. Then he leaves, coming back later to listen to how we might solve certain things …

Dr. N: Give me an example of a major problem with your group.

S: (pause) Shato knows we identify too much as actors playing parts on Earth. He hits … on superficiality. He is trying to get us to cast

ourselves from the inside out, rather than the reverse.

Dr. N: So Shato’s instruction is serious, but he knows you all like to have fun along the way?

S: Yeah, that’s why Shato is with us, I think. He knows we waste opportunities. He assists us in interpreting the predicaments we get

into in order to get the best out of us.

Dr. N: From what you have told me, I have the impression that your spiritual group is run as a kind of workshop directed by your guide.

S: Yes, he builds up our morale and keeps us going.

Unlike educational classrooms or therapy groups on Earth, I have learned teacher- counselors in the spirit world are not confined as group activity leaders on a continuous basis. Although Shato and his students are a colorful family of souls, there is much here that is typical of all cluster groups. A guide’s leadership is more parental than dictatorial. In this case, Shato is a directive counselor while not being possessive, nor does he pose a threat to the group. There is warm acceptance of these young souls by this empathic guide, who seems to cater to their masculine inclinations. I will close this case with a few final questions about the group as a spiritual unit.

Dr. N: Why is your group so male-oriented on Earth?

S: Earth is an action planet which rewards physical exertion. We are inclined to male roles so we can grab hold and mold events … to dominate our surroundings …

to be recognized.

Dr. N: Women are also influential in society. How can your group hope to progress without more experience in female roles?

S: We know this, but we have such a fierce desire to be independent. In fact, we often expend too much energy for too little return, but the female aspects don’t interest us as much right now.

Dr. N: If you have no female counterparts in your immediate group, where do you go for those entities to complement your lives on Earth?

S: Nearby there are some who relate better to female roles. I get along with Josey- she has been with me in some of my lives-Trinian is attached to Nyala-and there are others

Dr. N: Allum, I would like to end our conversation about your spiritual associations by asking you what you know about the origin of your group.

S: (long pause) I … can’t tell you … we just came together at one time.

Dr. N: Well, someone had to bring those of you with the same attributes together. Do you think it was God?

S: (puzzled) No, below the source … the higher ones … Dr. N: Shato, or other guides like him?

S: No, higher, I think… the planners… I don’t know any more.

Dr. N: A while back you told me some of your old friends were reducing their active participation in your group due to their development. Do you ever get new members?

S: Never.

Dr. N: Is this because a new member might have trouble assimilating with the rest of you?

S: (laughs) We aren’t that bad! It’s just we are too closely connected by thought for an outsider, and they would not have shared our past experiences.

Dr. N: During your discussions about these past lives together, does your group believe it contributes to the betterment of human society?

S:  (pause)  We  want  our  presence  in  a  community  to  challenge  conventions-to

question basic assumptions. I think we bring nerve into our physical lives-and laughter, too …

Dr. N: And when your spiritual group has finished discussing what is necessary to further your aims, do you look forward to a new life?

S: (zestfully) Oh yeah! Every time I leave for a new role on Earth, I say goodbye with, “See you all back here A.D. (after death):’

This case is an example of like-minded souls with ego-inflating needs who support and validate each other’s feelings and attitudes. Herein lies the key to understanding the formation of soul groups. I have learned that many spiritual clusters have sub- groups made up of entities whose identities are linked by similar issues blocking their advancement. Even so, these souls do have differences in strengths and weaknesses. Each group member contributes their best attributes toward advancing the goals of others in the family.

I do not want to leave the impression from Case 21 that the few remaining souls in this inner circle of close friends represent the behavior traits of everyone in the original cluster. When a primary group of, say fifteen or twenty souls is formed, there are marked similarities in talent and interests. But a support group is also designed to have differences in disposition, feelings, and reactions. Typically, my subjects report a male-female oriented mixture of one or more of the following character types in their groups: 1) Courageous, resilient, a tenacious survivor. 2) Gentle, quiet, devoted, and rather innocent. 3) Fun-loving, humorous, a jokester and risk-taker. 4) Serious, dependable, cautious. 5) Flamboyant, enthusiastic, frank. 6) Patient, steady, perceptive. 7) Thoughtful, calculating, determined. 8) Innovative, resourceful, adaptable. These differences give a group balance. However, if an entire group displays a strong tendency toward flamboyance or daring, the most cautious member would appear less so to another group of souls.

There is no question that the souls in Case 21 are in for a long development period.

Yet they do contribute to the vitality of earth. Subsequent questioning of this subject revealed the paths of these souls continue to cross in the twentieth century. For instance, Allum is a graphic designer and part-time professional guitar player involved with Josey, who is a singer. The fact that the closely-knit souls in this case were so male-oriented in their physical lives does hot take away from their ability to associate with young souls with predominantly female preferences. Cluster groups are gender-mixed. As I have mentioned, truly advanced souls have balanced gender preferences in their physical life choices.

The desire for expression of self-identity is an important motivating factor for souls choosing to come to Earth to learn practical lessons. Sometimes a reason for discomfort with the lower level soul is the discrepancy in perception of Self in their free soul state, compared to how they act in human bodies. Souls can get confused with who they are in life. Case 21 did not seem to exhibit any conflict in this area, but I question the rate of growth achieved by Allum in recent past lives. However, the basic experience of living a life may compensate, to some extent, for the lack of insight gained from that life.

Our shortcomings and moral conflicts are recognized as faults far more in the spirit world than on Earth. We have seen how the nuances of decision-making are dissected and analyzed in spiritual groups. Cluster members have worked together for such a long time in earth years that entities become accountable to each other and the group as a whole. This fosters a great sense of belonging in all spiritual groups, and can give the appearance of thought barriers between clusters, especially with souls in the lower levels. Nevertheless, while rejection and loneliness is part of every soul’s life in human form, in the spirit world our individual ego-identity is constantly enhanced by warm peer group socialization.

The social structure of soul groups is not the same as groups of people on Earth.

Although there is some evidence of paired friendships, I don’t hear about cliques, stars of attraction, or isolated souls within clusters. I am told souls do spend time alone in the silence of personal reflection when attached to a group. Souls are intimate entities in their family relationships on Earth and engagement in group community life in the spirit world. And yet, souls do learn much from solitude.

I understand from my white-light subjects that souls at the beginning levels are

frequently separated from their groups to individually work on simple energy projects. One rather young soul recalled being alone in an enclosure trying to put together “a moving puzzle” of dissembled geometric shapes of cylinders, spheres, cubes, and squares with self-produced energy. It was described as being “multi- dimensional, colorful, and holographic” in nature. He said, “We have to learn to intensify our energy to bring the diffused and jumbled into focus to give it some kind of basic shape.” Another subject added, “These tests give the Watchers information about our imagination, creativity, and ingenuity, and they offer us encouragement rather than being judgmental.”

Souls on all levels engage in another all important activity when they are alone.

They are expected to spend time mentally concentrating on helping those on Earth (or other physical worlds) whom they have known and cared about. From what I can gather, they go to a space some call the place of projection. Here they enter an “interdimensional field of floating, silvery-blue energy,” and project outward to a geographical area of their choosing. I am told this is a mental exercise in “holding and releasing positive vibrational energy to create a territory.” This means souls ride on their thought waves to specific people, buildings, or a given area of land in an attempt to comfort or effect change.

10

The Intermediate Soul

ONCE our souls advance past Level II into the intermediate ranges of development, group cluster activity is considerably reduced. This does not mean we return to the kind of isolation we saw with the novice soul. Souls evolving into the middle development levels have less association with primary groups because they have acquired the maturity and experience  for operating more independently. These souls are also reducing the number of their incarnations.

Within Levels III and IV we are at last ready for more serious responsibilities. The relationship we have with our guides now changes from teacher-student to one of colleagues working together. Since our old guides have acquired new student groups, it is now our turn to develop teaching skills which will eventually qualify us

for the responsibilities of being a guide to someone else.

I have said the transitional stages of Levels II and IV are particularly difficult for

me in pinpointing a soul’s development. For instance, some Level IV souls begin targeting themselves toward primary cluster teacher training while still in Level III, while other subjects who are clearly Level IV’s find they are unsuited to be effective guides.

Despite their high standards of morality and conduct, entities who have reached the intermediate levels of maturity are modest about their achievements. Naturally, each case is different, but I notice more composure with clients in this stage and above. I see trust rather than suspicion toward the motives of others on both a conscious and subconscious level. These people demonstrate a forward-looking attitude of faith and confidence for the future of humanity, which encourages those around them.

My questions to the more mature soul are directed to esoteric ideas of purpose and

creation. I admit to taking advantage of the higher knowledge possessed by these souls for the sort of spiritual information others lack. There have been clients who have told me they felt I pushed them rather hard in drawing out their spiritual memories and I know they are right. The more advanced souls of this world possess remarkable comprehension of a universal life plan. I want to learn as much as possible from them.

My next case falls into the upper portion of Level III development, radiating a yellow energy devoid of any reddish tones. This client was a small, nondescript man nearly fifty years old. His demeanor was quietly courteous towards me when we met, and I thought him a trifle solemn. I felt  his unassuming detachment was somewhat studied, almost as a cover for stronger emotions. The most striking feature about him was his dark, morose eyes, which grew more intense as he began to talk about himself in a direct and persuasive manner.

He told me he worked for a charitable organization dispensing food to the homeless,

and that he had once been a journalist. This client had traveled quite some distance to discuss with me his concern over a decline in enthusiasm for his work. He said he was tired and wanted to spend the rest of his life quietly alone. His first session involved a review of the highlights of many past lives so we could better evaluate a proper course for the remainder of his current life.

I began by regressing the subject rapidly through a series of early lives starting

from his first life as a Cro-Magnon man in a Stone Age culture some 30,000 years ago. As we moved forward in time, I noted a consistency of lone-wolf behavior patterns as opposed to normal tribal integration. From about 3,000 BC to 500 BC, my client lived a number of lives in the Middle East during the rise of the early city states in Sumerian, Babylonian, and Egyptian cultures. Nevertheless, even in lives as a woman, this subject often avoided family ties, including having no children. As a man, he showed a preference for nomadism.

By the time we reached a life in Europe during the Dark Ages, I was becoming

accustomed to a rebellious soul resisting tyrannical societies. During his lives, my subject worked to uplift people from fear, while remaining non-aligned to opposing factions. Suffering hardships and many setbacks, he continued as a wanderer with an obsession for freedom of movement.

Some lives were not too productive, but during the twelfth century I found him in Central America in the body of an Aztec, organizing a band

of Indians against the oppressions of a high priest. He was killed in this setting as a virtual  outcast,  while  promoting  non-violent  relations between  tribes  who  were

traditional enemies.

In the fourteenth century, this soul was a European chronicler, traveling the silk

road to Cathay to gain understanding of the peoples of Asia. Always facile with languages (as he is today), my client died in Asia as an old man happily living in a peasant village. In Japan, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, he was a member of the clan of the Bleeding Crane. These men were respected, independent Samurai mercenaries. At the end of this life my subject was living in seclusion from the ruling Tokugawa shoguns, because he had advised their weaker opponents on battle strategy.

Frequently the outsider, always an explorer searching for truth across many lands,

this soul continued to seek a rational meaning to life while giving aid to those he met along the way. I was surprised when he popped up as the wife of an American farmer on the frontier in the nineteenth century. The farmer died soon after their marriage. I learned my subject had deliberately incarnated to be a widow with children, tied to a piece of property, as an exercise in the loss of mobility.

When this part of his session ended I knew I was working with a more advanced,

older soul, even though he had a great many lives we did not review. Since this soul is approaching Level IV, I would not have been surprised if his first appearance on Earth had gone back 70,000 years rather than half that amount of time. However, as I have mentioned, it is not an absolute prerequisite that souls have hundreds of physical lives in order to advance. I once had a client who entered into a Level III state of awareness after only 4,000 years-an outstanding performance.

I talked to my client about his current life and his customary methods of learning in previous lives. He explained he had never been married, and that social non- alignments worked best for him. I suggested a few alternatives for his consideration. Primarily, I felt his lack of intimacy with people in too many lives was obstructing his progress. When this session ended, he was anxious that we explore his mind further for perceptions about the spirit world in another session. Upon his arrival the next day, I placed him in a superconscious state and we went back to work.

Case 22

Dr. N: By what name are you called in the spirit world? S: I am called Nenthum.

Dr. N: Nenthum, do you have spirits around you right now or are you alone? S: (pause) I am with two of my long-time companions.

Dr. N: What are their names? S: Raoul and Senji.

Dr. N: And are the three of you part of a larger spiritual group of souls working together?

S: We were … but now the three of us work… more by ourselves. Dr. N: What are the three of you doing at this moment?

S: We are discussing the best ways to help each other during our incarnations. Dr. N: Tell me what you do for each other.

S: I help Senji to forgive herself for mistakes and appreciate her own worth. She needs to stop being a mother-figure all the time on Earth.

Dr. N: How does she assist you?

S: To… see my lack of a sense of belonging.

Dr. N: Give me an example of Senji’s actions to assist you with this issue.

S: Well, she was my wife in Japan after my days as a warrior were over. (something is troubling Nenthum, and after a pause he adds the following) Raoul likes to pair with Senji and I am usually alone.

Dr. N: What about Raoul, how do you two help each other?

S: I help him with patience and he helps me with my tendency to avoid community life.

Dr. N: Are you always two males and a female in your incarnations on Earth? S: No, we can change-and do-but this is comfortable for us.

Dr. N: Why are the three of you working independently from the rest of your spiritual group?

S: (pause) Oh, we see them here… some have not gone forward with us … a few others are further ahead of us in their tasks.

Dr. N: Do you have a guide or teacher? S: (in a soft tone) She is Idis.

Dr. N: It sounds to me as if you have a high regard for her. Do you communicate well with Idis?

S: Yes I do-not that we don’t have our disagreements.

Dr. N: What is the main area of conflict between the two of you?

S: She doesn’t reincarnate much, and I tell her she should have more direct exposure to current conditions on Earth.

Dr. N: Are you mentally in tune with Idis to such an extent that you know all about her background training as a guide?

S: (shakes head while pondering) It isn’t that we can’t ask questions … but we can only question what we know. Idis reveals to me what she thinks is relevant to my own experience.

Dr. N:  Are guides able to screen their thoughts so you can’t read their minds completely?

S: Yes, the older ones get proficient at that-knowing how to filter things we don’t need to know because this knowledge would confuse us.

Dr. N: Will you learn to filter images? S: I already have … a little.

Dr. N: This must be why I have had many people tell me they have not been given definitive answers by their guides to all their questions.

S: Yes, and the intent of the question is important … when it was asked and why. Perhaps it was not in their best interests to be given certain information which might disrupt them.

Dr. N: Aside from her teaching techniques, are you fond of Idis in terms of her identity?

S: Yes … I just wish she would agree to come with me… once.

Dr. N: Oh, you would like to actually have an Earth incarnation with her?

S: (grins mischievously) I have told her we might relate better here if she would consent to come to Earth sometime and mate with me.

Dr. N: And what does Idis say to that suggestion?

S: She laughs and says she will think about it-if I can prove to her that it would be productive.

At this junction I ask Nenthum how long Idis has been associated with him and learn she was assigned these three entities when they moved into Level III. Nenthum, Raoul, and Senji are also under the tutelage of a beloved older master guide who has been with them since the beginning of their existence. It would be inaccurate to assume that more advanced spirits lead lonely spiritual lives. This subject told me he was in contact with many souls. Raoul and Senji were simply his closest friends.

Levels III and IV are significant stages for souls in their development because now

they are given increased responsibilities for younger souls. The status of a guide is not given to us all at once, however. As with many other aspects of soul life, we are carefully tested. The intermediate levels are trial periods for potential teachers. While our aura is still yellow, our mentors assign us a soul to look after, and then evaluate our leadership performance both in and out of physical incarnations.

Only if this preliminary training is successful are we allowed to function even at the

level of a junior guide. Not everyone is suited for teaching, but this does not keep us from becoming an advanced soul in the blue section. Guides, like everyone else, have different abilities and talents, as well as shortcomings. By the time we reach Level V, our soul aptitudes are well known in the spirit world. We are given occupational duties commensurate with our abilities, which I will go into later in this chapter. Different avenues of approach to learning eventually bring all of us to the same end in acquiring spiritual wholeness. The richness of diversity is part of a master plan for the advancement of every soul, and I am interested in how Case 22 is progressing in Level III.

Dr. N: Nenthum, can you tell me if Idis is preparing you to be a guide, assuming you

have an interest in that activity?

S: (quick response) I do have an interest.

Dr. N: Oh, then are you developing as a guide yourself?

S: (modestly) Don’t make too much of it. I’m really no more than a caretaker … helping Idis and taking directions.

Dr. N: Do you try and imitate her teaching style?

S: No, we are different. As an apprentice-a caretaker-I couldn’t do what she is able to accomplish, anyway.

Dr. N: When did you know you were ready to be a caretaker and begin assisting others spiritually?

S: It’s an … awareness which comes over you after a great number of lives … that you are more in balance with yourself than previously, and are able to aid people as a spirit and in the flesh.

Dr. N: Are you operating in or out of the spirit world as a caretaker at this time?

S: (has difficulty in forming a response) I’m out … in two lives. Dr. N: Are you living in two parallel lives now?

S: Yes, I am.

Dr. N: Where are you living in this other life? S: Canada.

Dr. N: Is geography important to your Canadian assignment?

S: Yes, I picked a poor family in a rural community where I would be more indispensable. I’m in a small mountain town.

Dr. N: Give me the details of this Canadian life and your responsibilities.

S: (slowly) I’m … taking care of my brother Billy. His face and hands were horribly burned by a flash fire from a kitchen stove when he was four years old. I was ten when it happened.

Dr. N: Are you the same age in the Canadian life as you are now in your American one?

S: About the same.

Dr. N: And your prime assignment in the Canadian life?

S: To care for Billy. To help him see the world past his pain. He is almost blind and his facial disfigurement causes him to be rejected by the community. I try to open him to an acceptance of life and to know who he really is from the inside. I read to him and go for walks in the forest holding his arm. I don’t hold his hands because they are so damaged.

Dr. N: What about your Canadian parents?

S: (without boasting) I am the parent. My father left after the fire and never came back. He was a weak man who was not kind to the family even before the fire. My mother’s soul is not very… capable in her body. They need someone with seasoning.

Dr. N: Someone physically strong?

S: (laughing) No, I’m a woman in Canada. I’m Billy’s sister. My mother and brother require someone mentally tough to hold the family together and give them a course to follow.

Dr. N: How do you provide for the family?

S: I am a baker and I’ll never marry, because I can’t leave them. Dr. N: What is your brother’s major lesson?

S: To acquire humility without being crushed by a life of little self-gratification.

Dr. N: Why didn’t you take the role of your burned brother? Wouldn’t that scenario provide you with the more difficult challenge?

S: (grimacing) Hmm-I’ve already been through that one!

Note: This subject has been physically injured in a number of past lives.

Dr. N: Yes, I suppose you have. I wonder if Billy’s soul was ever involved with physically hurting you in one of your past lives?

S: As a matter of fact, he did in one of them. When I was the sufferer another caretaker stayed with me and I was a grateful receiver. Now it is Billy’s turn and I am here for him.

Dr. N: Did you know in advance your brother was going to be incapacitated before you came into the Canadian life?

S: Sure, Idis and I discussed the whole situation. She said Billy’s soul would require a caretaker, and since I had negative contact with this soul before in another life, I welcomed the job.

Dr. N: Besides the karmic lesson for Billy’s soul, there are some for you too, in terms of your being in the role of a woman who is tied down. You can’t just take off and roam around as you often do in your lives.

S: That’s true. The degree of difficulty in a life is measured by how challenging the situation is for you, not others. For me, being Billy’s caretaker is harder than when I was on the receiving end with another soul as my caretaker.

Dr. N: Give me the most difficult factor of this assignment for you as a caretaker.

S: To sustain a child … through their helplessness … to adulthood … to teach a child to confront torment with courage.

Dr. N: Billy’s life is an extreme example, but it does seem Earth’s children have much physical and emotional pain to go through.

S: Without addressing and overcoming pain you can never really connect with who you are and build on that. I must tell you, the more pain and adversity which come to you as a child, the more opportunity to expand your potential.

Dr. N: And how are things working out for you as a caretaker in Canada?

S: There is a more difficult set of choices to be made in the Canadian family-unlike my American life. But, I have confidence in myself … to put my comprehension to practical use.

Dr. N: Did Idis encourage or discourage your wanting to accelerate development by living parallel lives?

S: She is always open about this … I haven’t done it too much in the past. Dr. N: Why not?

S: Life combinations can be tiring and divisive. The effort may become counter- productive with diminished returns for both lives.

Dr. N: Well, I see that you are helping people in both your lives today, but have you ever lived contrasting lives where you did poorly in one life and better in another at the same time?

S: Yes, although that was a long time ago on Earth. This is one of the advantages of life combinations. One life can offset the other. Still, doing this can be rough going.

Dr. N: Then why do the guides permit parallel lives?

S: (scowling at me) Souls are not in a rigid bureaucratic environment. We are allowed to make mistakes in judgement and learn from them.

Dr. N: I have the impression you think the average soul is better off living one life at a time.

S: I would say yes, in most instances, but there are other motivations to cause us to speed up incarnations.

Dr. N: Such as … ?

S: (amused) The rewards for bunching up lives can allow for more reflection out of incarnation.

Dr. N: You mean the rest periods between lives might last longer for us after concurrent lives?

S: (smiles) Sure, it takes longer to reflect on two lives than one.

Dr. N: Nenthum, I just have a couple more questions on the mechanics of soul- splitting. How do you see the manner in which you divide your soul energy into various parts?

S: We are … as particles … of energized units. We originated out of one unit. Dr. N: What was the original unit.

S: The maker.

Dr. N: Does each part of your soul remain intact, complete within itself? S: Yes, it does.

Dr. N: Do all parts of our soul energy go out of the spirit world when we incarnate?

S: Part of us never leaves, since we do not totally separate from the maker.

Dr. N: What does the part that remains in the spirit world do while we are on Earth in one or more bodies?

S: It is … more dormant … waiting to be rejoined to the rest of our energy.

Most of my colleagues who work with past life clients have listened to overlapping time chronologies from people living on Earth in two places at once. Occasionally, there are three or more parallel lives. Souls in almost any stage of development are capable of living multiple physical lives, but I really don’t see much of this in my cases.

Many people feel the idea of souls having the capacity to divide in the spirit world

and then attaching to two or more human bodies is against all their preconceptions of a singular, individualized spirit. I confess that I too felt uncomfortable the first time a client told me about having parallel lives. I can understand why some people find the concept of soul duality perplexing, especially when faced with the further proposition that one soul may even be capable of living in different dimensions during the same relative time. What we must appreciate is, if our souls are all part of one great oversoul energy force which divides, or extends itself to create our souls, then why shouldn’t the offspring of this intelligent soul energy have the same capacity to detach and then recombine?

Collecting information about spiritual activity from souls who are in the higher

stages of development is sometimes frustrating. This is because the complex nature of memory and knowledge at these levels can make it difficult to sift out what these people recognize and won’t tell me, from what they really don’t know. Case 22 was both knowledgeable and open to my questions. This case is compatible with other

accounts in my files about the diversity of soul training in the spirit world.

Dr. N: Nenthum, I want to turn now to your activities in the spirit world when you are not so busy with Earth incarnations, interacting in souls groups and learning to be a guide. Can you tell me of other spiritual areas in which you are occupied?

S: (long pause) Yes, there are other areas … I know of them Dr. N: How many?

S: (cautiously) I can think of four.

Dr. N: What would you call these areas of activity?

S: The World Without Ego, the World of All Knowing, the World of Creation and Non-creation, and the World of Altered Time.

Dr. N: Are they worlds which exist in our physical universe? S: One does, the rest are non-dimensional spheres of attention.

Dr. N: All right, let’s start with the non-dimensional spheres. Are these three areas in the spirit world for the use of souls?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: Why do you call all these spiritual areas worlds? S: I see them as … habitations for spiritual life.

Dr. N: So, three of them are mental worlds? S: Yes, that’s what they are.

Dr. N: What is the World Without Ego? S: It’s the place of learning to be.

Dr.  N:  I  have  heard  of  it,  expressed  in  different  ways.  Doesn’t  it  involve  the beginners?

S: Yes, the newly created soul is there to learn who they are. It’s the place of origin. Dr. N: Are the ego-identities passed out at random, or is there a choice for beginner

souls?

S: The new soul is not capable of choice. You acquire your character based upon the way your energy is … combined … put together for you.

Dr. N: Is there some sort of spiritual inventory of characteristics that are assigned to souls-so much of one type, so much of another?

S: (long pause) I think many factors are considered in the allocations of that which makes us who we are. What I do know is, once given, ego becomes a covenant between oneself and the givers.

Dr. N: What does that mean?

S: To do the best I can with who I am.

Dr. N: So, the purpose of this world is the distribution of soul identity by advanced beings?

S: Yes, the new soul is pure energy with no real Self yet. The World Without Ego provides you with a signature.

Dr. N: Then why do you call it the World Without Ego?

S: Because the newly created souls arrive with no ego. The idea of Self has not come into the new soul’s consciousness. It is here where the soul is offered meaning to its existence.

Dr. N: And does the creation of souls with personhood go on continually? S: As far as I know, yes.

Dr. N: I want you to answer this next question carefully for me. When you acquired your particular identity as a soul, did that automatically mean you were slated for Earth incarnations in human form?

S: Not specifically, no. Planets don’t last forever.

Dr. N: I wondered if certain types of souls have an affinity for specific forms of physical life in the universe?

S: (pause) I won’t argue against that.

Dr. N: In your beginnings, Nenthum, were you given the opportunity to choose other planetary hosts besides humans on Earth?

S: Ah … as a new soul … the guides assist in those selections. I was drawn to human beings.

Dr. N: Were you given other choices?

S: (long pause) Yes … but it’s not very clear at the moment. They usually start you on an easy world or two, without much to do. Then I was offered service on this severe planet.

Dr. N: Earth is considered severe?

S: Yes. On some worlds you must overcome physical discomforts-even suffering. Others lean toward mental contests. Earth has both.

We  get  kudos  for doing  well on  the  hard  worlds.  (smiling)  We  are  called  the

adventurous ones by those who don’t travel much. Dr. N: What really appeals to you about Earth?

S: The kinship humans have for each other while they struggle against one another

… competing and collaborating at the same time.

Dr. N: Isn’t that a contradiction?

S: (laughs) That’s what appeals to me-mediating quarrels of a fallible race which has so much pride and need of self-respect. The human brain is rather unique, you know.

Dr. N: How?

S: Humans are egocentric but vulnerable. They can make their character mean and yet have a great capacity for kindness. There is weak and courageous behavior on Earth. It’s always a push-me pull-you tug-of-war going on with human values. This diversity suits my soul.

Dr. N: What are some of the other things about human hosts which might appeal to the souls who are sent to Earth?

S: Hmm… those of us developing on Earth have … a sanction to help humans know of the infinite beyond their life and to assist them in expressing true benevolence through their passion. Having a passion to fight for life-that’s what is so worthwhile about humanity.

Dr. N: Humans also have a great capacity for malevolence.

S: That’s part of the passion. But it’s evolving too, and when humans experience trouble, they can be at their best and are … quite noble.

Dr. N: Perhaps it is the soul which fosters the positive characteristics you suggested?

S: We try to enhance what is already there.

Dr. N: Does any soul ever go back to the World Without Ego after they have once been there and acquired identity?

S: (uncomfortable) Yes … but I don’t want to get into that

Dr. N: Well, then we won’t, but I have been told some souls do return if their conduct during physical assignments is consistently irregular. I have the impression they are considered defective and are returned to the factory for a kind of spiritual prefrontal lobotomy?

S: (subject shakes his head with annoyance) I am offended by that description. Where did you get such a notion? Those souls who have developed severe obstacles to improvement are mended by the restoration of positive energy.

Dr. N: Is this procedure just for Earth souls?

S: No, young souls from everywhere may require restoration as a last resort.

Dr. N: Are these restored spirits then allowed to return to their respective groups and eventually go back to incarnating on physical worlds?

S: (sighs deeply) Yes.

Dr. N: How would you compare the World Without Ego to the World of  All Knowing?

S: They are opposites. This world is not for young souls. Dr. N: Have you been to the World of All Knowing?

S: No, I’m not ready. I am only aware of it as a place we strive for. Dr. N: What do you know about this spiritual area?

S: (long pause) It is a place of  contemplation … the ultimate mental world of planning and design. I can tell you little about this sphere except it is the final destination of all thought. The senses of all living things are coordinated here.

Dr. N: Then the World of All Knowing is abstract in the highest form?

S: Yes, it’s about blending content with form-the rational with ideals. It is a dimension where the realization of all our hopes and dreams is possible.

Dr. N: Well, if you can’t go there yet, how come you know about it?

S: We get … glimpses … as an incentive to encourage us to make that final effort to finish our work and join the masters.

The foundation of the spirit world is a place of knowing and has been alluded to under different names by clients. I am given only bare references to this universal absolute, because even my advanced subjects have no direct experience there. All souls are anxious to reach and be absorbed by this nucleus, especially as they draw closer and are enticed by what little they can see. I’m afraid the World of All Knowing can only be fully understood by a non-reincarnating soul above Level V.

Dr. N: If the World Without Ego and the World of All Knowing are at opposite ends of a soul’s experience, then where does the World of Altered Time fall?

S: This sphere is available to all souls because it represents their own physical world. In my case, it is Earth.

Dr. N: Oh, this must be the physical dimension you told me about? S: No, the sphere of Earth is only simulated for my use.

Dr. N: Then all souls in the spirit world wouldn’t study the same simulated world?

S: No, each of us studies our own geographical planet, where we incarnate. They are physically real … temporarily.

Dr. N: And you don’t physically live on this simulated world which appears as Earth-you only use it?

S: Yes, that’s right-for training purposes.

Dr. N: Why do you call this third sphere the World of Altered Time? S: Because we can change time sequences to study specific events.  Dr. N: What is the basic purpose of doing this?

S: To improve my decisions for life. This study makes me more discriminating and prepares me for the World of All Knowing.

Note: Subjects frequently use the term “world” to describe non-physical spatial work areas. These regions can be tiny or indescribably large in relation to the soul and may involve different dimensions.  I believe there are separate realities  for different learning experiences outside the restrictions of time. The coexistence of past, present, and future time in spiritual settings suggested by this case will be

explored further in the next two chapters with Cases 23 and 25.

Dr. N: We haven’t talked about the World of Creation and Non-creation. This must be the three-dimensional physical world you spoke of earlier.

S: Yes, and we enjoy using it as well.

Dr. N: Is this world intended for the use of all souls?

S: No, it is not. I’m just starting to apply myself there. I am considered a newcomer. Dr. N: Well, before we get into that, I want to ask if this physical world is the same

as Earth.

S: No, it is a little different. It’s larger and somewhat colder. There is less water- fewer oceans, but similar.

Dr. N: Is this planet further from its sun than Earth is from our sun? S: Yes.

Dr. N: If I could call this physical world Earth II, since it seems to be geographically similar to the Earth we know, would it be near Earth I in the sky?

S: No.

Dr. N: Where is Earth II in relation to Earth I? S: (pause) I can’t tell you.

Dr. N: Is Earth II in our Milky Way galaxy? S: (long pause) No, I think it’s further away.

Dr. N: Could I see the galaxy Earth II is located in with a telescope from my backyard?

S: I… would think so.

Dr. N: Would you say the galaxy containing this physical world is shaped like a spiral as our galaxy, or is it elliptical? How would it look in a telescope from a long way off?

S: … as a great extended … chain … (with a troubled expression) I can’t tell you more.

Note: As an amateur stargazer who uses a large reflector telescope designed for deep sky objects, I am always inquisitive when a session takes an

astronomical turn. Client responses to these kinds of questions usually fall short of my expectations. I am never sure if this is due to blocking by guides or the subject’s

lack of a physical frame of reference between Earth and the rest of our universe.

Dr. N: (I throw out a leading question) I suppose you go to Earth II to reincarnate with some sort of intelligent being?

S: (loudly) No! That’s just what we don’t want to do there. Dr. N: When do you go to Earth II?

S: Between my lives on this Earth. Dr. N: Why do you go to Earth II?

S: We go there to create and just enjoy ourselves as free spirits. Dr. N: And you don’t bother the inhabitants of Earth II?

S: (enthusiastically) There are no people … it’s so peaceful … we roam among the forests, the deserts, and over oceans with no responsibilities.

Dr. N: What is the highest form of life on Earth II?

S: (evasive) Oh … small animals … without much intelligence. Dr. N:  Do animals have souls?

S: Yes, all living things do-but they have very simple fragments of mind energy.

Dr. N: Has your soul, and that of your friends, evolved from using lower forms of physical life on Earth I after your creation?

S: We don’t know for sure, but none of us thinks so. Dr. N: Why not?

S: Because intelligent energy is arranged by … a precedence of life. Plants, insects, reptiles-each is in a family of souls.

Dr. N: And all categories of living things are separated from each other? S: No. The maker’s energy joins the units of every living thing in existence.

Dr. N: Are you involved with this element of creation? S: (startled) Oh, no!

Dr. N: Well, who is selected to visit Earth II?

S: Those of us who are connected with Earth come here. This is a vacation spot compared to Earth.

Dr. N: Why?

S: There is no fighting, bickering, or striving for supremacy. There is a pristine atmosphere and all life is … quiet. This place gives us an incentive to return to Earth and make it more peaceful, too.

Dr. N: Well, I do see how this Garden of Eden would allow you to rest and be carefree, but you also said you come here to create.

S: Yes, we do.

Dr. N: It is no accident then that souls from Earth come to a world that is so similar geographically?

S: That’s right.

Dr.  N:  Do  other  souls,  who  are  not  earthbound,  go  to  physical  worlds  which resemble those planets where they incarnate?

S: Yes … younger worlds with simpler organisms … to learn to create without any intelligent life around.

Dr. N: Go on.

S: We can experiment with creation and see it developing here. It’s as if you were in a lab where you can form physical things from your energy.

Dr. N: Do these physical things resemble what you might see on Earth I? S: Yes, only on Earth. That’s why I am here.

Dr. N: Start with your arrival on Earth II and explain to me what your soul does first.

S: (balks at my question and then finally says) I’m … not very good.

Note:  Since  this  subject  is  experiencing  resistance,  I  take  a  few  minutes  for

reconditioning and end with the following: “On the count of three you will feel more relaxed about telling me what you and Idis consider appropriate for my knowledge. One, two, three!” I repeat my question.

S: I look to see what I am supposed to make on the ground in front of me. Then I

mold the object in my mind and try and create the same thing with small doses of energy. The teachers assist us with … control. I’m supposed to see my mistakes and make corrections.

Dr. N: Who are the teachers?

S: Idis and Mulcafgil (subject’s highly advanced guide) …  and there are  other instructors around … I don’t know them very well.

Dr. N: Try to be as clear as possible. What exactly are you doing? S: We… form things…

Dr. N: Living things?

S: I’m not ready for that yet. I experiment with the basic elements-you know, hydrogen and oxygen-to create planetary substance … rocks, air, water … keeping everything very small.

Dr. N: Do you actually create the basic elements of our universe? S: No, I just use the elements available.

Dr. N: In what way?

S: I take the basic elements and charge them with impulses from my energy … and they can change.

Dr. N: Change into what?

S: (simply) I’m good with rocks …

Dr. N: How do you form rocks with your energy?

S: Oh … by learning to heat and cool … dust … to make it hard. Dr. N: Do you make the minerals in the dust?

S: They do that for you … the teachers give us that stuff … gas vapors for water making … and so on …

Dr. N: I want to understand this clearly. Your work consists of learning to create by

causing heat, pressure, and cooling from your energy flow?

S: That’s about right-by alternating our currents of energy radiation.

Dr. N: So, you don’t actually produce the substance of rock and water in some chemical way?

S: No, like I told you, my job is to transform things by … mixing what I am given. I play with the frequency and dosages of my energy-it’s tricky, but not too complicated …

Dr. N: Not complicated! I thought nature did those things? S: (laughs) Who do you think nature is?

Dr.  N:  Well,  who  creates  the  basic  elements  of  your  experiments-the  primary substances of physical matter?

S: The maker … and those creating on a grander scale than me.

Dr. N: Well, in a sense you are creating inanimate objects such as rocks.

S: Hmm… it’s more our trying to copy what we see in front of us what we know. (as an afterthought) I’m getting into plants but I can’t do them yet.

Dr. N: And you start small, experimenting until you get better?

S: That’s it. We copy things and compare them against the original so we can make larger models.

Dr. N: This all sounds like souls playing as children in a sandbox with toys.

S: (smiles) We are children. Directing an energy flow resembles the sculpturing of clay.

Dr. N: Are the other members of this creative training class from your original cluster group?

S:  Some  are.  Most  come  from  all  over  (the  spirit  world),  but  they  have  all incarnated on Earth.

Dr. N: Does everyone make the same things as you do?

S: Well, of course, some of us are better with certain things, but we help each other. The teachers come around and give us tips and advice on how to improve … but … (stops)

Dr. N: But, what?

S: (sheepishly) If I am clumsy and do a bad job, I disassemble some creations without showing them to Idis.

Dr. N: Give me an example.

S:  Plants  …  I  don’t  apply  my  energy  delicately  enough  to  produce  the  proper chemical conversions.

Dr. N: You are not good with the formation of plant life? S: No, so I undo my abominations.

Dr. N: Is this what you mean by uncreation? You can destroy energy?

S:  Energy  can’t  be  destroyed.  We  reassemble  it  and  start  over using  different combinations.

Dr. N: I don’t see why the creator needs your help in creating.

S: For our benefit. We participate in these exercises so that when our work is judged to be of quality, hopefully we can make real contributions to life.

Dr. N: If we are all working up the ladder of development as souls, Nenthum, I am left with the impression the spirit world is one huge organizational pyramid with a supreme authority of power at the top.

S: (sighs) No, you are wrong. It is not a pyramid. We are all threads in the same long piece of fabric. We are all woven into it.

Dr.  N:  It’s  hard  for  me  to  visualize  fabric  when  there  are  so  many  levels  of competency for souls.

S: Think of it as a moving continuum rather than souls being in brackets of highs and lows.

Dr. N: I always think of souls moving up in their existence. S: I know you do, but consider us moving across

Dr. N: Give me something I can picture in my mind.

S: It’s as if we are all part of a universal train on a flat track of existence. Most of the souls on Earth are in one car moving along the track.

Dr. N: Are all other souls in different cars? S: Yes, but all on the same track.

Dr. N: Where are the conductors such as Idis?

S: They move back and forth between the connected cars, but sit closer to the engine.

Dr. N: Where is the engine?

S: The maker? Up front, naturally.

Dr. N: Can you see the engine from your car?

S: (laughs at me) No, but I can smell the smoke. I can feel the engine rumbling along and I can hear the motor.

Dr. N: It would be nice if all of us were closer to the engine. S: Ultimately, we will be.

I have found it is not necessary for souls to go to physical worlds when they begin using their energy in life creation training. Apparently, these exercises begin in group settings where souls find it easier to pool their energy with each other and their instructor. A subject explained the process this way. “When I started, my group formed a circle around Senwa (guide). Collectively, we had to practice so hard to harmonize our thoughts and fine-tune our ability to all focus on one thing with the same intensity. One time we were working on a tree leaf after Senwa demonstrated how it should appear in front of us. As we directed our beams of energy for texture, color, and shape we kept messing up. We weren’t unified, so a small part of the leaf did not have the proper veining and pigmentation. I am very serious and kind of a perfectionist in my studies, but Nemi (the group jokester) was deliberately alternating his energy the wrong way to screw up the experiment for laughs and because he was tired of the lesson. We finally got him to behave and completed the assignment.”

From what I am able to determine, souls are expected to individually work with the

forces of creation by the time they are solidly established in Level III. Exposure to plant photosynthesis takes place before student souls work up the organic scale of life. I am told that early creation training consists of souls learning relationships between substances to develop the ability of unifying their energy with different values in the elements. The formation of inanimate to animate objects from the simple to the complex is a long, slow process. Students are encouraged to create miniature planetary microhabitats for a given set of organisms which can adapt to certain environmental conditions. With practice comes improvement, but not until

they approach Level V do my clients begin to feel they might actually contribute to the development of living things. We will hear more about this with Case 23.

Some souls seem to have a natural gift for working with energy in their creation classes. My cases indicate ability in creation assignments does not mean a soul is at

the same level of advancement in all other areas of the spiritual curricula. A soul may be a good technician in harnessing the forces of creation, but lack the subtle

techniques of a competent guide. Perhaps this is why I have been given the impression that the highly advanced soul is allowed to specialize.

In the previous chapter, I explained some benefits of soul solitude and the last case gave us another example. Spiritual experience is not easily translated into human

language. Case 22 talks about the World of Altered Time as a means of transient planetary study. To someone in trance, it is the timeless mental world that is true

reality while all else is an illusion created for various benefits. Other subjects at about  the  same  level call this  sphere  “the  space  of  transformation”  or  simply

“rooms of recreation.” Here, I’m told, souls are able to meld their energy into animate and inanimate objects created for learning and pleasure. One subject said

to me, “I think of what I want and it happens. I know I’m being assisted. We can be anything familiar to our past experiences.

For instance, souls can become rocks to capture the essence of density, trees for serenity, water for a flowing cohesiveness, butterflies for freedom and beauty and

whales for power and immensity. People deny these actions represent former earthly transmigrations. I have also learned souls may become amorphous without

substance or texture and totally integrate into a particular feeling, such as compassion, to sharpen their sensitivity.

Some subjects tell of being mystical spirits of nature including figures I associate with folklore, such as elves, giants and mermaids. Personal contact with strange

mythological beasts are mentioned as well. Theses accounts are so vivid it is hard for me to simply label them as metaphoric. Are the old folk tales of many races pure

superstition, or manifestations of shared soul experience? I have the sense that many of our legends are the sympathetic memories of souls carried from other

places to Earth long ago.

11

The Advanced Soul

PEOPLE who possess souls which are both old and highly advanced are scarce. Although I haven’t had the opportunity to regress many Blues in Level V, they are always stimulating to work with because of their comprehension and far-reaching spiritual consciousness. The fact is, a person whose maturity is this high doesn’t seek out a regression therapist to resolve life-plan conflicts. In most cases, Level V’s are here as incarnated guides. Having mastered the fundamental issues most of us wrestle with daily, the advanced soul is more interested in making small refinements toward specific tasks.

We may recognize them when they appear as public figures, such as a Mother

Teresa; however, it is more usual for the advanced soul to go about their good works in a quiet, unassuming manner. Without displaying self-indulgence, their fulfillment

comes from improving the lives of other people. They focus less on institutional matters and more on enhancing individual human values. Nevertheless, Level V’s are also practical, and so they are likely to be found working in a cultural mainstream which allows them to influence people and events.

I have been asked if most people who are sensitive, aesthetic, and particularly right- brained have advanced souls since individuals with these characteristics often appear to be at odds with the wrongs of an imperfect world. I see no correlation here. Being emotional, appreciating beauty, or having extrasensory impressions- including psychic talent-does not necessarily denote an advanced soul.

The mark of an advanced spirit is one who has patience with society and shows extraordinary coping skills. Most prominent is their exceptional insight. This is not to say life has no karmic pitfalls for them, otherwise the Level V probably wouldn’t be here at all. They may be found in all walks of life, but are frequently in the helping professions or combating social injustice in some fashion. The advanced soul radiates composure, kindness, and understanding toward others. Not being motivated by self-interest, they may disregard their own physical needs and live in reduced circumstances.

The individual I have chosen to represent the Level V soul is a woman in her mid- thirties who works for a large medical treatment facility specializing in chemical substance abuse. I was introduced to this woman by a colleague who told me of her skill in guiding recovering drug addicts into an improved state of self-awareness.

At our first meeting, I was struck by the woman’s expression of serenity while surrounded by chaotic emergencies at her place of employment. She was tall and excessively thin, with flaming red hair which stuck out in all directions. Although warm and friendly, there was about her an air of impenetrability. Her clear, luminous gray eyes were those of one who sees small things unnoticed by ordinary folk. I felt she was looking into rather than at me.

My colleague suggested the three of us have lunch because this woman was interested in my studies of the spirit world. She told me that she had never been hypnotically regressed but there was the sense of a long spiritual genealogy through her own meditations. She thought our meeting was no accident on her own learning path and we came to an agreement to explore her spiritual knowledge. A few weeks later she arrived at my office. Clearly, this woman had no compelling desire for a long chronology of past life history. I decided to get a brief sketch of her earliest lives on Earth to use as a springboard into superconscious memories. She rapidly entered into a deep trance and made instant contact with her inner self.

Almost at once, I found this woman’s span of incarnations staggering, going far

back into the distant past of human life on Earth. Touching on her earliest memories, I came to the conclusion her first lives occurred at the beginning of the last warm interglacial period which lasted from 130,000 to 70,000 years ago, before the last great Ice Age spread over the planet. During the warmer climate of the middle Paleolithic period of Earth’s history, my subject described living in moist, sub-tropical savannas near hunting, fishing, and plant-gathering areas. Later, some 50,000 years ago, when continental sheets of ice had again changed Earth’s climate, she spoke of living in caves and enduring bitter cold.

Leaping rapidly over large blocks of time, I found her physical appearance changing from a slightly bent to a more erect posture. As we moved forward in time, I directed her to look into pools of water and feel her body while reporting back to me. Her sloping forehead became more vertical over thousands of years in different bodies. Supraorbital ridges above the eyes grew less pronounced as did body hair and the massive jaws of archaic man. In her many lives as both men and women, I was given enough information on habitat, the use of fire, tools, clothes, food, and ritualistic tribal practices for rough anthropological dating.

Paleontologists have estimated Homo erectus, an ape-like ancestor of modern humans, appeared at least 1.7 million years ago. Have souls been incarnating on Earth for this long, utilizing the bodies of these primitive bipeds we call hominids? A few of my more advanced clients declare that highly advanced souls who specialize in seeking out suitable hosts for young souls, evaluated life on Earth for over a million years. My impression is these examiner souls found the early hominid brain cavity and restricted voice box to be inadequate for soul development earlier than some 200,000 years ago.

Archaic Homo sapiens, whom we call humans, evolved several hundred thousand years ago. Within the last 100,000 years, we find two clear signs of spiritual consciousness and communication. These are burial practices and ritualistic art, as found in carved totems and rock drawings. There is no anthropological evidence that these practices existed on Earth before Neanderthal peoples. Souls eventually made us human, not the reverse.

One of my advanced subjects remarked, “Souls have seeded the Earth in different cycles.” A composite of information collected from a wide range of clients suggests to me that the land masses we know today deviate from earlier continents, drowned, perhaps, by cataclysmic volcanic or magnetic upheavals. For instance, the Azores in the Atlantic Ocean have been said to represent the tops of mountains of the submerged continent of Atlantis. Indeed, I have had subjects discuss being in ancient lands on Earth that I cannot identify with modern geography.

Thus, it is possible souls existed in bodies more advanced than Homo erectus, who died out about a quarter of a million years ago, with the fossilized evidence hidden from us today by geological change. However, this hypothesis means the physical evolution of humans was an up, down, up affair, which I think is unlikely.

I now moved my subject into an African life around 9,000 years ago, which she said was an important milestone in her advancement. This was the last life she was to spend with her guide, Kumara. Kumara was an advanced soul herself at the time of this life, counseling a benevolent tribal chief as his influential wife. I tentatively located their land as the highlands of Ethiopia. Apparently, my subject had known Kumara in a number of earlier lives covering thousands of years during Kumara’s final incarnations on Earth. Their association in human form ended when my subject died, saving Kumara’s life on a river boat, by throwing herself in front of an enemy spear.

Full of love, Kumara still appears to this subject as a large woman, with skin of

polished mahogany and a shock of white hair crowned by a headdress of feathers. She is practically nude, except for a strip of animal hide around her ample middle.

On Kumara’s neck hangs a garish bunch of multi-colored stones, which she sometimes jiggles in my subject’s ear to get her attention during dreams in the middle of the night.

Kumara teaches by a technique of flashing symbolistic memories of prior lessons

already learned in past lives. Old solutions to problems are mixed with new hypothetical choices in the form of metaphoric picture puzzles. By these means, Kumara tests her student’s considerable storehouse of knowledge during meditations and dreams.

I glanced at my watch. There was no more time for background information if I was going to allow for exploration of this woman’s after life experiences. Rapidly I took her into superconsciousness, anticipating some interesting spiritual disclosures. She would not disappoint me.

Case 23

Dr. N: What is your spiritual name?

S: Thece.

Dr. N: And your spiritual guide kept her African name of Kumara? S: For me, yes.

Dr. N: What do you look like in the spirit world? S: A glowing fragment of light.

Dr. N: What exactly is the color of your energy? S: Sky-blue.

Dr. N: Does your light have flecks of another color in it? S: (pause) Some gold … not much.

Dr. N: How about Kumara’s energy color? S: It’s violet.

Dr. N: How does light and color identify the quality of a soul’s spiritual attainment? S: The intensity of mental power increases with the darker phases of light.

Dr. N: Where does the highest intensity of intelligent light energy originate from?

S: The knowledge by which the energy of darker light is extended to us comes from

the source. Our light is attached to the source. Dr. N: When you say source-you mean God? S: That word has been misused.

Dr. N: How?

S: By too much personalizing, which makes the source less than it is. Dr. N: What’s wrong with us doing that?

S: It takes the liberty of making the source too … human, although we are all part of its oneness.

Dr. N: Thece, I want you to reflect on the source as we talk about other aspects of soul life and the spirit world. Later, I will ask you more about this oneness. Now, let’s go back to the energy manifestations of souls. Why do spirits display two black glowing cavities for eyes when not showing their human forms? It seems so spooky to me.

S: (laughs and is more relaxed) That’s how Earth’s legends of ghosts came about- from these memories. Our energy mass is not  uniform. The eyes you speak of represent a more concentrated intensity of thought.

Dr. N: Well, if the myths about ghosts are not so fanciful after all, then these black eye sockets must be useful extensions of their energy.

S: Rather than eyes … they are windows to old bodies … and all the physical extensions of former selves. This blackness is a … concentration of our presence. We communicate by absorbing the energy presence of each other.

Dr. N: When you return to the spirit world, do you have energy contact with other souls who may look like ghosts?

S: Yes, and appearance is a matter of individual preference. Of course there is always a multitude of thought waves around me-mingling with my returning energy, but I avoid too much contact.

Dr. N: Why?

S: It is not necessary for me to make attachments here. I will be alone for a while to contemplate and sort out any mistakes from my last incarnation, before talking to Kumara.

Note: This statement is typical of advanced souls returning to the spirit world,

mentioned earlier in Case 9. However, this soul is so advanced she will have no deliberations with her guide until much later, and upon her request.

Dr.  N:  Perhaps  we  should  talk  about  older  souls  for  a  minute.  Does  Kumara incarnate on Earth any more?

S: No, she doesn’t.

Dr. N: Do you know others like Kumara who were here during the early times on Earth and don’t come back any more?

S: (cautiously) A few… yes… many got on Earth early and got off before I came. Dr. N: Did any stay?

S: What do you mean?

Dr. N: Advanced souls who keep coming back to life on Earth when they could stay in the spirit world.

S: Oh, you mean the Sages?

Dr. N: Yes, the Sages-tell me about them. (this is a new term for me, but I often pretend to know more than I do with advanced souls to elicit information)

S: (with admiration) They are the true watchers of Earth, you know to be here and keep watch over what is going on.

Dr. N: As highly advanced souls who continue to incarnate? S: Yes.

Dr. N: Don’t the Sages get tired of still hanging around Earth?

S: They choose to stay and help people directly because they are dedicated to Earth. Dr. N: Where are these Sages?

S: (wistfully) They live simple lives. I first came to know some of them thousands of years ago. Today it’s hard to see them … they don’t like cities much.

Dr. N: Are there many of them?

S: No, they live in small communities, or out in the open … in the deserts and mountains … in simple dwellings. They wander about, too …

Dr. N: How does one recognize them?

S: (sighs) Most people don’t. They were known as the oracles of truth in earlier times on Earth.

Dr. N: I know this sounds pragmatic, but wouldn’t these old, highly developed souls be more useful helping humankind in positions of international leadership rather than being hermits?

S: Who said they were hermits? They prefer to be with the common people who are most affected by the movers and shakers.

Dr. N: What is the feeling one gets when meeting a Sage on Earth?

S: Ah… you feel a special presence. Their power of understanding and the advice they give you is so wise. They do live simply. Material things mean nothing to them.

Dr. N: Are you interested in this sort of service, Thece?

S: Hmm … no, they are saints. I welcome the time when I can stop incarnating.

Dr. N: Perhaps the word Sage could also be applied to souls like Kumara, or even with the entities to whom she turns for knowledge?

S: (pause) No, they are different … they are beyond the Sages. We call them the Old Ones.

Note: I would place these beings beyond Level VI.

Dr. N: Are there many Old Ones working with souls at Kumara’s level and above? S: I don’t think so… compared to the rest of us … but we feel their influence.

Dr. N: What do you feel in their presence?

S: (pensive) A… concentrated power of enlightenment… and guidance … Dr. N: Could the Old Ones be embodiments of the source itself?

S: It is not for me to say, but I don’t think so yet. They must be close to the source. The Old Ones represent the purest elements of thought … engaging in the planning and arranging of … substances.

Dr. N: Could you clarify a bit more what you mean by these highly placed souls being close to the source?

S: (vaguely) Only that they must be close to conjunction.

Dr. N: Does Kumara ever talk about these entities who help her? S: To me-only a little. She aspires to be of them, as we all do.

Dr. N: Is she getting close to the Old Ones in knowledge?

S: (faintly) She … approaches, as I approach her. It is slow assimilating with the source, because we are not complete.

Once the duties of a guide are fully established for the advancing soul, it is necessary for these entities to juggle two balls. Besides completing their own unfinished business with continued (though less frequent) incarnations, they must also help others while in a discarnated state. Thece talks to me about this aspect of her soul life.

Dr. N: When you are back in the spirit world and come out of your self-imposed isolation, what do you ordinarily do then?

S: I join with members of my company.

Dr. N: How many souls are in your company? S: Nine.

Dr. N: (jumping to the next conclusion too quickly) Oh, so the ten of you are a group of souls under the leadership of Kumara?

S: No, they are my responsibility.

Dr. N: Then, these nine entities are students whom you teach? S: you could say that

Dr. N: And they are all in one group (cluster)  which, I assume, is your company? S: No, my company is made up of two different groups.

Dr. N: Why is that?

S: They are in … different progressions (levels).

Dr. N: And yet, you are the spiritual teacher for all nine?

S: I prefer to call myself a watcher. Three of my company are also watchers.

Dr. N: Well, who are the other six?

S: (matter-of-factly) People who don’t watch.

Dr. N: I want to clarify this using my terms, if you will, Thece If you are a senior watcher, three of your company must be what I would call junior guides?

S: Yes, but the words senior and junior-that portrays us as authoritarian, which we are not!

Dr. N: My intention is not to denote rank, for me it is just an easy identification of responsibility. Consider the word senior as meaning an advanced teacher. I would call Kumara a master teacher or possibly an educational director.

S: (shrugs) That’s okay, I suppose, as long as director doesn’t mean dictator.

Dr. N: it doesn’t. Now, Thece, cast your mind to a place where you can see the energy colors of all your company. What do the six souls who are not watchers look like?

S: (smiles) Dirty snowballs!

Dr. N: If they are white in tone, what about the rest? S: (pause) Well … two are rather yellowish.

Dr. N: We are one short. What about the ninth member? S: That’s An-ras. He is doing quite well.

Dr. N: Describe his energy color.

S: He is … turning bluish … an excellent watcher … he will be leaving me soon

Dr. N: Let’s go to the opposite end of your company. What member are you most concerned about and why?

S: Ojanowin. She has the conviction from many lives that love and trust only bring hurt. (musing) She has fine qualities which I want to bring out but this attitude is holding her back.

Dr. N: Ojanowin is developing more slowly than the rest?

S: (protectively) Don’t misunderstand, I am proud of her effort. She has great sensitivity and integrity, which I like. She just requires more of my attention.

Dr. N: As a watcher-teacher, what is the one quality which An-ras has acquired which you want to see in Ojanowin?

S: (no hesitation) Adaptability to change.

Dr. N: I am curious if the nine members of your company advance in a rather uniform way together under your teaching.

S: That’s totally unrealistic. Dr. N: Why?

S: Because there are differences in character and integrity.

Dr. N: Well, if learning rates are different between souls because of character and integrity, how does this equate with the mental capabilities of the human brain a soul selects?

S: It doesn’t. I was speaking of motivation. On Earth we use many variations of the physical brain in the course of our expansion. However, each soul is driven by its integrity.

Dr. N: Is this what you mean by a soul having character? S: Yes, and intensity of desire is part of character.

Dr. N: If character is the identity of a soul, where does desire come in?

S: The drive to excel is internal to each soul, but this too can fluctuate between lives. Dr. N: So where does a soul’s integrity fit into this?

S: The extension of desire. Integrity is the desire to be honest about Self and motives to such an extent that full awareness of the path to the source is possible.

Dr. N: If all basic intelligent energy is the same, why are souls different in their character and integrity?

S: Because their experiences with physical life change them and this is intentional. By that change new ingredients are added to the collective intelligence of every soul.

Dr. N: And this is what incarnation on Earth is all about?

S: Incarnation is an important tool, yes. Some souls are driven more than others to expand and achieve their potential, but all of us will do so in the end. Being in many

physical bodies and different settings expands the nature of our real self.

Dr. N: And this sort of self-actualization of the soul identity is the purpose of life on our world?

S: On any world.

Dr. N: Well, if each soul is preoccupied with Self, doesn’t this explain why we have a world of self-centered people?

S: No, you misinterpret. Fulfillment is not cultivating Self for selfish means, but allowing for integration with others in life. That also shows character and integrity. This is ethical conduct.

Dr. N: Does Ojanowin have less honesty than An-ras? S: (pause) I’m afraid she does engage in self-deception.

Dr. N: I wonder how you can function effectively as a spiritual guide for the nine members of your company and still incarnate on Earth to finish your own lessons.

S: It used to affect my concentration to some extent, but now there is no conflict. Dr. N: Do you have to separate your soul energy to accomplish this?

S: Yes, this capacity (of souls) allows for the management of both. Being on Earth also permits me to directly assist a member of my company and help myself at the same time.

Dr. N: The idea that souls can divide themselves is not an easy thing for me to conceptualize.

S: Your use of the term divide is not quite accurate. Every part of us is still whole. I’m only saying it does take some getting used to at first, since you manage more than one program at a time.

Dr. N: So your effectiveness as a teacher is not diminished by having multiple activities?

S: Not in the least.

Dr. N: Would you consider the major thrust of your instruction to be on Earth with your human body or in the spirit world as a free entity?

S: They are two different settings. My instruction is diversified but no less effective.

Dr. N: But your approach to a company member would be different depending upon the setting?

S: Yes, it would.

Dr. N: Wouldn’t you say the spirit world is the main center for learning? S: It is the center for evaluation and analysis, but souls do rest.

Dr. N: When your students are living on Earth, do they know you are their guide and are with them always?

S: (laughs) Some more than others, but they all sense my influence at one time or another.

Dr. N: Thece, you are on Earth with me right now as a woman. Are you also able to be in contact with members of your company?

S: I told you, yes.

Dr. N: What I am getting at is this-isn’t teaching by example difficult when your Earth visits are rather infrequent these days?

S: If I came too often and worked with them directly as one human being to another I would be interfering with their natural unfolding.

Dr. N: Do you have the same reservations about interference as a teacher operating from the spirit world in a discarnate state?

S: Yes, I do … although the techniques are different. Dr. N: For mental contact?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: I would like to know more about the ability of spiritual teachers to contact their students. What exactly do you do from the spirit world to comfort or advise one of the nine company members on Earth?

S: (no answer).

Dr. N: (coaxing her) Do you know what I am asking? How do you implant ideas? S: (finally) I’m unable to tell you.

Note: I suspect blocking here, but I can’t complain. So far, Thece has been liberal

with information and so has her guide. I decide to stop the session for a minute to appeal directly to Kumara. It is a speech I have given before.

Dr. N: Kumara, permit me to reason with you through Thece. My work here is intended for good. By questioning your disciple, I wish to add to my knowledge of healing and bring people closer to the higher creative power available within themselves. My larger mission is to combat the fear of death by offering people understanding about the nature of their souls and their spiritual home. Will you aid me in this endeavor?

S: (Thece answers me in an odd tone of voice) We know who you are. Dr. N: Then would you both assist me?

S: We will talk to you … at our discretion.

Note: This tells me if I exceed the undefined boundaries of these two guides with an intrusive question, it won’t be answered.

Dr. N: All right, Thece, on the count of three you will feel more comfortable talking to me about how souls function as guides. Begin  by telling me in  what way a company member on Earth can signal to get your attention. One, two, three! (I snap my fingers for added effect)

S: (after a long pause) First, they have to calm their minds and focus attention away from their immediate surroundings.

Dr. N: How would they do this?

S: By silence … reaching inward … to fasten on their inner voice. Dr. N: Is this how one calls for spiritual help?

S: Yes, at least to me. They must expand upon their inner consciousness to engage me on a central thought.

Dr. N: On you, or the specific problem which is bothering them?

S: They must reach out beyond what is troubling them in order to be receptive to me. That’s difficult when they don’t remain calm.

Dr. N: Do all nine company members have about the same abilities to reach you for help?

S: No, they don’t.

Dr. N: Perhaps Ojanowin has the most problems? S: Mmm, she is one of those that does…

Dr. N: Why?

S: For me, getting the signals is easy. It’s harder for people on Earth. The energy of directed thought must override human emotion.

Dr. N: Within a spirit world framework, how do you pick up the messages of just your company out of billions of souls who are sending out distress signals to other guides?

S: I know instantly. All watchers do because people send out their own individual patterns of thought.

Dr. N: Like a vibrational code in a field of thought particles?

S: (laughing) You could describe an energy pattern that way, I guess.

Dr. N: Okay, then how would you reach back to someone in need of guidance? S: (grins) By whispering answers into their ear!

Dr. N: (lightly) Is that what a friendly spirit does with a troubled mind on Earth? S: It depends

Dr. N: On what? Are teacher-spirits rather indifferent with the day-to-day problems of humans?

S: Not indifferent, or we wouldn’t communicate. We gauge each situation. We know life is transitory. We are more … detached because without human bodies we are unencumbered by the immediacy of human emotion.

Dr. N: But when the situation does call for spiritual guidance, what do you do?

S: (gravely) As watchers in the stillness, we recognize the amount of turbulence … from the wake of troubled thought. Then we carefully merge with it and gently touch the mind.

Dr. N: Please describe this connection process further.

S: (pause) It’s a slip-stream of thought which is usually turbulent rather than smooth, from someone in distress. I was awkward at first and I still don’t have Kumara’s skill. One must enter with subtlety … to wait for the best receptivity.

Dr. N: How can a watcher be awkward, you have had thousands of years of experience?

S: Communicators are not all the same. Watchers too have a variety of abilities. If one of my company is in crisis-physically hurt, sad, anxious, resentful-they send out great amounts of uncontrolled negative energy which alerts me, but exhausts them. This is the challenge of a watcher, to know when and how to communicate. When people want immediate relief, they may not be in the proper mode for reflection.

Dr. N: Well, in terms of abilities, can you tell me how you were awkward as an inexperienced guide?

S: I wanted to rush in too fast to help without coordinating the patterns of thought we talked about. People can go numb. You don’t get through to them when they have intense grief, for example. You are shut out of a cluttered mind when attentions are distracted and thought energy is scattered all about.

Dr. N: Do the nine members of your company sense your intrusion into their minds following a cry to you for help?

S: Watchers are not supposed to intrude. It’s more of a … soft coupling. I implant ideas-which they assume is inspiration-to try and give them peace.

Dr. N: What single thing do you have the most problem with during communications with people on Earth?

S: Fear.

Dr. N: Would you enlarge on that?

S: I have to be careful not to spoil my people by making life too easy for them … to let them work out most of their difficulties without jumping right in. They only suffer more if a watcher moves in too quickly before this is done. Kumara is an expert at this …

Dr. N: Is she ultimately responsible for you and your company? S: Well yes, we are all under her influence.

Dr. N: Do you ever see any of your own peer members around? I’m thinking of associates at your level of attainment with whom you can confer about teaching methods.

S: Oh, you mean with those I grew up with here?

Dr. N: Yes.

S: Yes … three in particular.

Dr. N: And do they lead company groups themselves? S: Yes.

Dr. N: Are these more advanced souls responsible for about the same number of souls as you?

S: Uh…. yes, except Wa-roo. His company is more than double my own. He is good. Another company is being added to his work load.

Dr. N: How many superior entities do you and your friends who are company leaders go to for advice and direction?

S:  One.  We  all  go  to  Kumara  to  exchange  observations  and  seek  ways  of improvement.

Dr. N: How many souls like you and Wa-roo does Kumara oversee? S: Oh … I couldn’t know that …

Dr. N: Try and give an estimate of the number. S: (after reflection) At least fifty, probably more.

Additional inquiries into Kumara’s spiritual activities were fruitless, so I turned next to Thece’s creation training. Her experiences (which I have condensed) take us a little further than those training exercises described by Nenthum  in the last chapter. To those readers with a scientific bent, I want to stress that when a subject is reporting to me about creation their frame of reference is really not grounded in earth science. I have to make the best interpretations I can from the information provided.

Dr. N: The curriculum for souls seems to have great variety, Thece. I want to go into another aspect of your training. Does your energy utilize the properties of light, heat, and motion in the creation of life?

S: (startled) Uh,… you know about that Dr. N: What more can you tell me?

S: Only that I am familiar with this …

Dr. N: I don’t want to talk about anything which will make you uncomfortable, but I would appreciate your confirmation of certain biological effects resulting from the actions of souls.

S: (hesitates) Oh … I don’t think

Dr. N: (I jump in quickly) What creation have you recently done which makes Kumara proud of you?

S: (without resistance) I am proficient with fish.

Dr. N: (I follow up with a deliberate exaggeration to keep her going) Oh, so you can create a whole fish with your mental energy?

S: (vexed) … You must be kidding? Dr. N: Then where do you start?

S: With the embryos, of course. I thought you knew…

Dr. N: Just checking. When do you think you will be ready for mammals? S: (no answer)

Dr. N: Look Thece, if you will try to cooperate with me for a few more minutes, I promise not to take long with my questions on this subject. Will you agree to that?  S: (pause) We will see

Dr. N: Okay, as a means of basic clarification tell me what you actually do with your energy to develop life up to the stage of fish.

S: (reluctantly)  We give instructions to … organisms …  within the surrounding conditions

Dr. N: Do you do this on one world or many in your training?

S: More than one. (would not elaborate except to say these planets were “earth types”)

Dr. N: In what kind of environment are you working now? S: In oceans.

Dr. N: With basic sea life such as algae and plankton? S: When I started.

Dr. N: You mean before you worked up to the embryos of fish? S: Yes.

Dr. N: Then when souls start to create forms of life, they begin with microorganisms?

S: … Small cells, yes, and this is very difficult to learn. Dr. N: Why?

S: The cells of life… our energy cannot become proficient unless we can direct it to … alter molecules.

Dr. N: Then you are actually producing new chemical compounds by mixing the basic molecular elements of life by your energy flow?

S: (nods)

Dr. N: Can you be more explicit? S: No, I can’t.

Dr. N: Let me try and sum this up, and please tell me if I am on the wrong track. A soul who becomes proficient with actually creating life must be able to split cells and give DNA instructions, and you do this by sending particles of energy into protoplasm?

S: We must learn to do this, yes-coordinating it with a sun’s energy. Dr. N: Why?

S: Because each sun has different energy effects on the worlds around them.

Dr. N: Then why would you interfere with what a sun would naturally do with its own energy on a planet?

S: It is not interference. We examine new structures … mutations … to watch and see what is workable. We arrange substances for their most effective use with different suns.

Dr. N: When a species of life evolves on a planet, are the environmental conditions for selection and adaptation natural, or are intelligent soul-minds tinkering with what happens?

S: (evasively) Usually a planet hospitable to life has souls watching and whatever we do is natural.

Dr. N: How can souls watch and influence biological properties of growth evolving over millions of years on a primordial world?

S: Time is not in Earth years for us. We use it to suit our experiments. Dr. N: Do you personally create suns in our universe?

S: A full scale sun? Oh no, that’s way over my head… and requires the powers of many. I generate only on a small scale.

Dr. N: What can you generate?

S: Ah … small bundles of highly concentrated matter… heated. Dr. N: But what does your work look like when you are finished? S: Small solar systems.

Dr. N: Are your miniature suns and planets the size of rocks, buildings, the moon- what are we talking about here?

S: (laughs) My suns are the size of basketballs and the planets marbles … that’s the best I can do.

Dr. N: Why do you do this on a small scale?

S: For practice, so I can make larger suns. After enough compression the atoms explode and condense, but I can’t do anything really big alone.

Dr. N: What do you mean?

S: We must learn to work together to combine our energy for the best results.

Dr. N: Well, who does the full-sized thermonuclear explosions which create physical universes and space itself?

S: The source … the concentrated energy of the Old Ones. Dr. N: Oh, so the source has help?

S: I think so…

Dr. N: Why is your energy striving to create universal matter and more complex life

when Kumara and the entities above her are already proficient?

S: We are expected to join them, just as they wish to unite their accomplished energy with the Old Ones.

Creation questions always evoke the issue of First Cause. Was the exploding interstellar mass which caused the birth of our stars and planets an accident of nature or planned by an intelligent force? When I listen to subjects such as Thece, I ask myself why souls would be practicing the chain reactions of energy matter with models on a small scale if they were not intending to make larger celestial bodies. I have had no subjects in Levels VI and above to substantiate how they might carry the forces of creation further. It would seem if souls do progress, then entities at this level could be expected to involve themselves with the birthing of planets and the development of life forms capable of higher intelligence suitable for soul use.

After pondering why less-than-perfect souls are associated with creation at all, I came to the following conclusion. All souls are given the opportunity to participate in the development of lower forms of intelligent life in order to advance themselves. This principle could also be applied to the reason why souls incarnate in physical form. Thece suggested that the supreme intelligence she calls the source is made up of a combination of creators (the Old Ones) who fuse their energy to spawn universes. The thought has been expressed to me in different ways by other subjects when they describe the combined power of non-reincarnating old souls.

This concept is not new. For instance, the idea we have no single Godhead is the philosophy of the Jainist sect in India. The Jains believe fully perfected souls, called Siddhas, are a group of universal creators. These souls are fully liberated from further transmigrations. Below them are the Arhats souls, advanced illuminators who still incarnate along with three more lower gradations of evolving souls. To the Jams, reality is uncreated and eternal. Thus, the Siddhas need no creator. Most Eastern philosophies deny this tenet of Jainism in favor of a divine board of directors created by a chairman. This conclusion is more palatable to the Western mind as well.

With certain subjects it is possible to pursue a wide range of topics in condensed

periods. Earlier, Thece had alluded to intelligent life existing on other worlds when she talked about a soul’s cosmic training. This brings up another aspect about soul life which may be hard for some of us to accept. A small percentage of my subjects, usually the older advanced souls, are able to recall being in strange, non-human intelligent life-forms on other worlds. Their memories are rather fleeting and clouded about the circumstances of these lives, the physical details, and planetary location relative to our universe. I wondered if Thece had any such experiences long ago, so I opened up this line of inquiry for a few minutes to see where it might lead.

Dr. N: A while back you remarked about other physical worlds besides Earth which are available to souls.

S: (hesitant) Yes

Dr. N: (casually) And, I assume, some of these planets support intelligent life which are useful to souls wishing to incarnate?

S: That’s true, there are many schoolyards.

Dr. N: Do you ever talk to other souls about their planetary schoolyards?

S: (long pause) It’s not my inclination to do so-I’m not attracted to them-the other schools.

Dr. N: Perhaps you could give me some idea of what they are like?

S: Oh, some are … analytical schools. Others are basically mental worlds … subtle places

Dr. N: What do you think of the Earth school by comparison?

S: The Earth school is insecure, still. It is filled with resentment of many people over being led and antagonism of the leaders toward each other. There is so much fear to overcome here. It is a world in conflict because there is too much diversity among too many people. Other worlds have low populations with more harmony. Earth’s population has outpaced its mental development.

Dr. N: Would you rather be training on another planet, then?

S: No, for all Earth’s quarreling and cruelty, there is passion and bravery here. I like working in crisis situations. To bring order out of disorder. We all know Earth is a difficult school.

Dr. N: So, the human body is not an easy host for souls?

S: … There are easier life forms … who are less in conflict with themselves …

Dr. N: Well, how would you know this unless your soul had been in another life form?

After I had provided this suitable opening, Thece began talking about being a small flying creature in an alien environment on a dying world where it was hard to breathe. From her descriptions, the sun of this planet was apparently going into a nova stage. Her words were halting and came in short, rapid breaths.

Thece said she lived on this world in a humid jungle with a night sky so densely packed with stars there were no dark lanes in between. This gave me the impression she was located near the center of a galaxy, perhaps our own. She also said her brief time on this world was spent as a very young soul and Kumara was her mentor. After the world could no longer support life, they had come to Earth to continue working together. I was told there was a kinship in the mental evolution of life on

Earth and what she had experienced before. This flying race of people began afraid, isolated, and dangerous to each other. Also, like Earth, family alliances were important, representing expressions of loyalty and devotion. While I was concluding this line of questioning, there was a further development.

Dr. N: Do you think there are other souls on Earth who also had physical lives on this now-dead world?

S: (pause, then unable to restrain herself) Actually, I have met one. Dr. N: Under what circumstances?

S: (laughs) I met a man at a party a while ago. He recognized me, not physically, but with the mind. It was an odd meeting. I was caught off balance when he came up to me and took my hand. I thought he was pushy when he said he knew me.

Dr. N: Then what happened?

S: (softly) I was in a daze, which is unusual for me. I knew there was something between us. I thought it was sexual. Now, I can see it all clearly. It was … Ikak. (this name is spoken with a clacking noise from the back of her throat) He told me we were once together from a place far away and there were a couple of others here …

Dr. N: Did he say anything more about them?

S: (faintly) No … I wonder … I ought to know them …

Dr. N: Did Ikak say anything else about your former physical relationship on this world?

S: No. He saw I was confused. I didn’t know what he was talking about  then anyway.

Dr. N: How could he consciously know about this planet when you didn’t?

S: (puzzled) He is … ahead of me … he knows Kumara. (then, more to herself than me) What is he doing here?

Dr. N: Why don’t you finish telling me about him at the party?

S: (laughs again) I thought he was just trying to pick me up. It was awkward because I was drawn to him. He said I was very attractive, which is something men don’t usually say to me. There were flashes in my mind that we had been together before … as fragments in a dream sequence.

Dr. N: How did your conversation end with this man?

S: He saw my discomfort. I guess he thought it best to have no further contact, because I haven’t seen him since. I’ve thought about him though, and maybe we will see each other again …

I believe souls do come across time and space for each other. Recently, I had two subjects who were best friends and came to me at the same time for regression. Not only had they been soulmates in many former lives on Earth, but were also mated as fish-like intelligent beings in a beautiful water world. Both recalled the enjoyment of playing underwater with their strong appendages and coming up to the surface, “to peek.” Neither subject could recall much about this planet or what happened to their race of sea creatures. Perhaps they were part of a failed Earth experiment long before a land mammal developed into the most promising species on Earth for souls. I suspect it was not Earth because I have had others who tell of living in an aquatic environment they know was unearthly. One of these subjects said, “My water world was very warm and clear because we had three suns overhead. The total lack of darkness underwater was comforting and made building our dwellings much easier.” I have often wondered if the dreams we have at night about flying, breathing underwater, and performing other non-human physical feats relate to our earlier physical experiences in other environments.

In the early days of my studies of souls, I half-expected that those subjects who could recall other worlds would say they had lived in our galaxy with in the neighborhood of the sun. This assumption was naive. Earth is in a sparse section of the Milky Way with only eight stars that are ten light years from the sun. We know our own galaxy has more than two-hundred billion stars within a universe currently speculated at one-hundred-billion galaxies. The worlds around the suns which might support life are staggering to the imagination. Consider, if only a small fraction of one percent of the stars in our galaxy had planets with intelligent life useful to souls, the number would still be in the millions.

From  what  I  can  gather  from  subjects  willing  and  able  to  discuss  former

assignments, souls are sent to any world with suitable intelligent life forms. Out of all the stars which are known to us, only four percent are like our sun. Apparently this means nothing to souls. Their planetary incarnations are not linked to Earth- type worlds or with intelligent bipeds who walk on land. Souls who have been to other worlds tell me they have a fondness for certain ones and return to them (like Earth) periodically for a succession of lives. I have not had many subjects who are able to recall specific details about living on other worlds. This maybe due to lack of experience, a suppression of memory, or blocks imposed by master guides to avoid any discomfort from flashbacks in non-earthly bodies.

Those subjects who are able to discuss their experiences on other worlds tell me that

before coming to Earth, souls are frequently placed in the bodies of creatures with less intelligence than human beings (unlike Thece’s case). However, once in a human body, souls are not sent back down the mental evolutionary ladder. Yet, physical contrasts can be stark and side trips away from Earth are not necessarily pleasant. One mid-level client of mine expressed it this way. “After a long series of human lives, I told my guide I needed a break from Earth for a while in another kind of

environment. He warned me, ‘You might not like this change right now because you have become so accustomed to the attributes of the human mind and body.’ “My client persisted and was duly given life on what was described as, “A pastel world living among a race of small, thickly-set beings. They were a thoughtful but somber people with tiny chalk-white faces which never smiled. Without human laughter and physical flexibility, I was out of sync and made little progress. The assignment must have been particularly difficult for this individual when we consider that humor and laughter is such a hallmark of soul life in the spirit world.

I was now approaching the final phase of my session with Case 23. It was necessary to apply additional deepening techniques because I wanted Thece to reach into the highest recesses of her superconscious mind to talk with me about space-time and the source.

Dr. N: Thece, we are coming to the end of our time together and I want you to turn your mind once again to the source-creator. (pause) Will you do that for me?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: You said the ultimate objective of souls was to seek unification with the supreme source of creative energy-do you remember?

S:… The act of conjunction, yes.

Dr. N: Tell me, does the source dwell in some special central space in the spirit world?

S: The source is the spirit world.

Dr. N: Then why do souls speak of reaching a core of spiritual life?

S: When we are young spirits we sense power around us everywhere and yet we feel we … are on the edge of it. As we grow older there is an awareness of a concentrated power, but it is the same feeling.

Dr. N: Even though you have called this the place of the Old Ones?

S: Yes, they are part of the concentrated power of the source which sustains us as souls.

Dr. N: Well, lumping this power together as one energy source, can you describe the creator in more human terms?

S: As the ultimate selfless being which we strive to be.

Dr. N: If the source represents all the spirit world, how does this mental place differ from physical universes with stars, planets, and living things?

S: Universes are created-to live and die-for the use of the source. The place of spirits

… is the source.

Dr. N: We seem to live in a universe which is expanding and may contract again and eventually die. Since we live in a space with time limitations, how can the spirit world itself be timeless?

S: Because here we live in non-space which is timeless … except in certain zones. Dr. N: Please explain what these zones are.

S: They are … interconnecting doors … openings for us to pass through into a physical universe of time.

Dr. N: How can time-doors exist in non-space?

S: The openings exist as thresholds between realities.

Dr. N: Well, if the spirit world is non-dimensional, what kind of reality is that?

S: A constant reality state, as opposed to the shifting realities of dimensional worlds which are material and changing.

Dr. N: Do past, present, and future have any relevance for souls living in the spirit world?

S: Only as a means of understanding succession in physical form. Living here … there is a … changelessness … for those of us not crossing thresholds into a universe of substance and time.

Note: A major application of time thresholds used by souls will be examined in the upcoming chapter on life selection.

Dr. N: You speak of universes in the plural. Are these other physical universes besides the one which contains Earth?

S: (vaguely) There are … differing realities to suit the source.

Dr. N: Are you saying souls can enter various rooms of different physical realities from spiritual doorways?

S: (nods) Yes, they can-and do.

Before concluding the session with this highly advanced subject, I should add that most people who are in deep hypnosis are able to see beyond an Earth reality of

three-dimensional space, into alternate realities of timelessness. In the subconscious state, my subjects experience a chronology of time with their past and present lives which resembles what they perceive when conscious. There is a change when I take them into superconsciousness and the spirit world. Here they see the now of time as one homogeneous unit of past, present, and future. Seconds in the spirit world seem to represent years on Earth. When their sessions are over, clients will often express surprise at how time in the spirit world is unified.

Quantum mechanics is a modern branch of physics which investigates all subatomic

movement in terms of electromagnetic energy levels where all things in life are thought to be ultimately non-solid and existing in a unified field. Going beyond Newton’s physical laws of gravity, the elements of action on time are also considered to be unified by light wave frequency and kinetic energy. Since I show that souls do experience feelings of the passage of time in a chronological fashion in the spirit world, doesn’t this contradict the concept of oneness for past, present, and future? No, it does not. My research indicates to me that the illusion of time progression is created and sustained for those souls coming to and from physical dimensions (who are used to such biological responses as aging), so they may more easily gauge their advancement. Thus, it makes sense to me when the quantum physicists hypothesize that time, rather than being an absolute of three phases, is only an expression of change.

When my subjects speak of traveling as souls on lines which curve, I think of the space-time theories of those astrophysicists who believe light and motion are a union of time and space curving back on itself. They say if space is bent severely enough, time stops. Indeed, when listening to my clients talk about time zones and tunnels of passage into different dimensions, I think about the similarities here to current astronomical theories of physical space being warped, or twisted, into cosmic loops creating “mouths” of hyperspace and black holes which may lead out of our three- dimensional universe. Perhaps the space-time concepts of astrophysics and metaphysics are edging closer together.

I have suggested to my subjects that if the spirit world seems round to them, and

appears to curve when they travel rapidly as souls, this could represent a finite, enclosed sphere. They deny the idea of any dimensional boundaries yet offer me little else except metaphors. Case 23 says the spirit world itself is the source of creation. Some have called this place the heart, or breath, of God. Case 22 defined the space of souls as “fabric” and I have had other subjects give the spirit world a quality of “the folds of a seamless dress swishing back and forth.” They sometimes feel the effects of a gently “rippling” motion from light energy which has been described as “waves (or rings) rolling outward from a disturbed pool of water.” Normally, the geography of soul spaces has a smooth and open consistency to people in superconsciousness, without displaying the properties of gravity, temperature, pressure, matter, or a time clock associated with a chaotic physical universe. However, when I attempt to characterize the entire spirit world as a void, people in trance resist this notion.

Although my cases are unable to fully explain the place where their souls live, they

are all outspoken about its ultimate reality for them. A subject in trance doesn’t see the  spirit  world  as  being  either  near or  far  away  from our physical universe.

Nevertheless, in a curious way, they do portray spiritual substance as being light or heavy, thick or thin, and large or small, when comparing their experiences as souls to life on Earth.

While the absolute reality of the spirit world appears to remain constant in the

minds of people in hypnosis, their references to other physical dimensions do not. I have the sense that universes other than our own are created for the purpose of providing environments suitable for the growth of souls with beings we can’t even imagine. One advanced subject told me he had lived on a number of worlds in his long existence, never dividing his soul more than twice at one time. Some adult lives lasted only months in Earth time for him, due to local planetary conditions and short life spans of the dominant life form. While speaking of a “paradise planet,” with few people and a quieter, simpler version of Earth, he added this world was not far from Earth. “Oh,” I interrupted, “then it must only be a few light years from Earth?” He patiently explained that the planet was not in our universe, but closer to Earth than many planets in our own galaxy.

It is important for the reader to understand that when people do recall living on

other worlds they seem not to be limited by the dimensional constraints of our universe. When souls travel to planets intergalactically or interdimensionally, they measure the trip by the time it takes them to reach their destinations through the tunnel effect from the spirit world. The size of the spatial region involved and the relative position of worlds to each other are also considerations. After listening to references about multiple dimensional realities from some of my subjects, I am left with the impression they believe there is a confluence of all these dimensional streams into one great river of the spirit world. If I could stand back and take apart all these alternate realities seated in the minds of my cases, it would be like peeling an artichoke of all its layers down to one heart at the core.

I had been questioning Thece for quite a while and I could see she was growing tired. Few subjects can sustain this level of spiritual receptivity for very long. I decided to end the session with a few questions about the genesis of all creation.

Dr. N: Thece, I want to close by asking you more about the source. You have been a soul for a long time, so how do you see yourself relating to the oneness of creation you told me about earlier?

S: (long pause) By sensations of movement. In the beginning there is an outward migration of our soul energy from the source. Afterward, our lives are spent moving inward … toward cohesion and the uniting …

Dr. N: You make this process seem as though a living organism was expanding and contracting.

S: … There is an explosive release … then a returning … yes, the source pulsates. Dr. N: And you are moving toward the center of this energy source?

S: There really is no center. The source is all around us as if we were … inside a

beating heart.

Dr. N: But, you did say you were moving back to a point of origin as your soul advanced in knowledge?

S: Yes, when I was thrust outward I was a child. Now I’m being drawn back as my adolescence fades …

Dr. N: Back where?

S: Further inside the source.

Dr. N: Perhaps you could describe this energy source through the use of colors to explain soul movement and the scope of creation.

S: (sighs) It’s as if souls are all part of a massive electrical explosion which produces

… a halo effect. In this … circular halo is a dark purple light which flares out … lightening to a whiteness at the edges. Our awareness begins at the edges of brilliant light and as we grow … we become more engulfed in the darker light.

Dr. N: I find it hard to visualize a god of creation as cold, dark light.

S: That’s because I am not close enough to conjunction to explain it well. The dark light is itself a … covering, beyond which we feel an intense warmth … full of a knowing presence which is everywhere for us and… alive!

Dr. N: What was it like when you were first aware of your identity as a soul after being pushed out to the rim of this halo?

S: To be… is the same as watching the first flower of spring open and the flower is you. And, as it opens more, you become aware of other flowers in a glorious field and there is … unbounded joy.

Dr. N: If this explosive, multi-colored energy source collapses in on itself, will all the flowers eventually die?

S: Nothing is collapsing … the source is endless. As souls we will never die-we know that, somehow. As we coalesce, our increasing wisdom makes the source stronger.

Dr. N: Is that the reason the source desires to perform this exercise? S: Yes, to give life to us so we can arrive at a state of perfection.

Dr. N: Why does a source, who is ostensibly perfect already, need to create further intelligence which is less than perfect?

S: To help the creator create. In this way, by self-transformation and rising to higher plateaus of fulfillment, we add to the building blocks of life.

Dr. N: Were souls forced to break away from the source and come to places like Earth because of some sort of original sin or fall from grace in the spirit world?

S: That’s nonsense. We came to be … magnified … in the beautiful variety of creation.

Dr. N: Thece, I want you to listen to me carefully. If the source needs to be made stronger, or more wise, by using a division of its divine energy to create lesser intelligence which it hopes will magnify-doesn’t this suggest it lacks full perfection itself?

S: (pause) The source creates for fulfillment of itself.

Dr. N: That’s my point. How can that which is absolute become more absolute unless something is lacking?

S: (hesitates) That which we see to be … our source … is all we can know, and we think what the creator desires is to express itself through us by … birthing.

Dr. N: And do you think the source is actually made stronger by our existence as souls?

S: (long pause) I see the creator’s perfection … maintained and enriched…  by sharing the possibility of perfection with us and this is the ultimate extension of itself

Dr. N: So the source starts out by deliberately creating imperfect souls and imperfect life forms for these souls and watches what happens in order to extend itself?

S: Yes, and we have to have faith in this decision and trust the process of returning to the origin of life. One has to be starving to appreciate food, to be cold to understand the blessings of warmth, and to be children to see the value of the parent. The transformation gives us purpose.

Dr. N: Do you want to be a parent of souls?

S: … Participation in the conception of ourselves is … a dream of mine.

Dr. N: If our spirits did not experience physical life, would we ever know of these things you are telling me about?

S: We would know of them, but not about them. It would be as if your spiritual

energy were told to play piano scales with only one note.

Dr. N: And do you believe if the source didn’t create souls to nurture and grow, its sublime energy would shrink from a lack of expression?

S: (sighs) Perhaps that is its purpose.

With this last prophetic statement by Thece, I ended the session. As I brought this subject out of her deep trance, it was as though she were returning to me from across time and space. As she sat quietly focusing her eyes around my office, I expressed my appreciation for the opportunity of working with her on such an advanced level. Smiling, the lady said if she had any idea of the grilling in store for her, she might well have refused to work with me.

As we said goodbye, I thought about her last statements concerning the source of

life. In ancient Persia the Sufis had a saying that if the creator represents absolute good, and therefore absolute beauty, it is the nature of beauty to desire manifestation.

12

Life Selection

THERE comes that time when the soul must once again leave the sanctuary of the

spirit world for another trip to Earth. This decision is not an easy one. Souls must prepare to leave a world of total wisdom, where they exist in a blissful state of freedom, for the physical and mental demands of a human body.

We have seen how tired souls can be when reentering the spirit world. Many don’t

want to think about returning to Earth again. This is especially true when we have not come close to our goals at the end of a physical life. Once back in the spirit world, souls have misgivings about even temporarily leaving a world of self- understanding, comradeship, and compassion to go to a planetary environment of uncertainty and fear brought about by aggressive, competing humans. Despite having family and friends on Earth, many incarnated souls feel lonely and anonymous among large impersonal populations. I hope my cases show the opposite is true in the spirit world, where our souls are involved in the most intimate sharing on an everlasting basis. Our spiritual identity is known and appreciated by a multitude of other entities, whose support is never ending.

The rejuvenation of our energy and personal assessment of one’s Self takes longer for some souls than others, but eventually the soul is motivated to start the process of incarnation. While our spiritual environment is hard to leave, as souls we also remember the physical pleasures of life on Earth with fondness and even nostalgia. When the wounds of a past life are healed and we are again totally at one with ourselves, we feel the pull of having a physical expression for our identity. Training sessions with our counselors and peer groups have provided a collaborative spiritual effort to prepare us for the next life. Our karma of past deeds towards humanity and our mistakes and achievements have all been evaluated with an eye toward the best course of future endeavors. The soul must now assimilate all this information and take purposeful action based upon three primary decisions:

  • Am I ready for a new physical life?
  • What specific lessons do I want to undertake to advance my learning and development?
  • Where should I go, and who shall I be in my next life for the best opportunity to work on my goals?

Older souls incarnate less, regardless of the population demands of their assigned planets. When a world dies, those entities with unfinished business move on to another world which has a suitable life form for the kind of work they have been doing. Cycles of incarnation for the eternal soul seem to be regulated more by the internal desires of a particular soul, than by the urgency of host bodies evolving in a universe of planets.

Nevertheless, Earth certainly has an increasing need for souls. Today, we have over five billion people. Demographers vary in their calculations on how many individuals have lived on Earth in the last 200,000 years. The average estimate is some 50 billion people. This figure, which I think is low, does not signify the number of visitations by different souls. Bear in mind the same souls continue to reincarnate, and there are those who occupy more than one body at a time. There are reincarnationists who believe the number of people living on Earth today is close to the total number of souls who ever lived here. The frequency of incarnation on Earth by souls is uneven. Earth clearly has more need for souls today than in the past. Population estimates in 1 AD are around 200 million. By 1800, humans had quadrupled, and after only 170 more years, quadrupled again. Between 1970 and 2010, the world’s population is expected to double once more.

When I study the incarnation chronology of a client, I find there is usually a long span of hundreds, even thousands, of years between their lives in Paleolithic nomadic cultures. With the introduction of agriculture and domesticated animals in the Neolithic Age, from 7,000 to 5,000 years ago, my subjects report living more frequent lives. Still, their lives are often spaced as much as 500 years apart. With the rise of cities, trade, and more available food, I see the incarnation schedules of souls increasing with a growing population. Between 1000 and 1500 AD, my clients live an average of once in two centuries. After 1700, this changes to once in a century. By the 1900s, living more than one life in a century is common among my cases.

It has been argued these increases in soul incarnations only appear to be so because

past life recall improves as people in hypnosis get closer to their current lives. This may be true to some extent, but if a life is important it will be vividly remembered at any age in time. Without doubt, the enormous population increase on Earth is the basic cause for souls coming here more often. Is there a possibility that the inventory of souls slated for Earth could be strained by this surge in human reproduction?

When I ask clients about the inventory of available souls, they tell me I should worry more about our planet dying from over-population than exhausting the reserve of souls. There is the conviction that new souls are always available to fill any expanding population requirements. If our planet is just one example among all

other intelligent populations which exist in this universe, the inventory of souls must truly be astronomical.

I have said souls do have the freedom to choose when, where, and who they want to be in their physical lives. Certain souls spend less time in the spirit world in order to

accelerate  development,  while  others  are  very  reluctant  to  leave.  There  is  no question but what our guides exert great influence in this matter. Just as we were

given  an  intake  interview  in  the  orientation  phase  right  after death,  there  are preparatory exit interviews by spiritual advisors to determine our readiness for

rebirth. The case which follows illustrates a typical spiritual scene with a lower-level soul.

Case 24

Dr. N: When do you first realize that you might be returning to Earth?

S: A soft voice comes into my mind and says, “It’s about time, don’t you think?” Dr. N: Who is this voice?

S: My instructor. Some of us have to be given a push when they think we are ready again.

Dr. N: Do you feel you are about ready to return to Earth?

S: Yes, I think so … I have prepared for it. But my studies are going to take such a long time in earth years before I’m done. It’s kind of overwhelming.

Dr. N: And do you think you will still be going to Earth when you near the end of your incarnations?

S: (long pause) Ah … maybe no … there is another world besides Earth … but with Earth people …

Dr. N: What does this mean?

S: Earth will have fewer people … less crowded … it’s not clear to me. Dr. N: Where do you think you might be then?

S: I’m getting the impression there is colonization someplace else-it’s not clear to me.

Note: The opposite of past life regression is post life progression, which enables some subjects to see snatches of the future as incomplete scenes. For instance, some have told me Earth’s population will be greatly reduced by the end of the twenty- second century, partially due to adverse soil and atmospheric changes. They also see

people living in odd-looking domed buildings. Details about the future are always rather limited, due, I suspect, to built-in amnesia from karmic constraints. I’ll have more to say about this with the next case.

Dr. N: Let’s go back to what you were saying about the instructors giving people a push to leave the spirit world. Would you prefer that they not do this?

S: Oh … I’d like to stay… but the instructors don’t want us hanging around here too long or we will get into a rut.

Dr. N: Could you insist on staying?

S: Well … yes … the instructors don’t force you to leave because they are so gentle. (laughs) But they have their ways of … encouraging you when the time comes.

Dr. N: Do you know of anyone who didn’t want to be reborn again on Earth for any reason?

S: Yes, my friend Mark. He said he had nothing to contribute anymore. He was sick of life on Earth and didn’t want to go back.

Dr. N: Had he lived many lives?

S: No, not really. But he wasn’t adjusting well in them.

Dr. N: What did the teachers do with him? Was he allowed to stay in the spirit world?

S: (reflectively) We choose to be reborn when it is decided we are ready. They don’t force you to do anything. Mark was shown he did benefit others around him.

Dr. N: What happened to Mark?

S: After some more … indoctrination … Mark realized he had been wrong about his abilities and finally he went back to Earth.

Dr. N: Indoctrination! This makes me think of coercion.

S: (disturbed by my remark) It’s not that way at all! Mark was just discouraged, and needed the confidence to keep trying.

Note: Case 10 in Chapter Four on displaced souls told us about how souls who had absorbed too much negative energy from Earth were “remodeled.” Case 22 also mentioned the need for restoration with some damaged souls. These are more extreme alterations than the basic reframing apparently used on Mark’s tired soul.

Dr. N: If the guides don’t force you, could a soul absolutely refuse to be reborn?

S: (pause) Yes … I guess you could stay here and never be reborn if you hated it that much. But the instructors told Mark that without life in a body, his studies would take longer. If you lose having direct experience, you miss a great deal.

Dr. N: How about the reverse situation where a soul insists on returning to Earth immediately, say after an untimely death?

S: I have seen that, too. It’s an impulsive reaction and does wear off after a while. The instructors get you to see that wanting to hurry back someplace as a new baby wouldn’t change the circumstances of your death. It might be different if you could be reborn as an adult right away in the same situation. Eventually, everyone realizes they must rest and reflect.

Dr. N: Well, give me your final thoughts about the prospect of living again.

S: I’m excited about it. I would have no satisfaction without my physical lives. Dr. N: When you are ready for a new incarnation, what do you do?

S: I go to a special place.

Once a soul has decided to incarnate again, the next stage in the return process is to be directed to the place of life selection. Souls consider when and where they want to go on Earth before making a decision on who they will be in their new life. Because of this spiritual practice, I have divided life selection and our final choice of a body into two chapters for ease of understanding.

The selection of a time and place for incarnation and who we want to be are not completely separate decisions. However, we start by having the opportunity of viewing how we might fit into certain environments in future time segments. Then our attention is directed to people living in these places. I was a little distracted by this procedure until I realized a soul is largely influenced by cultural conditions and events, as well as by the participants in these events, during a span of chronological time.

I have come to believe that the spirit world, as a whole, is not functionally uniform.

All spiritual regions are seen by traveling souls as having the same ethereal properties, but with different applications. As an illustration, the space of orientation for incoming souls could be contrasted to the space of life selection for those who are leaving. Both involve life evaluations for souls in transit which include scenes from Earth, but there the resemblance ends. Orientation spaces are said to be small, intimate conference areas designed to make a newly arrived soul comfortable, but our mental attitude in this space can be somewhat defensive. This is because there is the feeling we might have done better with life. A guide is always directly interacting with us.

On the other hand, when we enter the space of life selection, we are full of hope,

promise, and lofty expectations. Here souls are virtually alone, with their guides out of sight, while evaluating new life options. This hectic, stimulating place is described as being much larger than other spiritual study areas. Case 22 considered it a world unto itself, where transcendent energy alters time to allow for planetary study.  While some spiritual locales are difficult for my subjects to describe, most love to talk about the place of life selection, and they use remarkably similar descriptions. I am told it resembles a movie theater which allows souls to see themselves in the future, playing different roles in various settings. Before leaving, souls will have selected one scenario for themselves. Imagine being given a dress rehearsal before the actual performance of a new life. To tell us about it, I have picked a male subject who is well acquainted with the way his soul is assisted in making appropriate decisions.

Case 25

Dr. N: After you have made the decision you want to come back to Earth, what

happens next?

S: Well, when my trainer and I agree the time is right to accomplish things, I send out thoughts …

Dr. N: Go on.

S: My messages are received by the coordinators.

Dr. N: Who are they? Doesn’t your trainer-guide handle all the arrangements for incarnation?

S: Not exactly. He talks to the coordinators, who actually assist us in previewing our life possibilities at the Ring.

Dr. N: What is the Ring?

S: That’s where I’m going. We call it the Ring of Destiny. Dr. N: Is there just one place like it in the spirit world?

S: (pause) Oh, I think there must be many, but I don’t see them.

Dr. N: All right, let’s go to the Ring together on the count of three. When I am finished with my count you will have the capacity to remember all the details of this experience. Are you ready to go?

S: Yes.

Dr. N: One, two, three! Your soul is now moving toward the space of life selection.

Explain what you see.

S: (long pause) I … am floating towards the Ring … it’s circular … a monster bubble

Dr. N: Keep going. What else can you tell me.

S: There is a … concentrated energy force … the light is so intense. I’m being sucked inward … through a funnel … it’s a little darker.

Dr. N: Are you afraid?

S: Hmm … no, I’ve been here before, after all. It’s going to be interesting. I’m excited at what’s in store for me.

Dr. N: Okay, as you float inside the Ring, what are your first impressions?

S: (voice lowers) I … am a little apprehensive … but the energy relaxes me. I have an awareness of concern for me … caring … I don’t feel alone … my trainer’s presence is with me, too.

Dr. N: Continue to report everything. What do you see next?

S: The Ring is surrounded by banks of screens-I am looking at them. Dr. N: Screens on walls?

S: They appear as walls themselves, but nothing is really solid … it’s all … elastic … the screens curve around me … moving …

Dr. N: Tell me more about the screens.

S: They are blank … not reflecting anything yet … they shimmer as sheets of glass … mirrors.

Dr. N: What happens next?

S: (nervously) I feel a moment of quietness-it’s always like this-then it’s as if someone flipped a switch on the projector in a panorama movie theater. The screens come alive with images and there is color … action … full of light and sound.

Dr. N: Keep reporting to me. Where is your soul in relation to the screens?

S: I am hovering in the middle, watching the panorama of life all around me … places … people … (jauntily) I know this city!

Dr. N: What do you see?

S: New York.

Dr. N: Did you ask to see New York City?

S:  We  talked  about  my  going  back  there  …  (absorbed)  Gee-it’s  changed-more buildings … and the cars … it’s as noisy as ever.

Dr. N: I’ll come back to New York in a few minutes. Right now I want you to tell me what is expected of you in the Ring.

S: I’m going to mentally operate the panel. Dr. N: What’s that?

S: A scanning device in front of the screens. I see it as a mass of lights and buttons. It’s as if I’m in the cockpit of an airplane.

Dr. N: And you see these mechanical objects in a spiritual setting?

S: I know it sounds crazy, but this is what is coming through to me so I can explain to you what I am doing.

Dr. N: That’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just tell me what you are supposed to do with the panel.

S: I will help the controllers change the images on the screens by operating the scanner with my mind.

Dr. N: Oh, you are going to operate the projector as if you were working in a movie theater?

S: (laughs) Not the projector, the scanner. Anyway, they aren’t really movies. I am watching life actually going on in the streets of New York. My mind connects with the scanner to control the movement of the scenes I am watching.

Dr. N: Would you say this device resembles a computer?

S: Sort of … it works on a tracking system which … converts … Dr. N: Converts what?

S: My commands … are registered on the panel so I can track the action.

Dr. N: Position yourself at the panel and become the operator while continuing to explain everything to me.

S: (pause) I have assumed control. I see … lines converging along various points in a series of scenes … I’m traveling through time now on the lines and watching the images on the screens change.

Dr. N: And the scenes are constantly moving around you?

S: Yes, then the points light up on the lines when I want the scene to stop.

Note: Lines of travel is a term we have heard before in other spiritual regions to describe soul transition (i.e., Case 14).

Dr. N: Why are you doing all this?

S: I’m scanning. The stops are major turning points on life’s pathways involving important decisions … possibilities … events which make it necessary to consider alternate choices in time.

Dr. N: So, the lines mark the pathways through a series of events in time and space? S: Yes, the track is controlled in the Ring and transmitted to me.

Dr. N: Do you create the scenes of life while you track?

S: Oh, no! I simply control their movement through time on the lines. Dr. N: What else can you tell me about the lines?

S: The lines of energy are … roads with points of colored light as guideposts which I can move forward, backward, or stop.

Dr. N: As if you were running a video tape with start, fast-forward, stop, and rewind buttons?

S: (laughs) That’s the idea.

Dr. N: All right, you are moving along the track, scanning scenes and you decide to stop. Tell me what you do then.

S: I suspend the scene on the screens so I can enter it.

Dr. N: What? Are you saying you become part of the scene yourself? S: Yes, now I have direct access to the action.

Dr. N: In what way? Do you become a person in the scene, or does your soul hover

overhead while people move around?

S: Both. I can experience what life is like with anyone in the scene, or just watch them from any vantage point.

Dr. N: How can you leave the panel and go into a scene on Earth while still monitoring the action in the Ring?

S: I know you probably won’t understand this, but part of me stays at the controls so I can start up the scene again and stop it anytime.

Dr. N: Perhaps I do understand. Can you divide your energy?

S: Yes, and I can send thoughts back to myself. Of course, the controllers are helping too, as I go in and out of the screens.

Dr. N: So, essentially you can move time forward, backward, and stop it while tracking?

S: Yes… in the Ring.

Dr. N: Outside the Ring, does time co-exist for you in the spirit world, or is it progressive?

S: It co-exists here, but we can still see it progress on Earth.

Dr. N: It seems to me when souls are in the Ring of Destiny they use time almost like a tool.

S: As spirits, we do use time … subjectively. Things and events are moved around … and become objects in time … but to us time is uniform.

Dr. N: The paradox I have with time travel is that what is going to happen has already happened, so you could meet your own soul in some human being as you come and go in life scenes from the future.

S: (smiles enigmatically) When making contact the soul in residence is put on hold for a moment. It’s relatively short. We don’t disturb life cycles when tracking through time.

Dr. N:  Well, if past, present, and future are not really separate while you are tracking, why do you stop scenes to consider choices when you can already see into the future?

S: I’m afraid you don’t realize the real purpose of time use by the controllers of the Ring. Life is still conditional. Progressive time is created to test us. We are not

shown all the possible endings to a scene. Parts of lives are obscured to us.

Dr. N: So, time is used as a catalyst for learning by viewing lives when you can’t see everything that is going to happen?

S: Yes, to test our ability to find solutions. We gauge our abilities against  the difficulty of the events. The Ring sets up different experiments to choose from. On Earth we will try to solve them.

Dr. N: In the Ring, can you look at life on planets besides Earth? S: I can’t because I’m programmed for tracking time on Earth.

Dr. N: Your being able to jump through time from the screens sounds like a ball!

S: (grins) Oh, it’s stimulating-that’s for sure-but we can’t frolic around, because there are serious decisions to be made for the next life. I’ll have to accept the consequences for any mistakes in my choices … if I am not able to handle a life well.

Dr. N: I still don’t see how you could make many serious mistakes in your choices when you actually experience part of the life in which you plan to live.

S: My choices of life environments are not unlimited. As I said, I probably Won’t be able to see all of a scene in one time segment. Because of what they don’t show you, there is risk attached to all body choices.

Dr. N: If one’s future destiny is not fully preordained, as you say, why call this space the Ring of Destiny?

S: Oh, there is destiny, all right. The life cycles are in place. It’s just that there are so many alternatives which are unclear.

When I take my subjects into the spatial area of life selection, they see a circle of past, present and future time-such as the Ring in this case. Sensing they are leaving spiritual Now time within the circle, souls apparently rotate back and forth on resonating waves during their observational runs. All aspects of time are presented to them as reoccurring realities ebbing and flowing together. Because parallel realities are superimposed upon one another, they too can be seen as possibilities for physical lives, especially by the more experienced souls.

I was puzzled why my subjects did not fully see the future under these conditions, as

part of an all-knowing spiritual setting. In trying to sort this out, I finally came to the conclusion that the spirit world is designed to protect the interests of each soul. Generally, the people I work with are still-incarnating younger souls. They may not clearly see significant events too far into the future because the further away these souls get from present probabilities, the higher the incidence of possible alternative realities which cloud their images. Although the same properties hold true for time

in the distant past, there is one exception. A soul’s own past lives are more easily identified. This is because a single reality, with a definite course of action, was previously established to train this soul, and thus is firmly imprinted on his memory.

In Chapter Five, Case 13 demonstrated how amnesia is imposed upon us when we come into a current life, so that past life experiences will not inhibit self-discovery in the present. The same condition holds true for souls examining future lives. Without knowing why, most people believe their life has a plan. Of course, they are right. Although amnesia does prevent having full conscious knowledge of this plan, the unconscious mind holds the key to spiritual memories of a general blueprint of each life. The vehicle of life selection provides a kind of time machine for souls, where they see some alternative routes to the main road. Although these paths are not fully exposed to us as souls, we carry some of the road map to Earth. A client once said to me, “Whenever I am confused about what to do in life, I quietly sit down and think about where I have been and compare this to where I might want to go in future. The answer to the next step just comes to me from inside myself.”

Accepting what befalls us on the road of life as “acts of God” does not mean our existence should be locked into spiritual determinism where we must submit to an unalterable fate. If everything was preordained, there would be no purpose or justice to our struggle. When adversity strikes, it is not intended that we sit back with a fatalistic attitude and not fight to improve the situation by making on-site changes. During our lives all of us will experience opportunities for change which involve risk. These occasions may come at inconvenient times. We may not act upon them, but the challenge is there for us. The purpose of reincarnation is the exercise of free will. Without this ability, we would be impotent creatures indeed.

Thus, karmic destiny means we are not just caught up in events over which we have

no control. This also means we have karmic lessons and responsibilities. The law of cause and effect for our actions always exists, which is why this case did not want to make a mistake in choosing a life

unsuited to him. But whatever happens to us in life, it is important we understand

that our happiness or pain does not reflect either blessings or betrayal on the part of a God-oversoul, our guides, or life selection coordinators. We are the masters of our destiny.

As I conclude my conversation with Case 25, it may strike the reader that the

musical goals of this individual toward his next life are rather self-serving. Certainly his desire to be an admired musical talent has elements of personal compensation which would be less evident in a more advanced soul. However, it will also be seen that this soul wants to give a lot of himself.

Dr. N: Now, I want to talk more about the scenes you are seeing of New York City. Prior to your coming into the Ring, were you given any preparation about selections based on geography?

S: Oh, to some extent. My trainer and I talked about the fact that I had died young in New York in my last life. I wanted to go back to this dynamic city and study music.

Dr. N: Did you also talk to your trainer about other souls-your friends, who might want to incarnate with you?

S: Sure, that’s part of it. Some of us begin staking out a new life by deciding what surroundings are best for all concerned. I made it known I wanted to start again in the same place where I was killed. My trainer and friends offered their suggestions.

Note: This subject came to America as a Russian immigrant in his past life. He was killed in a railway construction accident in New York at age twenty-two in 1898. His rebirth in the same city occurred in 1937.

Dr. N: What suggestions?

S: We talked about my wanting to be a classical pianist. I had played an accordion for extra pick-up change-you know, banquets, weddings-that kind of thing.

Dr. N: And this experience is motivating your interest in the piano?

S: Yes. When making ice deliveries on the streets of New York, I would pass by the concert hall. It was my goal to some day study music and make a name for myself in the big city. I hardly got started before I died.

Dr. N: Did you see your death as a young man in New York during your last visit to the Ring?

S: (sadly) Yes … and I accepted that … as a condition of the life. It was a good life- just short. Now I want to go back with a better start and make a name for myself in music.

Dr. N: Could you ask to go anywhere on Earth?

S: Hmm….. it’s fairly open. If we have preferences, they are weighed against what’s available.

Dr. N: You mean, against what bodies are available? S: Yes, in certain places.

Dr. N: When you said you wanted a better start in music, I assume this is another reason you want to go back to New York.

S: This city will give me the best opportunity to develop my desire to study the piano. I wanted a large, cosmopolitan city with music schools.

Dr. N: What’s wrong with a city like Paris?

S: I wasn’t offered a body in Paris.

Dr. N: I want to be clear on your selection options. When you start previewing life scenes in the Ring, are you primarily looking at people or locations?

S: We begin with locations.

Dr. N: Okay, and so you are looking at the streets of New York City at the moment? S: Right, and it’s wonderful because I am doing more than looking. I’m floating

around smelling the food in the restaurants … I hear the honking of cars … I’m

following people walking past the shops on Fifth Avenue … getting the feel of the place again.

Dr. N: At this point have you actually entered the minds of the people walking along the streets?

S: No, not yet.

Dr. N: What do you do next? S: I go to other cities.

Dr. N: Oh, I guess I just assumed your body choices had to be in New York City. S: I didn’t tell you that. I also could go to Los Angeles, Buenos Aires, or Oslo.

Dr. N: I’m going to count to five and when I reach five you will scan these cities while we continue talking … one … two… three … four … five! Report what you are doing.

S:  I’m  going  to  concert  halls  and  music  academies  and  watching  the  students practice.

Dr. N: Do you just observe the general surroundings while floating around these students?

S: I do more. I go inside the heads of some of them to see how they … translate the

music.

Dr. N: Do you need to be in a special place like the Ring to examine the mental processes of people?

S: For past and future events I do. Making contact with someone in the present on Earth can be done anywhere (from the spirit world).

Dr. N: Could you describe the way your soul makes contact with someone? S: (pause) As … a light brush stroke.

Note: Souls are quite capable of sending and receiving messages from each other between spiritual and temporal worlds, as many of us have personally experienced. However, these temporary connections are made and broken quickly. The joining of a soul to a soulless baby for a lifetime is more difficult, and will be described further in Case 29.

Dr. N: As you look at these prospective lives, what year is it on Earth?

S: (hesitates) It’s … 1956 now, and most of my prospects are in their teens. I’ll check them out before and after this year … as much as the Ring will let me.

Dr. N: So the Ring gives you the opportunity to actually be various people who, in relative time on Earth, are not yet born?

L

S: Uh-huh, to see if I would fit in well-to check out their talent and parents-that sort of thing. (decisively) I want New York.

Dr. N: Do you think you have looked at the other cities carefully enough? S: (impatiently) Yes, I did that, but I don’t want them.

Dr. N: Wait a minute. What if you liked a music student in Oslo, but wanted to live in New York City?

S: (laughs) As a matter of fact, there is a promising girl in Los Angeles, but I still want New York.

Dr. N: All right, move forward. As your time in the Ring draws to a close, give me the details of your probable life selection.

S: I am going to New York to be a musician. I’m still trying to make up my mind between a couple of people, but I think I will choose (stops to laugh) a dumpy kid with a lot of talent. His body won’t have the stamina of my last one, but I’ll have the advantage of parents with some money who will encourage me to practice, practice, practice.

Dr. N: Money is important?

S: I know I sound … grasping … selfish … but there was no money in my last life. If I want to express the beauty of music and give pleasure to myself and others, I need proper training and supportive parents, otherwise I’ll get sidetracked … I know myself.

Dr. N: If you didn’t like any of the options presented to you in the Ring, could you ask for more places and people to look at?

S: It isn’t necessary, at least for me. I’m offered enough.

Dr. N: Let me be more blunt. If you are supposed to select a life from only the selections shown you in the Ring, how do you know the coordinators aren’t stacking the deck against you? Maybe they are programming you to make certain choices?

S: (pause) I don’t think so, considering all the times I have come to the Ring. We don’t go unless our minds are made up as to the type of life we want to live, and I’ve always had interesting choices based upon my own ideas.

Dr. N: Okay, after you are completely finished with reviewing lives in the Ring, what happens then?

S: The controllers … come into my mind to see if I am satisfied with what I have been shown.

Dr. N: Are they always the same entities?

S: I think so … as far back as I can remember.

Dr. N: Do they pressure you to make a decision before leaving the Ring?

S: Not at all. I float out and go back to talk to my companions before making up my mind.

Of course, theaters such as the Ring are not limited to viewing our planet. I have shown how some souls who come to Earth enjoy incarnating on other worlds as well. In Chapter Ten, I explained how the space of transformation within the spirit world allows souls to experiment with all sorts of shapes and forms for enlightenment and short-term recreation. However, for purposes of actual incarnation into our universe and other dimensions my subjects tell me there are space-time tunnels, or channels, available near their group centers. (Later, Case 29 will describe what it feels like to go through one of them at rebirth).

People say these portals are symbolized by a line of huge archways for passage

similar to a large train station. One woman put it this way, “We see these openings as lighter or darker voids of space. To me, the lighter tunnels denote more interactive communities of beings. The darker fields lead to low-density mental colonies where I am going to be alone a lot more.” When I asked her for an example of the latter, she said, “On the world of Arnth, we are as balls of cotton candy moving on waves of gas where nothing is solid. The swirling around each other is very orgasmic.” Another subject, describing his entry into a lighter opening said, “Sometimes between human incarnations I go with groups of souls to the fire world

of Jesta. In this volcanic atmosphere we can experience the physical and emotional stimulation of becoming intelligent molecules of flame. Now I know why I love to be in temperatures of over 100 degrees on Earth”

A soul’s physical anchorage is important. Case 25 told us his choice of locations was

confined to four cities. The number of scenes souls preview before a new life is, of course, different for each visit. Individual life offerings are selective, which indicates to me that other spiritual entities have

been actively working on our behalf to set up location scenes before we arrive. The

number of specialist spirits who assist souls at the space of life selection never seems to be large. They appear as rather vague apparitions to my subjects, although most believe members of their Council of Elders and personal guides are involved.

Early in human history, when the world was underpopulated, my clients recall lives

where they were always born in sparse human settlements. In time, with the rise of villages and then larger centers of ancient civilizations, my cases report returning to the same areas. Life selections were geographically scattered again by the great migrations of people colonizing new lands, particularly in the last four hundred years. In this century of over-population, more souls are choosing to live in places where they have been before.

Does this tendency today mean souls want to return to the same countries because of race? Souls are not inclined toward life selections based on ethnicity or nationalism. These products of human separatism are taught in childhood. Aside from the comfortable familiarity of culture in a soul’s choice (which is different from racial bias), we must also factor in the affinity many spirits have for deserts, mountains, or the sea. Souls may also have a preference for rural or urban living.

Are souls drawn back to the same geographic areas because they want a new life with the same family they had in their past  life? The tradition among certain cultures, such as Native Americans, is that souls choose to stay within family bloodlines. A dying man is expected to come back as his own unborn grandchild. In my practice I rarely see souls repeating the same genetic choices in past  lives because this would inhibit growth and opportunity.

Once in awhile I hear about a soul returning to the body of a relative in a former life under unusual karmic circumstances. For example, if a brother and sister had a close affinity for each other, and one were to die suddenly while still young, the soul of the dead sibling might want to return in the surviving sibling’s child to restore this broken life connection to finish an important task.

What is even more common in my experience, are the souls of young children who

die soon after birth and then return to the same parents as the soul of their next baby. These plans are all made in advance by the souls participating in tragic family events. They involve a maze of karmic issues. Not long ago, I had a case where my client had died from a birth defect early in

his last life. I asked, “What was the purpose of your life ending when you were only a few days old?” He replied, “The lesson was for my parents, not me, and that’s why I elected to come back for them as a filler.” When souls return for a short life to help someone else rather than work on their own issues, because there isn’t time, some call this “a filler life.” In this case, the parents had abused and finally caused the death of another child when they were together in an earlier life. Although they

were a loving young couple in the last life of my client, these parents evidently needed to experience the grief of having a child they desperately wanted taken away from them. Experiencing the anguish from this terrible loss gave the souls of these parents a deeper insight into the effects of severing a blood bond. I will have an example of this theme in Case 27.

Spirits do not routinely see their deaths in future lives. If souls choose a life where

their death will be premature, they often see it in the place of life selection. I have found that souls essentially volunteer in advance for bodies who will have sudden fatal illnesses, are to be killed by someone, or come to an abrupt end of life with many  others  from  a  catastrophic  event.  Souls  who  become  involved  in  these tragedies are not caught in the wrong place at the wrong time with a capricious God looking the other way. Every soul has a motive for the events in which it chooses to participate. One client told me his last life was planned in advance to end at seven years of age as an American Indian boy. He said, “I was looking for a short-burst lesson in humility and this life as a mistreated starving half-breed was enough.” Another, more graphic example of a soul volunteering for a terrible assignment was that of one of my subjects who elected in her last life to join (with three others of her soul group) the bodies of Jewish women taken from Munich into the death camp at Dachau in 1941. All were assigned to the same barracks (also prearranged) where my client died in 1943 at age 18 comforting the children and trying to help them survive. Her mission was accomplished with courage.

While events, race, culture, and geographic location often appear to come first in the

selection process, they are not the most significant choices for the soul’s next life. Aside from all other considerations, incarnation comes down to souls making that all-important decision of a specific body, and what can be learned by utilizing the brain of a certain human being. The next chapter is devoted to an analysis of why souls choose their bodies for various biological and psychological reasons.

13

Choosing a New Body

IN the place of life selection, our souls preview the life span of more than one human

being within the same time cycle. When we leave this area, most souls are inclined toward one leading candidate presented to us for soul occupation. However, our spiritual advisors give us ample opportunity to reflect upon all we have seen in the future before making a final decision. This chapter is devoted to the many elements which go into that decision.

Our deliberations over body alternatives actually begin before we go to the place of

life selection. Souls do this in order to adequately prepare themselves for viewing certain people in different cultural settings on Earth. I sense those souls who set up the screening room know in advance what to show us, because of these thoughts in our minds. Great care must be taken in choosing just the right body to serve us in the life to come. As I have said, guides and peer group members are part of this evaluation process prior to, and after, we visit the place of life selection.

When listening to my subjects describe all the preparations which go into picking a new physical body, I am constantly reminded of the fluidity of spiritual time. Our

teachers use relative future time in the place of  life selection to allow souls to measure human usefulness for working on unfinished lesson plans. Blueprints for the next life vary in the degree of difficulty the soul-mind sets for itself. If we have just come off an easy life, making little interpersonal progress, our soul might want to choose a person in the next time cycle who will face heartache and perhaps tragedy. It is not out of the ordinary for me to see someone who has skated through an

unchallenging life overloading themselves with turmoil in the next one to catch up

with their learning goals.

The soul-mind is far from infallible as it works in conjunction with a biological

brain. Regardless of our soul level, being human means we will all make mistakes and have the necessity of engaging in midcourse corrections during our lives. This will be true with any body we select.

Before taking up the more complex mental factors in a soul’s decision to join with

the brain of a human baby, I will begin with the physical aspects of body choice. Despite the fact that our souls know in advance what they are going to look like, a national survey in the United States indicated 90 percent of both males and females were dissatisfied with the physical characteristics of their bodies. This is the power of conscious amnesia. Much unhappiness is created by society stereotyping an ideal appearance. Yet, this too is part of a soul’s lesson plan.

How many times have we all looked in a mirror and said; “Is this the real me? Why do I appear this  way? Am I  in a  body where  I  belong?”  These  questions are especially poignant when the type of body we have prevents us from doing those things we think we ought to be able to do in life. I have had a number of clients who came to me convinced their bodies prevented them from achieving satisfying lives. Many handicapped people think if it were not for a genetic mistake, or being the victim of an accidental injury which damaged their body, their lives would be more fulfilled. As heartless as this may sound, my cases show few real accidents involving body damage which don’t fall under the free will of souls. As souls, we choose our bodies for a reason. Living in a damaged body does not necessarily have to involve a karmic debt we are paying off because of past life responsibility for an injury to someone else. As my next case will demonstrate, when a soul is inside a damaged body, this choice can involve a learning path to another type of lesson.

It is difficult to tell a newly-injured person trying to cope with physical disablement

that he or she has an opportunity to advance at a faster rate than those of us with healthy bodies and minds. This knowledge must come through self-discovery. The case histories of my clients convince me that the effort necessary to overcome a body impediment does accelerate advancement. Those of us whom society deems less- than-perfect suffer discrimination which makes the burden even heavier. Overcoming the obstacles of physical ailments and hurt makes us stronger for the ordeal.

Our bodies are an important part of the trial we set  for ourselves in life. The

freedom of choice we have with these bodies is based far more on psychological elements than from the estimated 100,000 genes inherited by each human being. However, I want to show in the opening case of this chapter why souls want certain bodies based largely on physical reasons without heavy psychological implications.

The case exhibits the planning involved in the decision of a soul to be in contrasting physical bodies in different lives. After this case, we will examine why souls choose their bodies for other reasons.

Case 26 was a tall, well-proportioned woman who enjoyed participating in sports

despite being bothered all her life with recurring leg pains. During her preliminary interview, I learned the pain was a dull ache in both legs, about midway down the thighbones. Over a period of years she had been to a number of doctors who could find no medical evidence of anything wrong with her legs. Clearly, she was worn down and willing to try anything for relief.

When   I   heard   the   doctors   had   concluded   her   discomfort   was   probably

psychosomatic, I suspected the origin of this woman’s pain might lie in a past life. Before going to the source of her problem, I decided to take my client through a couple of past lives to ascertain her motivations for body choices. When I asked her to tell me about a life in which she was the happiest with a human body she told of being in the body of a Viking called Leth around 800 AD. She said Leth was “a child of nature” who traveled by the Baltic Sea route into western Russia.

Leth was described as wearing a long, fur-lined cloak and soft, form-fitting animal skin pants with roped-up boots and a cap wrapped with metal. He carried an ax and a heavy, broad-bladed sword which he wielded easily in battle. My subject was intrigued by the picture in her mind of again being inside this magnificently proportioned warrior with “dirty strands of reddish-blond hair spilling over my shoulders.” Standing well over six feet tall, he must have been a giant of his time, with enormous strength, a huge chest, and powerful limbs. A man of great endurance, Leth navigated with other Norsemen over long distances, sailing up rivers and hiking through thick, virgin forests, pillaging settlements along the way. Leth was killed during a raid while looting a village.

Case 26

Dr. N: What was most important to you about this life you have just recalled as

Leth the Viking?

S: To experience that magnificent body and the feeling of raw physical power. I have never had another body like that one in all my existences on Earth. I was fearless because my body did not react to pain even when wounded. In every respect it was flawless. I never got sick.

Dr. N: Was Leth ever mentally troubled by anything? Was there any emotional sensitivity for you in this life?

S: (bursts out laughing) Are you kidding? Never! I lived only for each day. My concerns were not getting enough fighting, plunder, food, drink, and sex. All my feelings were channeled into physical pursuits. What a body!

Dr. N: All right, let’s analyze your decision to choose this great body in advance of Leth’s life. At the time you made your choice in the spirit world did you request this body of good genetic stock or did your guide simply make the selection for you?

S: Counselors don’t do that.

Dr. N: Then explain to me how this body came to be chosen by you.

S: I wanted one of the best physical specimens on Earth at the time and Leth was offered to me as a possibility.

Dr. N: You had only one choice?

S: No, I had two choices of people living in this time.

Dr. N: What if you didn’t like any of the body choices presented to you for occupation in that time segment?

S: (thoughtfully) The alternatives of my choices always seem to match what I want to experience in my lives.

Dr. N: Do you have the sense the counselors know in advance which body selections are exactly right for you, or are they so harried it’s just an indiscriminate grab bag of body choices?

S: Nothing here is careless. The counselors arrange everything.

Dr. N: I have wondered if the counselors might get mixed up once in a while. With all the new babies born could they ever assign two souls to one baby, or leave a baby without a soul for a while?

S: (laughing) We aren’t in an assembly line. I told you they know what they are doing. They don’t make mistakes like that.

Dr. N: I believe you. Now, as to your choices, I am curious if two bodies were sufficient for your examination in the place of life selection.

S: We don’t need a lot of choices for lives once the counselors get their heads together about our desires. I already had some idea of the right body size and shape and the sex I wanted before being exposed to my two choices.

Dr. N: What was the body choice you rejected in favor of Leth?

S: (pause) That of a soldier from Rome… also with the strong body I wanted in that lifetime.

Dr. N: What was wrong with being an Italian soldier?

S: I didn’t want … control over me by the state (subject shakes head from side to side) … too restrictive …

Dr. N: As I remember, by the ninth century much of Europe had fallen under the authority of Charlemagne’s Holy Roman Empire.

S: That was the trouble with the soldier’s life. As a Viking I answered to nobody. I was free. I could move around with my band of invaders in the wilderness without any governmental control.

Dr. N: Then freedom was also an issue in your choice?

S: Absolutely. The freedom of movement… the fury of battle the use of my strength and uninhibited action. Life at sea and in the forests was robust and constant. I know the life was cruel, too, but it was a brutal time. I was no better or worse than the rest.

Dr. N: But what about other considerations, such as personality?

S: Nothing bothered me as long as I was able to physically express myself to the fullest.

Dr. N: Did you have a mate-children?

S: (shrugs)  Too restrictive. I was on the move. I possessed many women-some willing-others not-and this pleasure added to my expression of physical power. I didn’t want to be tied down in any way.

Dr. N: So, the body of Leth was your preference as a pure physical extension of sensual feeling?

S: Yes, I wanted to experience all body senses to the fullest, nothing more.

I felt my subject was now ready to go to work on her current problem. After bringing her out of superconscious into a subconscious state, I asked her to go directly to a life which may have involved leg pain.

Almost at once the woman dropped into her most recent past life and became a six- year-old girl named Ashley living in New England in the year 1871. Ashley was riding in a fully loaded, horse-drawn carriage when suddenly she opened the door and tumbled out under the vehicle. When she hit the cobblestone street, one of the heavy rear carriage wheels rolled over her legs at the same point above both knees, crushing the bones. My subject reexperienced a sharp pain in her legs while describing the fall.

Despite efforts from local physicians and the prolonged use of wood splints, Ashley’s

leg bones did not heal properly. She was never able to stand or walk again and poor circulation caused repeated swelling in her legs for the rest of a rather short life. Ashley died in 1912 after a productive period of years as a writer and tutor of disadvantaged children. When the narration of Ashley’s life ended, I returned my

subject to the spirit world.

Dr. N: In your history of body choices why did you wait a thousand years between being a physically strong man and a crippled woman?

S: Well, of course, I developed a better sense of who I was during

the lives in between. I chose to be crippled to gain intellectual concentration. Dr. N: You chose a broken body for this?

S: Yes, you see, being unable to walk made me read and study more. I developed my mind … and listened to my mind. I learned to communicate well and to write with skill because I wasn’t distracted. I

was always in bed.

Dr. N: Was any characteristic about your soul particularly evident in both Ashley

and Leth the Viking?

S: That part of me which craves fiery expression was in both bodies.

Dr. N: I want you to go to the moment you were in the process of choosing the life of Ashley. Tell me how you decided on this particular damaged body.

S: I picked a family in a well-established, settled part of America. I wanted a place with libraries and to be taken care of by loving parents so I could devote myself to scholarship. I constantly wrote to many unhappy people and became a good teacher.

Dr. N: As Ashley, what did you do for this loving family who took care of you?

S: It always works two ways-the benefits and liabilities. I chose this family because they needed the intensity of love with someone totally dependent upon them all their lives. We were very close as a family because they were lonely before I was born. I came late, as their only child. They wanted a daughter who would not marry and leave them to be lonely again.

Dr. N: So it was a trade-off? S: Most definitely.

Dr. N: Then let’s track this decision further back to the place of life selection, when your soul first saw Ashley’s life. Did you see the details of your carriage accident then?

S: Of course, but it wasn’t an accident-it was supposed to happen.

Dr. N: Once you came to Earth, who was responsible for the fall? Was it your soul- mind or Ashley’s biological mind?

S: We worked in unison. She was going to be fooling with the carriage door handle and … I capitalized on that

Dr. N: Tell me what was going through your soul-mind in the life selection room when you saw the scene of Ashley falling and being injured?

S: I thought about how this crippled body could be put to good use. I had some other choices for body injuries, but I preferred this one

because I didn’t want to have the capability for much movement.

Dr. N: I want to pursue the issue of causality here. Would Ashley have fallen anyway if she had a soul other than your own?

S: (defensively) We were right for each other… Dr. N: That doesn’t answer my question.

S: (long pause) There are forces beyond my knowledge as a spirit. When I saw Ashley for the first time … I was able to see her without me … healthy … older … another life possibility…

Dr. N: Now we are getting somewhere. Are you saying if Ashley had begun her life with another soul entity that she might not have fallen at all?

S: Yes … that’s a possibility … one of many … she could also have been less severely injured, with the ability to walk on crutches.

Dr. N: Well, did you see a physically healthy Ashley living happily without your soul?

S: I saw … a grown woman … normal legs … unhappiness with a man … frustration at being trapped in an unrewarding life … sorrowful parents … but easier. (voice becomes more firm) No! That course would not have worked well for either of us-I was the best soul for her.

Dr. N: Were you the prime mover of the fall, once you elected to be-come Ashley’s soul?

S: It … was both of us … we were one at that moment … she was being naughty, bouncing around in the carriage, playing with the door handle when her mother said she must stop. Then … I was ready and she was ready…

Dr. N: Just how rigid was your destiny? Once you were Ashley’s soul was there any way you could have backed out of this entire incident in the carriage?

S: (pause) I can tell you I had a flash just before I fell. I could have pulled back and

not fallen out. A voice inside my mind said…”It’s an opportunity, don’t wait any longer, take the fall, this is what you wanted-it’s the best course of action.”

Dr. N: Was that particular moment important? S: I didn’t want Ashley to get too much older.

Dr. N: But, the pain and suffering this child went through . . .?

S: It was horrible. The agony of those first five weeks was beyond belief. I almost died, but I learned from enduring it all and I now see the memories of Leth’s capacity for managing pain helped me.

Dr. N: Did your inner mind have any regrets during those moments when the pain was most severe?

S: As I slipped in and out of consciousness during the worst of the ordeal, my mind began gaining in power. Overriding my damaged body, I started to better control the pain … lying in bed… the doctors helpless. The skills I developed in managing pain were later used to concentrate on my studies and my counselor was helping me, too, in subtle ways.

Dr. N: So you gained a lot in this life by being unable to walk?

S: Yes, I became a listener and thinker. I corresponded with many people and learned to write with inspiration. I gained teaching ability with the young, and felt guided by an internal power.

Dr. N: Was your counselor proud of your accomplishments after you returned to the spirit world?

S: Very, although I was told I had become a little too indulged and pampered (laughs), but that’s an okay trade-off.

Dr. N: How does your experience with the strong body of Leth and the weak one of Ashley help you today, or is this of no consequence?

S: I benefit every day by my appreciation of the necessity of a union between mind and body to learn lessons.

During my client’s reliving of the street scene which broke her legs, I initiated desensitization measures. At the close of our session together, I then deprogrammed her generational memory of leg pain entirely. This woman later notified me she has had no further pain and regularly enjoys playing tennis.

The two past lives I have represented in this case were largely devoted to physical choices for soul actualization in two quite different environments.

Souls search for self-expression by developing different aspects of their character. Regardless of what physical or mental tools are used through the use of many bodies, the laws of karma will prevail. If the soul chooses one extreme, somewhere down the line this will be counterbalanced by an opposite choice to even-out development. The physical lives of Leth and Ashley are examples of karmic compensation. The Hindus believe a rich man sooner or later must become a beggar for his soul to develop adequately.

By  surviving  different  challenges  our  soul  identity  is  strengthened.  The  word

strength should not be misunderstood. My subjects say the real lessons of life are learned by recognizing and coming to terms with being human. Even as victims, we are beneficiaries because it is how we stand up to failure and duress which really marks our progress in life. Sometimes one of the most important lessons is to learn to just let go of the past.

While souls carefully consider the physical attributes of an Earth body in a variety

of cultural settings, they give much more attention to the psychological aspects of human life. This decision is the most vital part of the entire selection process for the soul. Before entering the place of life selection, it is to a soul’s advantage to ponder the factors of heredity and environment which affect how a biological life form will function. I have heard that a soul’s spiritual energy has a fluctuating influence on whether the temperament of its human host will be extroverted or introverted, rationalistic or idealistic, emotionally or analytically dominated. Because of such variables, souls need to reflect in advance on the types of bodies which will serve them best in the life to come.

From  what  I  can  gather,  a  soul’s  thoughts  about  certain  human  behavior

preferences for themselves in the next life are known by guides and those masters charged with operating the life selection stations. It appears to me some souls take this responsibility more seriously than others. Yet, a soul in the prelife selection phase can reflect only so much on how they would fit into a specific body. When souls are called to the place of life selection the guesswork is over. Now they must match their spiritual identity against a mortal being.  Why one soul joined, for psychological reasons, with two human beings thousands of years apart is the basis of my next case.

Case 27 is a Texas businessman who owns a large, successful clothing firm. During a vacation in California, Steve came to see me on the advice of a friend. As I took his history, I noticed he was tense and hypervigilant. While his fingers toyed with a key chain, Steve’s eyes darted anxiously around my office. I asked if he was nervous or afraid of hypnosis as a procedure and he replied, “No, I’m more afraid of what you will uncover.”

This client told me his employees were demanding and disloyal and the multitude of personnel complaints had become intolerable. His solution had been to increase discipline and fire people. I learned that he had two failed marriages and was a binge alcoholic. He said he had recently tried a recovery program but quit because “they were getting too critical of me.”

As we talked further, Steve explained that his mother disappeared after leaving him

on the steps of a church in Texas within a week of his birth. After a few lonely and unhappy years in an orphanage, an older couple adopted him. He added that these

people were stern disciplinarians who seemed to disapprove of him all the time. Leaving home in his teens, Steve had many scrapes with the law and once attempted suicide.

I found this client’s personality to be overly assertive and untrusting of authority.

His anger was rooted in feelings of isolation and abandonment issues. Steve said he felt like he was losing control over his life and was willing to try anything “to find the real me.” I agreed to short-term exploration of his unconscious mind if he would consider seeing a therapist later in his own town for sustained counseling.

As this case unfolds, we will see how Steve’s soul maintains its identity while responding to physical life in a human body. The intensity of this association is increased in hypnosis when my subjects discuss their motives for body selection. One reason why I have used this case is to expose a difficult barrier to discovering our identity-that of childhood trauma. Souls who unite with people that develop early personality disorders deliberately set themselves up for a difficult life. Before taking my client into the spirit world to learn why his soul chose this life, it was necessary to relive his early childhood memories. In the short excerpt which begins this case, this subject will see his real mother again. It is one of the most poignant scenes I have ever facilitated.

Case 27

Dr. N: You are now a baby in the first week of life and your mother is seeing you for

the last time. It doesn’t matter that you are a baby because your inner adult mind knows everything that is going on. Describe to me exactly what transpires.

S: (subject starts to shake) I … I’m in a basket … there is a faded blue blanket around me … I’m being set down on some steps… it’s cold …

Dr. N: Where are these steps?

S: … In front of a church… in Texas.

Dr. N: Who is setting you down on the church steps?

S: (the shaking increases) My mother … is bending down over me … saying goodbye

… (begins to cry)

Dr. N: What can you tell me about your mother’s reason for leaving you?

S: She … is young … not married to my father … he is already married. She is … crying … I can feel her tears falling on my face.

Dr. N: Look up at her. What else do you see?

S: (chokes) Flowing black hair … beautiful… I reach up and touch her mouth … she kisses me … soft, gentle … she is having a terribly hard time leaving me here.

Dr. N: Does she say anything to you before leaving?

S: (subject can now hardly talk) “I must leave you for your own good. I have no money to take care of you. My parents won’t help us. I love you. I will always love you and hold you in my heart forever.”

Dr. N: What happens then?

S: She … takes hold of a heavy door knocker… it has an animal on it… and bangs on the door… we hear footsteps coming… now she is gone.

Dr. N: What do your inner thoughts tell you about all you have seen?

S: (almost overcome by emotion) Oh … she wanted me after all … didn’t want to leave me … she loved me!

Dr. N: (I place my hand on the subject’s forehead and begin a  series of post- hypnotic suggestions which end with the following instructions) Steve, you will be able to recall this subconscious memory in your conscious mind. You will retain this picture of your mother

for the rest of your life. You now know how she truly felt about you and that her

energy is still with you. Is this clear? S: Yes … it is.

Dr. N: Now, move forward in time and tell me how you feel about your foster parents.

S: Never satisfied with me … made me feel guilty about everything … controlling and judging me … (subject’s face is dripping wet with tears and perspiration) don’t know who I am supposed to be

I’m not real

Dr. N: (I raise my voice) Tell me what is unreal about you. S: Pretending … (stops)

Dr. N: Keep going!

S: I’m not really in control … constant anger … mistreating people to … get even … hopelessness …

Note: After additional conditioning, I will now take my subject back and forth between his subconscious and superconscious mind.

Dr. N: All right Steve, now let’s go back to the time before your birth into this life. Tell me if you have ever lived in another life with the soul of your birth mother.

S: (long pause) Yes … I have.

Dr. N: Was there ever a particular life you lived with this soul on Earth which involved any sort of physical or emotional pain between the two of you?

S: (after a moment subject’s hands grip the arms of his chair) Oh, damn-that’s it-of course-it’s her!

Dr. N: Try to relax and not go too fast for me. I want you to enter the life you see in your mind at the most crucial point in your relationship with this soul on the count of three. One, two, three!

S: (a deep sigh) Oh my … it’s the same person … a different body but she was my mother then, too

Dr. N: Stay focused on the Earth scene. Is it day or night? S: (pause) Broad daylight. Hot sun and sand …

Dr. N: Describe what is happening under the hot sun in the sand.

S: (haltingly) I am standing in front of my temple … before a large crowd of people

… my guards are in back of me.

Dr. N: What is your name? S: Haroum.

Dr. N: What are you wearing, Haroum?

S: A long, white robe and sandals. I have a staff in my hand with gold snakes on it as a symbol of my authority.

Dr. N: What is your authority, Haroum? S: (proudly) I am a high priest.

Note: Further inquiries revealed this man was a tribal leader who was located on the Arabian peninsula close to the Red Sea around 2000 BC. In preclassical times, this area was known as the Kingdom of Sheba (or Saba). I also learned the temple was a large oval structure of mud bricks and stone dedicated to a moon god.

Dr. N: What are you doing in front of your temple?

S: I am on the steps judging a woman. She is my mother. She is kneeling down in front of me. There is a look of pity and fear in her eyes as she looks up at me.

Dr. N: How can her eyes show both pity and fear at once?

S: There is pity in her eyes because of the power which has consumed me … in taking so much control over the daily lives of my people. And there is fear, too, for what I am about to do. This disturbs me, but I must not show it.

Dr. N: Why is your mother kneeling on the temple steps before you?

S: She has broken into the storage house and stolen food to give to the people. Many are hungry at this time of year, but I alone can order distribution. The food must be measured out carefully.

Dr. N: Did she act against some rule of food rationing? Was this a question of survival?

S: (abruptly) There is more to this-by disobeying me she is

undermining my authority. I use the distribution of food as a means of… control over my people. I want them all to be loyal to me.

Dr. N: What are you going to do with your mother?

S: (with conviction) My mother has violated the law. I can save her, but she must be punished as an example. I decide she will die.

Dr. N: How do you feel about killing your own mother, Haroum?

S: It must be done. She has been a constant thorn in my side-causing unrest among my people because of her position. I cannot govern freely with her here any longer. Even now, she is defiant. I order her death by banging my staff on the stone steps.

Dr. N: Later on are you sad about ordering your mother’s execution?

S: (voice becomes strained) I… must not think about such things if I am to maintain power.

At this point Steve’s mind had relived two emotionally wrenching events involving voluntary actions of separation between mother and son. Although he had made the karmic connection, it was important that his abandonment as a baby not be isolated as pure historic retribution. For healing to begin we had to go further.

The next stage in our session together was designed to recover Steve’s soul identity. To do this, I took him into the spirit world. In each of my cases, I try to bring the

subject back to the most appropriate spiritual area to get the best results. In Case 13, I used the place of orientation. With Case 27, we will go back to relive the spiritual time just after his return from the place of life selection. In this setting, I want Steve to see the reasons for his current body choice and the role of other soul participants in his life.

Dr. N: By what name are you known in the spirit world? S: Sumus

.

Dr. N: All right, Sumus, since we are now in the spirit world again, I want us to go to the period just following your initial viewing of the man who is Steve. What are your thoughts?

S: Such a resentful man… he is so angry about his mother dumping him on a doorstep … and those hard-nosed people who will

take over as his parents … I don’t know if I even want to take this body!

Dr. N: I understand, but why don’t we put that decision aside for a few minutes while other things develop. Tell me what you actually do once you leave the place of life selection.

S: Sometimes I might want to be by myself for a while. Usually, I am anxious to have the opinions of my friends about the lives I look at, especially one this rough.

Dr. N: Surely, you had more than one body option?

S: (shakes head) This is one I should take … it’s a rough decision.

Dr. N: Tell me, Sumus, when you are back with your group of friends, do you discuss the possibility of yourself associating with some of them in the next life?

S: Yes, more often than not, these close friends are going to be in my life to come, just as I will be in theirs. Some of my clutch will not be in certain lives. It doesn’t matter. We all discuss our next life with each other. I want to get their ideas on details. You see, we all know each other so well-our strengths and weaknesses- former successes and failures-what to watch out for … that kind of thing.

Dr. N: Did you discuss with them any details about the kind of person you should be in your next life before actually going to the place of life selection?

S: Oh yeah, in a roundabout way. Nothing concrete. Now that I have seen Steve, and who the others might be in relation to him in this life, there are reservations. So I talk to Jor.

Dr. N: Is Jor your guide?

S: Yes, he listened a lot to what I had to say about who I thought I should be before I was sent to the place where we look at lives.

Dr. N: Okay, Sumus, you have just returned to your primary cluster group from the place of life selection. What do you do first?

S: I talk about this guy Steve who is so unhappy … no real mother … all that stuff … what kinds of people will be around him … their plans, too … it must fit all together for us.

Dr. N: You mean which souls are going to take certain bodies? S: Right, we need to firm that up.

Dr. N: Are soul assignments still negotiable at this point, or is everyone told which body they will be in after leaving the place of life selection?

S: No one is forced to do anything. We know what should be done. Jor… and the others help us make adjustments … they are sent in to round out the picture … (subject’s face becomes grave)

Dr. N: Is something bothering you at this moment, Sumus?

S: (in a cheerless manner) Uh … my friends are moving away … there are others coming … oh…

Dr. N: I gather some deliberations are about to occur with other souls. Try to relax as best you can. On my command you will clearly relate to me everything that is happening. Do you understand?

S: (nervously) Yes.

Dr. N: Begin! How many entities do you see?

S: There are… four of them… coming over to me… Jo. is one of them. Dr. N: Who is first?

S: (subject grabs my hand) It’s … ……. she wants to be … my mother again. Dr. N: Is this the soul of the woman who is Haroum’s and Steve’s mother? S: Yes, she is… oh… I don’t want to…

Dr. N: What’s going on?

S: Eone is telling me it’s time for us to … settle things … to be in a disordered life as mother and son again.

Dr. N: But Sumus, didn’t you know this at the place of life selection when you viewed Steve’s mother taking her baby to the church?

S: I saw the people … the possibility… it was still an … abstract consideration … it wasn’t actually me yet. I guess I need more convincing because Eone is here for a reason.

Dr. N: I take it none of these newly arrived entities is from your own clutch? S: (sighs) No, they are not.

Dr. N: Why did you and Eone wait 4000 earth years before discussing a balancing out of your treatment of her in Arabia?

S: Earth years mean nothing; it could have been yesterday. I just wasn’t ready to offset the harm I did her as Haroum. She says the circumstances are right for this exercise now.

Dr. N: If your soul joins with the body of Steve in Texas, will Eone consider this karmic payment for your debt?

S: (pause) My life as Steve is not supposed to be punishment.  Dr. N: I’m glad you see that. So what is the lesson to be learned?

S: To … feel what desertion is like in a family relationship … deliberate severing … Dr. N: The severing of the mother and son bond by deliberate action?

S: Yes … to appreciate what it is like to be cast off.

Dr. N: Allow Eone to move away and have the other entities join us, Sumus.

S: (distressed) Eone is floating back to … Jor…. coming forward are … Oh shit-it’s Talu and Kalish! (subject squirms in his chair and tries to ward off the two spirits in his mind by pushing the palms of his hands outward)

Dr. N: Who are they?

S: (in a rush of words) Talu and Kalish have volunteered to be Steve’s-my foster parents. They work together a lot.

Dr. N: What’s the problem, then?

S: I just don’t want them again so soon!

Dr. N: Slow down for me, Sumus. You have worked with these souls before?

S: (still muttering to himself) Yes, yes-but they are so hard for me to be with especially Kalish. It’s too soon. They were my in-laws in the German life.

Note: We digress for a few minutes while Sum us briefly explains a past life in Europe as a high-ranking army, officer who neglected his family and was the object of scorn from his wife’s influential parents.

Dr. N: Are you saying that Talu and Kalish lack the capability for the assignment of being your foster parents in Texas?

S: (shakes head with resignation) No, they know what they are doing. lt’s just that with Kalish, it’s always a rough ride. She chooses to be people who are critical, demanding, cold…

Dr. N: Does she always present that sort of behavior in human bodies?

S: Well, that’s her style with me. Kalish is not a soul who engages easily with others. She is independent and very determined.

Dr. N: How about Talu as your adoptive father?

S: Stern .. allows Kalish to lead … can be too detached… emotionally private… I’m going to really rebel against them this time.

Dr. N: Okay, but will they teach you something?

S: Yes, I know they will, but I am still arguing about it. Jor and Eone come over. Dr. N: What do you say next at this conference?

S: I want Eone to be my foster mother. They all laugh at me. Jor won’t buy my explanations. He knows I am close to Eon e.

Dr. N: Do they make fun of you, Sumus?

S: Oh no, it’s not that way at all Talu and Kalish question my reluctance to tackle my faults with them.

Dr. N: Well, I was getting the impression you thought these souls were ganging up on you to force a decision to join with the Texas baby.

S: That’s not how it goes here. We are discussing my misgivings about the life itself. Dr. N: But I thought you didn’t like Talu and Kalish?

I

S: They know about me … I need strict people or I ride over them. Everyone here

sees I have a tendency to indulge myself. They convince me an easy life without them will be like treading water. Both of them are very disciplined.

Dr. N: Well, it sounds like you have about made up your mind to go with them into the Texas life.

S: (musing) Yes… they are going to make a lot of demands on me as a child… Kalish sarcastic … Talu a perfectionist… losing Eone…

it’s going to be a rough ride.

Dr. N: What will playing the roles of your parents do for Talu and Kalish?

S: Kalish and Talu are in different … configurations than me. I’m not supposed to get all muddled up in their business. It has something to do with their being rigid people and overcoming pride.

Dr. N: When you are on Earth, does your soul-mind always know the reason why certain people who influence you positively or negatively are significant in your life?

S: Yes, but that doesn’t mean the person I am in that life understands what my spirit knows. (smiles) That’s what we should be able to figure out on Earth.

Dr. N: Which is what we are doing now?

S: Yeah … and I am cheating a little with you helping, but it’s okay, I can use it.

It does seem an enigma that the knowledge of who we really are as souls is so difficult for many of us to reach through our conscious minds. By now I’m sure the reader has discerned that even in a superconscious state, we do retain the ability to observe ourselves with a portion of the critical center of our conscious mentality. Assisting clients in reaching their inner selves by linking all facets of the mind is the most important part of my work in hypnotherapy.

I want Steve to gain insight into the motives for his behavior by understanding his soul. The dialogue which follows provides us with further disclosures as to why Sumus integrated into Steve’s body. The spiritual conference with Jor, Eone, Talu, and Kalish is over and I have taken Sumus to a quiet setting in the spirit world for this discussion.

Dr. N: Tell me, Sumus, how much of who you really are as a soul identity is reflected in the human beings you have occupied?

S: Quite a lot-but no two bodies are alike. (laughs) Good body and soul mergers don’t always happen, you know. I remember some of my former bodies more fondly than others.

Dr. N: Would you say your soul dominates or is subordinated by the human brain? S: That’s difficult to answer because there are subtle differences with the brain of

each body which affects how we… exhibit ourselves from that body. A human would be pretty vacant without us… we treat earth bodies with respect, though.

Dr. N: What do you think human beings would be like without souls? S: Oh, dominated by senses and emotions

Dr. N: And you believe each human brain causes you to react differently?

S: Well, that which I am … is able to utilize some bodies better than others. I don’t always feel fully attached to a human being. Some physical emotions are overpowering and I… am not so effective.

Dr. N: Such as the high level of rage displayed by Steve’s temperament, perhaps affected by the central nervous system of this body?

S: Yes, we inherit these things ….

Dr. N: But you knew what Steve would be like before you chose his body?

S: (in disgust) That’s right, and it’s typical of how I can make a bad situation worse. I am able to interpret only when the storms of the human mind are quiet, and yet I want to be stormy people.

Dr. N: What do you mean by interpret?

S: Interpret ideas … make sense out of Steve’s reactions to turmoil.

Dr. N: To be frank, Sumus, you sound like a stranger inside Steve’s body.

S: I’m sorry to give you that impression. We don’t control the human mind … we try by our presence to … elevate it to see … meaning in the world and to be receptive to morality … to give understanding.

Dr. N: That’s all very well, but you use human bodies for your own development too, don’t you?

S: Sure, it’s a … blending … we give and take with our energy.

Dr. N: Oh, you tailor your energy to fit a host body?

S: It would be better to say I use different facets of expression, depending on the emotional drives of each body.

Dr. N: Let’s get specific, Sumus. What is going on between you and Steve’s brain at this time on Earth?

S: I … have felt … submerged … sometimes my energy is tired and unresponsive to so much negativity.

Dr. N: Looking back to your choices of Haroum, Steve, and those other human bodies in between, do they all have traits in common which attracted you?

S: (long pause) I am a contact entity. I seek humans who involve themselves … aggressively with others.

Dr. N: When I hear the word aggression, this means hostility to me as opposed to being assertive. Is this what you intended to say?

S: (pause) Well, I’m attracted to those who influence other people … ah, vigorously- at full tilt.

Dr. N: Are you a soul who enjoys controlling other people?

S: I wouldn’t say control, exactly. I avoid choosing to be people who have no intense involvement with those around them.

Dr. N: Sumus, aren’t you being controlling when you try to direct other souls in their lives?

S: (no response)

Dr. N: What would Jor say about your human relationships?

S: Hmm … that I like power as a means of influencing the acts of humans who are decision makers. That I crave social and political groups where I lead.

Dr.  N:  So,  you would not  enjoy being in a  human  body which was quiet  and unassuming?

S: Definitely not.

Dr. N: (I push harder) Sumus, isn’t it true you took pleasure in the way you were a part of Haroum’s misuse of power in Arabia, and

that you gain satisfaction as Steve from mistreating your employees in Texas?

S: (loudly) No, that isn’t true! Things get out of hand easily when you try to lead humans. It’s the conditions on Earth which screw everything up. It isn’t all my fault.

Dr. N: Is it possible that both Haroum and Steve became more extreme in their conduct because your soul was with them?

S: (heavily) I haven’t done well, I know that …

Dr. N: Look Sumus, I hope you know I don’t think you are a bad soul. But maybe you are easily seduced by the trappings of human

authority and you have now become someone who feels in conflict with society.

S: (disturbed) You are beginning to sound like Jor!

Dr. N: I don’t presume to be doing that, Sumus. Perhaps Jor is helping us both to understand what is going on inside you.

S: Probably.

Steve and I have reached a productive stage of contact with his soul. I address this subject as if he were two people, while tightening the bowstring between his conscious and unconscious self. After applying additional conditioning to pull these two forces closer together, I close our session with a final series of questions. It is important his mind not be allowed to drift or his memories to become dissociated. To foster responsiveness, my questions are confrontive and spoken rapidly to increase the tempo of my subject’s answers.

Dr. N: Sumus, begin by telling me why you originally accepted Steve’s body.

S: To … rise above my attraction for leading others … always wanting to be in charge …

Dr. N: Is your soul identity in conflict with the direction Steve’s life has taken?

S: I don’t like that part of him which is fighting to be on top and, at the same time, having thoughts of escape by self-destruction.

Dr. N: If this is a contradiction for you, why does it exist? S:… childhood … sadness … (stops)

Dr. N: Who am I listening to now? Sumus, why aren’t you more active in helping yourself, as Steve, overcome the shame of abandonment by Eone and your anger from an unloving childhood with Talu and Kalish?

S:… I am grown now … and managing others … won’t let people hurt me anymore.

Dr. N: Sumus, if you and Steve are now speaking to me as one intelligence, I want to know why your lifestyle is so self-destructive.

S: (long pause) Because my weakness is … using power for self-preservation on Earth.

Dr. N: Do you feel if you were less controlling of people as an adult, life would revert to the way you were treated as a child?

S: (angrily) Yes!

Dr. N: And when you don’t get self-gratification from the body of your choice, what do you do as a soul?

S: I…tune out…

Dr. N: I see, and how is this accomplished, Sumus? S: By not … being too active.

Dr. N: Because you are intimidated by a body in an emotional tailspin? S: Well… I go into a shell.

Dr. N: So, you use avoidance in not actively dealing with the major lesson you came to Earth to learn?

S: Uh huh.

Dr. N: Steve, your adoptive parents were rough on you, weren’t they? S: Yes.

Dr. N: Do you now see why?

S: (pause) To know what being constantly judged is like. Dr. N: What else?

S: To … overcome … and be whole. (bitterly) I don’t know…

Dr. N: I think you do know, Steve. Tell me about the damaged self you present to people around you.

S: (after some procrastination) Pretending to be happy covering up my feelings by drinking and mistreating people.

Dr. N: Do you want to stop this cover up and go to work? S: Yes, I do.

Dr. N: Define who you really want to be.

S:(tearfully)I… we don’t want to be hostile to people … but don’t want to risk being a

… non-person … without respect or recognition, either. Dr. N: So you are on a fence?

S: (quietly) Yes, life is so painful.

Dr. N: Do you think this is an accident? S: No, I see it isn’t.

Dr. N: Steve and Sumus, repeat after me: “I’m going to give back the pain of Eone, Talu, and Kalish, which they gave to me for my own good, and get on with my life by becoming the identity I really want to be.” (subject repeats these words three times for me)

Dr. N: Steve, what are you going to do about revealing yourself in the future, and taking responsibility for improvement?

S: (after a couple of false starts) Learn to be more honest. Dr. N: And to trust that you are not a victim of society? S: Yes.

This case ended with my reinforcing Steve’s understanding of who he really is and his mission in life. I wanted to help liberate him as a person of value, with a contribution to make in society. We talked about his love and fear choices, as well as the necessity to get in touch with himself frequently. I felt we had laid the groundwork for his dealing with resentment and a lack of intimacy. I reminded Steve of the need for follow-up counseling. About a year later, he wrote to tell me his recovery was going well, and that he had found the lost child within himself. Steve realized his past mistakes were not failures, but the means to improvement.

Case 27 demonstrates how the hard tasks we set for ourselves often begin in childhood. This is why considerable weight is given to family selection by the soul. The idea that each of us voluntarily agreed to be the children of a given set of parents before we came into this life is a difficult concept for some people to accept.

Although the average person has experienced love from his or her parents, many of us have unresolved, hurtful memories of those near to us who should have offered protection and did not. We grow up thinking of ourselves as victims of biological parents and family members whom we inherited without any choice in the matter. This assumption is wrong.

When clients tell me how much they suffered from the actions of family members,

my first question to their conscious mind is, “If you had not been exposed to this person as a child, what would you now lack in understanding?” It may take a while, but the answer is in our minds. There are spiritual reasons for our being raised as children around certain kinds of people, just as other people are designated to be near us as adults.

To know ourselves spiritually means understanding why we joined in life with the

souls of parents, siblings, spouses, and close friends. There is usually some karmic purpose for receiving pain or pleasure from someone close to us. Remember, along with learning our own lessons, we come to Earth to play a part in the drama of others’ lessons as well.

There are people who, because they live in a terrible environment, suspect the spirit world of not being a center of divine compassion. However, it is the ultimate in compassion when beings who are spiritually linked to each other come forward by prior agreement into human lives involving love-hate relationships. Overcoming adversity in these relationships may mean we won’t have to repeat certain abrasive alliances in future lives. Surviving such trials on Earth places us into a heightened state of perception with each new life and enhances our identity as souls.

People in trance may have trouble making a clear distinction between their soul

identity and human ego. If the human personality has little structure beyond the five senses and basic drives for survival without ensoulment, then the soul is our total personality. This means, for example, that one could not have a human ego which is jealous and also possess a soul which is not jealous.

Yet my cases indicate there are subtle variations between their soul identity and all that is manifested by the human personalities of many host bodies. Case 27 showed similarities and differences in the personalities of Haroum and Steve. Our constant soul-self seems to be a governing agent of human temperament, but we may express ourselves differently with each body.

The souls of my subjects apparently select bodies which try to match their character

flaws with human temperament for specific growth patterns. In one life an overly cautious, low-energy soul might be disposed to blending with a quiet, rather subdued human host. This same soul, encouraged to take greater risks in another life, could choose to work more in opposition to it’s natural character by melding with a temperamentally high-strung, aggressive body-type on Earth.

Souls both give and receive mental gifts in life through a symbiosis of human brain

cells and intelligent energy. Deep feelings generated by an eternal consciousness are conjoined with human emotion in the expression of one personality, which is as it should be. We don’t need to change who we are in relation to life’s experiences, only our negative reactions to these events. Asian Buddhists say enlightenment is seeing the absolute soul ego reflected in the relative human ego and acting through it during life.

In the chapters on beginning, intermediate, and advanced soul levels, I gave case samples of soul maturity. I think souls do demonstrate their own patterns of ego in the bodies they inhabit, and they exert a powerful influence over body performance. However, making hasty judgements on a soul’s maturity based solely on behavioral traits has its pitfalls. The design plan of souls could include holding parts of their energy in reserve in some lives. Sometimes a negative trait is selected by an otherwise developed soul for special attention in a certain body.

We have seen how a soul selects the person with whom it wishes to associate in a

given life. This does not mean that it has absolute control over that body. In extreme cases, a fractured personality struggling with internalized conflicts may result in a dissociative reaction to reality. I feel that

this is a sign the soul is not always able to regulate and unify the human mind. I

have mentioned how souls may become so buried by human emotion in bodies which are unstable, that by the time of death they are contaminated spirits. If we become obsessed by our physical bodies, or carried along on an emotional roller coaster in life, the soul can be subverted by its outer self.

Many great thinkers in history believed the soul can never be fully homogeneous with the human body and that humans have two intellects. I consider human ideas and imagination as emanating from the soul,  which provides a catalyst for the human brain. How much reasoning power we would have without souls is impossible to know, but I feel that the attachment of souls to humans supplies us with insight and abstract thought. I view the soul as offering humans a qualitative reality, subject to conditions of heredity and environment.

If it is true that every human brain has a host of biological characteristics, including

raw intelligence and the facility for invention, which are separate from the soul, then choosing our body raises an important question. Do souls choose bodies whose intellectual capabilities match their own development? For instance, are advanced souls drawn to human brains with high intelligence? In looking at the scholastic and academic achievements of my clients, I find there is no more correlation here than with an immature soul being inclined to bodies with lower intellectual aptitudes.  The  philosopher  Kant  wrote  that  the  human  brain  is  only  a   function  of consciousness, not the source of real knowledge. Regardless of body choice, I find souls do demonstrate their individualism through the human mind. A person may be highly intelligent and yet have a closed attitude about adjusting to new situations, with little curiosity about the world. This indicates a beginner soul to me. If I see someone with an evenness of mood, whose interests and abilities are solidly in focus and directed toward helping human progress, I suspect an advanced soul at work. These are souls who seek personal truths beyond the demands of ego.

It does seem a heavy burden that in every new life a soul must search all over again to find its true self in a different body. However, some light is allowed through the blackout of amnesia by spiritual masters who are not indifferent to our plight. When it comes to finding soulmates on Earth and remembering aspects of the lives we saw in the place of life selection, there is an ingenious form of coaching which is given to souls just before the next life. We will see how this is done in the following chapter.

I

14

Preparation for Embarkation

AFTER souls have completed their consultations with guides and peers about the many physical and psychological ramifications of a new life and body choice, the decision to incarnate is made. It would be logical to assume that they would then go immediately to Earth. This doesn’t happen before a significant element of preparation occurs.

By now I’m sure it is understood that souls returning from the place of life selection

must not only sort out the best choice of who they are going to be in their next life, but coordinate this decision with other players in the coming drama. Using the analogy of life as being one big stage play, we will have the lead role as an actor or actress. Everything we do in the play affects other minor characters (minor because they are not us) in the script. Their parts can be altered by us and ours by them because script changes (the result of free will) can be made while the play is in progress. Those souls who are going to have a close association with us on the stage of life represent our supporting cast, each with prominent roles. But how will we know them?

The issue of how to find soulmates and other important people in their lives is of

paramount concern with many clients who come to me seeking hypnotic regression. Eventually, most of my subjects answer their own questions in superconsciousness because finding these souls was an integral part of their preparations for leaving the spirit world. The space souls go to for this in the spirit world is commonly called the place of recognition, or recognition class. I am told the activity here is like cramming for a final exam. As a result, my subjects also use the term prep-class to describe this aspect of spiritual reinforcement that occurs just before their souls embark on the passage back to Earth. The next case represents this experience.

In order to clearly understand what is behind the spiritual activity of a recognition class, perhaps the word soulmate ought to be defined. For many of us, our nearest and dearest soulmate is our spouse. Yet, as we have seen in previous cases, souls of consequence in our lives may also be other family members or a close friend. The amount of time they are with us on Earth can be long or short. What matters is the impact they have on us while here.

At the risk of oversimplifying a complex issue, our relationships can be divided into a few general categories. First, there is the kind of relationship involving love which is so deep that both partners genuinely don’t see how each could live without the other. This is a mental and physical attraction which is so strong neither partner doubts that they were meant for each other.

Second, there are relationships based upon companionship, friendship, and mutual

respect. Finally, we have associations based largely upon more casual acquaintances which offer some purposeful ingredient to our life. Thus, a soulmate can take many forms, and meeting people who fall into one of these categories is no game of Russian roulette.

Soulmates are designated companions to help you and themselves accomplish mutual goals which can best be achieved by supporting each other in various situations. In terms of friends and lovers, identity recognition of kindred spirits comes from our highest consciousness. It is a wonderful and mysterious experience, both physically and mentally.

Connecting with beings we know from the spirit world, in all sorts of physical

disguises, can be harmonious or frustrating. The lesson we must learn from human relationships is accepting people for who they are without expecting our happiness to be totally dependent upon anyone. I have had clients come to me with the assumption that they are probably not with a soulmate because of so much turmoil and heartbreak in their marriages and relationships. They fail to realize that karmic lessons set difficult standards for each of us and painful experiences involving the heart are deliberate tests in life. They are often of the hardest kind.

Whatever the circumstances, relationships between people are the most vital part of

our lives. Is it coincidence, ESP, deja vu, or synchronicity when the right time and place come together and you meet someone for the first time who will bring meaning into your life? Was there a fleeting forgotten memory-something familiar tugging at the back of your mind? I would ask the reader to sort through those memories involving a distinctive first encounter with someone important in the past. Was it at school? Did this individual live in your neighborhood? How about meeting him or her at

work or during some recreation? Did someone introduce you, or was it a chance

meeting? What did you feel at that moment?

I hate to tamper with your fond recollections of a supposedly spontaneous past

meeting, but such descriptions as chance, happenstance, or impulse aren’t applicable to crucial contacts. This makes them no less romantic. In cases involving soulmates, I have heard many heartfelt accounts of close spiritual beings who journeyed across time and space to find each other as physical beings at a particular geographic spot on Earth at a certain moment. It is also true our conscious amnesia can make meeting significant people difficult and we may take a wrong turn and miss the connection at some juncture. However, there can be a prearrangement here for back-up contingencies.

In the case which follows, I will begin the dialogue at a point in the session where I am asking my subject about his spirit world activity just before rebirth into his present life.

Case 28

Dr. N: Is it close to the time when you will be leaving the spirit world for another life?

S: Yes … I’m about ready.

Dr. N: After you left the place of life selection, was your soulmind made up as to who you would be and the people you were to meet on Earth?

S: Yes, everything is beginning to come together for me.

Dr. N: What if you had second thoughts about your choice of a time frame or a particular human body? Could you back out?

S: (sighs) Yes, and I have done that before-we all have-at least the people I know. Most of the time it’s intriguing to think about being alive on Earth again.

Dr. N: But what if you resisted coming back to Earth shortly before you were due to incarnate?

S: It’s not that … rigid. I would always discuss the possibilities … my concerns for a new life with my tutor and companions before

making a firm commitment. The tutors know when we are stalling, but I have made

up my mind.

Dr. N: Well, I’m glad. Now tell me, once you are firmly committed to return to Earth, does anything else of importance transpire for you in the spirit world?

S: I must go to the recognition class. Dr. N: What is this place like for you?

S: It’s an observation meeting … with my companions … so I can recognize them later.

Dr. N: When I snap my fingers you will go immediately to this class. Are you ready? S: Yes, I am.

Dr. N: (snapping my fingers) Explain to me what you are doing. S: I… am floating in … with the others… to hear the speaker.

Dr. N: I would like to accompany you, but you will have to be my eyes-is that all right?

S: Sure, but we must hurry a little.

Dr. N: How does this place appear to you?

S: Mm. … a circular auditorium with a raised dais in the middle-that’s where the

speakers are.

Dr. N: Are we going to float in and sit down on seats? S: (shakes head) Why would we need seats?

Dr. N: Just wondering. How many souls are around us?

S: Oh … about ten or fifteen … people who are going to be close to me in the life to come.

Dr. N: That’s all the souls you see?

S: No, you asked how many were around me. There are others … further away in groups … to hear their speakers.

Dr. N: Are the ten or fifteen souls around you all from your cluster group? S: Some of them.

Dr. N: Is this gathering similar to the one near the gateway where you met a few people right after your last life?

S: Oh no, that was more quiet … with just my family.

Dr. N: Why was that homecoming meeting more quiet than where we are now?

S: I was still in a daze from losing my body. Here, there is lots of conversation and milling around … anticipation … our energy is really up. Listen, we have to move along faster, I have got to hear what the speakers are saying.

Dr. N: Are these speakers your tutor-guides? S: No, they are the prompters.

Dr. N: Are they souls who specialize in this sort of thing?

S: Yes, they give us the signs by coming up with ingenious ideas.

Dr. N: Okay, let’s move in close to the prompter while you continue to tell me what is happening.

S: We form a circle around the dais. The prompter is floating back and forth in the center-pointing a finger at each of us and saying we must pay close attention. I have to do it!

Dr. N: (lowering my voice) I understand and I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing, but please explain what you mean by signs.

S: This prompter is assigned to us so we will know what to look for in our next life. The signs are placed in our mind now in order to jog our memories later as humans.

Dr. N: What kind of signs?

S: Flags-markers in the road of life. Dr. N: Could you be more specific?

S: The road signs kick us into a new direction in life at certain times when something important is supposed to happen … and then we must know the signs to recognize one another, too.

Dr. N: And this class takes place for souls before each new life? S: Naturally. We need to remember the little things …

Dr. N: But haven’t you already previewed the details of your next life in the place of life selection?

S: That’s true, but not the small details. Besides, I didn’t know all the people who would be operating with me then. This class is a final review … bringing all of us together.

Dr. N: For those of you who will have an impact on each other’s lives?

S: That’s right, it’s mainly a prep-class because we won’t recognize each other at first on Earth.

Dr. N: Do you see your primary soulmate here?

S: (flushing) … she is here … and there are other people that I am supposed to contact… or they will contact me in some way … the others need their signs, too.

Dr. N: Oh, so that’s why these souls are a mixed gathering of entities from different groups. They are all going to play some significant role in each other’s new life.

S: (impatiently) Yes, but I can’t listen to what is going on with you talking … Shhh! Dr. N: (lowering my voice again) All right, on the count of three I am going to hold

this class in suspension for a few minutes so you won’t miss anything. (softly) One,

two, three. The speaker is now quiet while you are going to explain a little more about the flags and the signs. Okay?

S: I… guess so.

Dr. N: I am going to call these signs memory triggers. Are you telling me there will be special triggers for each of these people with you?

S: That’s why we have been brought together. There will be times in my life when these people will appear. I must try to … remember some … action by them … the way they look … move … talk.

Dr. N: And each will trigger a memory for you?

S: Yeah, and I’m going to miss some. The signs are supposed to click in our memory right away and tell us, “Oh, good, you are here now.” Inside us … we can say to ourselves, “It is time to work on the next phase.” They may seem like insignificant little things, but the flags are turning points in our lives.

Dr. N: What if people miss these road flags or signs of recognition because, like you said, you forget what the prompter told you? Or, what if you choose to ignore your inclinations and take another path?

S: (pause) We have other choices-they may not be as good-you can be stubborn, but… (stops)

Dr. N: But, what?

S: (with conviction) After this class we usually don’t forget the important signs.

Dr. N: Why don’t our guides just give us the answers we need on Earth? Why all this fooling around with signs to remember things?

S: For the same reason we go to Earth without knowing everything in advance. Our soul power grows with what we discover. Sometimes our lessons get resolved pretty fast … usually not. The most interesting part of the road are the turns and it’s best not to ignore the flags in our mind.

Dr. N: All right, I am going to count from ten down to one, and when I reach one, your class will start again and you will listen while the prompter gives out signs. I will not speak until you raise the index finger of your right hand. This will be my sign that the class is over and you can relate to me the signs you are to remember. Are you ready?

S: Yes.

Note: I finish my count and wait a couple of minutes before my subject raises his finger. This is a simple example of why time comparisons between Earth and spirit

worlds are meaningless.

Dr. N: That didn’t take long.

S: Yes, it did. The speaker had a lot to go through with all of us.

Dr. N: I assume you have the details of recognition signs now firmly in your mind? S: I hope so.

Dr. N: Good, then tell me about the last sign you were given as the class ended.

S: (pause) A silver pendant… I will see it when I am seven years old around the neck of a woman on my street… she always wore it.

Dr. N: How will this silver object be a trigger for you?

S: (abstractly) It shines in the sun … to catch my attention … I must remember …

Dr. N: (in a commanding tone) You have the capacity to bring your spiritual and earthly knowledge together. (placing my hand on the subject’s forehead) Why is the soul of this woman important for you to know?

S: I meet her riding my bike on our street. She smiles … the silver pendant is bright

… I ask about it … we become friends. Dr. N: Then what?

S: (wistfully) I will know her only a short time before we move, but it is enough. She will read to me and talk to me about life and teach me to … respect people …

Dr. N: As you grow older, can people themselves be signs or provide flags to help you make a connection?

S: Sure, they might arrange introductions at the right time.

Dr. N: Do you already know most of the souls who will be meaningful people to you on Earth?

S: Yes, and if I don’t, I’ll meet them in class.

Dr. N: I guess they can set up love relationship meetings, too?

S:  (laughs)  Oh,  the  matchmakers-yes  they  do  that,  but  meetings  can  be  for friendship … getting people together to help your career … that kind of stuff.

Dr. N: Then the souls who are in this auditorium and elsewhere can be involved with different kinds of associations in your life?

S: (enthusiastically) Yeah, I’m going to connect with the guy who is on my baseball team. Another one will be a farming partner-then there will be my life-long pal from grade school.

Dr. N: What if you connect with the wrong person in business, love, or whatever? Does that mean you missed a relationship sign or a red flag for an important event?

S: Hmm….. it probably won’t be wrong, exactly … it could be a jump start to get you going in a new direction.

Dr. N: Okay, now tell me what is the most important recognition sign you must remember from this prep-class.

S: Melinda’s laugh.

Dr. N: Who is Melinda? S: My wife-to-be.

Dr. N: What is there to remember about Melinda’s laugh?

S: When we meet, her laugh is going to … sound like tiny bells … chimes … I really can’t describe it to you. Then, the scent of her perfume when we first dance … a familiar fragrance … her eyes.

Dr. N: So, you are actually given more than one trigger sign for your soulmate?

S: Yes, I’m so dense I guess the prompters thought I needed more clues. I didn’t want to make a mistake when I met the right person.

Dr. N: What is supposed to trigger her recognition of you?

S: (grins) My big ears … stepping on her toes dancing … what we feel when we first hold each other.

It is an old saying that the eyes are the windows to our soul. No physical attribute has more impact when soulmates meet on Earth. As to our other physical senses, I mentioned in an earlier chapter that souls retain such memories as sounds and smell. All five senses may be used by spiritual prompters as recognition signals in future lives.

Case 28 began to express some discomfort with my keeping him from participating

in his spiritual recognition class. I reinforced his visual association of floating around a central dais in an auditorium (other people use different names). I gave

my subject time to finish taking instruction and communicating with his friends and them moved him out of the place of recognition.

It is my practice never to rush clients in and out of their spiritual settings during a session because I find this hinders the intensity of concentration and recall. When

we had established ourselves away from the other souls, I talked to this man about his soulmate, Melinda. I learned these two souls were most comfortable in husband

and wife roles although occasionally they chose to relate differently in their lives together. Both these souls wanted to make sure they would connect on Earth in their

current lives. I thought I would follow up on what actually had transpired.

Dr. N: When you and Melinda came to Earth and were young, did you live close to each other?

S: No, I lived in Iowa and she was in California … (musing) it was Clair that I knew in Iowa.

Dr. N: Were you interested in Clair romantically?

S: Yes, I almost married her. It was close-and that would have been a mistake. Clair and I weren’t right for each other, but going together in high school had become a habit.

Dr. N: And yet you left your home town for California?

S: Yes … Clair didn’t want me to go, but my parents wanted to leave our farm and move west. I liked Iowa and was uneasy about moving and torn over leaving Clair, who was still in high school.

Dr.  N:  Was  there  a  road  sign-a  flag  of  some  sort-which  helped  you  make  the decision to move with your parents?

S: (sighs) It was my sister who waved a red flag at me. She convinced me I would have more opportunities in the city where my parents were planning to go.

Dr. N: Do you see your sister in the spirit world? S: Oh yeah, she is in my circle (cluster group). Dr. N: Is Clair one of your soulmates?

S. (pause) More a friend … just friends Dr. N: Was leaving Clair hard for you?

S: Oh, yes … even more for her. We were sexually attracted to each other in high school. The infatuation had no real mental connection……. it’s so hard on Earth to

figure out what you are supposed to do with other people … sex is a big trap … we would have grown bored with one another.

Dr. N: Was the physical attraction different with Melinda than you had with Clair? S: (pause) When Melinda and I met at the dance there was the strong physical

attraction of her body… and I guess she liked the way I looked, too … but we both

felt something much more …

Dr. N: I want to get this straight. Did you and Melinda choose your male and female bodies in the spirit world deliberately to attract each other once you reached Earth?

S: (nodding) To … some extent … but we were attracted to each other on Earth because inside our minds was the memory of what we were supposed to look like.

Dr. N: When the time of the dance rolled around, what happened in your mind?

S: I can see it all now. Our tutor was helping Melinda and me that night. My idea to go to the dance was sudden. I hate to dance because I’m clumsy. I didn’t know anybody in the town yet and felt stupid, but I was guided there.

Dr. N: Had you and Melinda scripted the dance scene together during the spiritual prep-class?

S: Yes, we knew about it then and when I saw her at the dance, alarms went off. I did something very uncharacteristic of me … I cut in on the man she was dancing with. When I first held her my legs were like rubber.

Dr. N: And what else did you and Melinda feel at that moment?

S: As if we were in another world … there was this familiarity… it was so weird during that dance … a knowing without doubt that something important was unfolding … the guidance … the intent of our meeting… our hearts were racing… it was enchantment.

Dr. N: Then why was Clair in your life earlier as a complication?

S: To tempt me to stay on the farm … one of the false trails I needed to get past … another kind of life. After I left, Clair found the right person.

Dr. N: If you and Clair had taken the lesser trail together and missed your sister’s flag, would that life have been a total disaster?

S: No, but it would not have been as good. There is one main course of life we choose in advance, but alternatives always exist and we learn from them, too.

Dr. N: In your lives do you ever make mistakes and take false trails and miss the

flags in the road for a job change, moving to another town, or meeting someone important because the details you saw at the place of life selection or in the recognition class were not implanted firmly enough?

S: (long pause) The signs are there. But, sometimes I overrule my … inclinations. There are times in my lives when I change directions because of too much thinking and analysis. Or, I do nothing for the same reasons.

Dr. N: Ah, so you might do something other than what was planned in the spirit world?

S: Yeah, and it may not work out as well … but we have the right to miss the red flags.

Dr. N: Well, I have enjoyed our talk about the place of recognition and I wondered if there is anything else this spiritual class does for you later in physical life.

S: (in a far away voice) Yes, sometimes when I am confused abut my life and don’t know where to turn next, I just … imagine where I might be going compared to where I’ve been and … it comes to me what to do.

Helping clients recognize people who were destined to have an impact on their lives is a fascinating aspect of my practice. I believe those who come to see me about relationships are not in my office at a certain point in their lives by chance. Am I spoiling the purpose of their spiritual recognition class by assisting these subjects in recalling clues? I don’t think so, for two basic reasons. What they are not supposed to know yet probably won’t be revealed in hypnosis, while on the other hand, quite a few of my clients only want confirmation of what they already suspect is true.

I can speak about recognition signs from personal experience, since I was blessed by three specific clues to help me find my wife. Thumbing through Look magazine as a teenager, I once saw a Christmas advertisement for Hamilton watches modeled by a beautiful dark-haired woman dressed in white. The caption in the ad said, “To Peggy,” because she was holding a wristwatch as a gift from an imaginary husband. An odd sensation came over me, and I never forgot the name or face. On my twenty- first birthday I received a watch of the same make from a favorite aunt.

A few years later, while attending a graduate school in Phoenix, I was washing a

load of white laundry one Saturday. Suddenly, the first trigger was activated in my mind with the message, “It’s time to meet the woman in white.” I tried to shake it off, but the face in the ad pushed all other thoughts away. I stopped, looked at my Hamilton watch and heard the command, “Go now.” I thought about who wears white. Acting as if I was obsessed, I went to the largest hospital in the city and asked at the desk for a nurse matching the name and description.

I was told there was such a person who was coming off her shift. When I saw her, I was stunned by the resemblance to the picture in my mind. Our meeting was awkward and embarrassing, but later we sat in the lobby and talked non-stop for four hours as old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while-which, of course,

was true. I waited until after we were married to tell my wife about the reason I came to her hospital and the clues given to me to find her. I didn’t want her to think I was crazy. It was then I learned that on the day of our first meeting she had told her astonished friends, “I just met the man I’m going to marry.

My advice to people about meaningful encounters is not to intellectualize coming events too much. Some of our best decisions come from what we call instinct. Go with your gut feelings at the time. When a special moment is meant to happen in life, it usually does.

One of the last requirements before embarkation for many souls is to go before the Council of Elders for the second time. While some of my subjects see the Council only once between lives, most see them right after death and just before rebirth. The spirit world is an environment personified by order and the Elders want to reinforce the significance of a soul’s goals for the next life. Sometimes my clients tell me they return to their spirit group after this meeting to say goodbye while others say they leave immediately for reincarnation. The latter procedure was used by a subject who described this exit meeting in the following manner.

“My guide, Marge, escorts me to a soft, white space which is like being in a cloud- filled enclosure. I see my committee of three waiting for me as usual. The middle Elder seems to have the most commanding energy. They all have oval faces, high cheekbones, no hair and smallish features. They seem to me to be sexless-or rather they appear to blend from male to female and back. I feel calm. The atmosphere is formal but not unfriendly. Each in turn asks me questions in a gentle way. The Elders are all-knowing about my entire span of lives but they are not as directive as one might think. They want my input to assess my motivations and the strength of my resolve towards working in new body. I am sure they have had a hand in the body choices I was given for the life to come because I feel they are skilled strategists in life selection. The committee wants me to honor my contract. They stress the benefits of persistence and holding to my values under adversity. I often give in too easily to anger and they remind me of this while reviewing my past actions and reactions towards events and people. The Elders and Magra give me inspiration, hope and encouragement to trust my-self more in bad situations and not let things get out of hand. And then, as a final act to bolster my confidence when I am about to leave, they raise their arms and send a power bolt of positive energy into my mind to take with me.”

One aspect of the two council meetings which I initially found rather odd is that members of the same soul group do not necessarily go before the same panel. For a while I assumed there would always be a correlation here because ail members of a single soul group have the same guide. I was wrong. In the minds of my subjects, even senior guides are thought to be a couple of steps below the developmental level of the omnipotent beings who make up their councils. They are similar to the Old Ones that Thece told us about in Chapter 11, but with more specific responsibilities toward life evaluation of souls. While a guide might, in some respects, be considered a personal confidant to a soul this same familiarity does not extend to an Elder. In time, I came to appreciate that an Elder’s authority, unlike that of guides, involves a cross-section of souls from many groups.

Apparently, everyone in a soul group respects the intensely private nature of these

proceedings. They all see their individual Council of Elders as godly. The Elders are bathed in bright light and the whole setting has an aura of divinity. A subject put it this way, “when we are taken into the presence of these superior beings who exist in such a high spiritual realm, it validates our feelings about the source of creation.”   15

Rebirth

WE have seen how a soul’s decision to come forward into the next life at a specific time and place on Earth involves an ordered progression of spiritual planning. As I bring the soul consciousness of my subjects nearer to the moment of their exit from the spirit world, most become quietly introspective, while others engage in light bantering with their friends. These reactions toward what lies ahead depend more upon the individual soul than on the length of time since a last incarnation.

Rebirth is a profound experience. Those souls getting ready for embarkation to Earth are like battle-hardened veterans girding themselves for combat. This is the last chance for souls to enjoy the omniscience of knowing just who they are before they must adapt to a new body. My last case involves the soul of a woman who offers us a well-defined description of her most recent passage to Earth.

Case 29

Dr. N: Has the time arrived for you to be reborn into your next life? S: Yes, it has.

Dr. N: What is uppermost in your mind about returning to Earth?

S: The opportunity to live in the twentieth century. It’s an exciting time of many changes.

Dr. N: And have you seen this life, or at least parts of it, in advance? S: Yes … I’ve been through that … (subject seems distracted)

Dr. N: Is there something else you want to talk to me about concerning your next incarnation?

S: I am having a last talk with Pomar (subject’s guide) on all the alternatives to my project (life).

Dr. N: Might this be considered a final exit interview with Pomar? S: Yes, I suppose it would.

Dr. N: Would it help you to talk to me about the contingency plans you have for the next life?

S: (voice is dry and rather thin) I … think I have them straight …

Dr. N: How did your recognition class go? I assume that phase of your preparation is complete?

S: (still distracted) Uh-huh … I’ve met with the rest (of the participants) for my project.

Dr. N: Are the recognition signs clear in your mind for meeting the right souls at the right time?

S: (nervous laugh) Ah … the signals … my compacts with people … yes, that’s all done.

Dr. N: Without analyzing or censoring your impressions in any way, tell me what you are feeling at this moment.

S: I’m … just… gathering myself for… the big jump into a new life … there is apprehension … but I am excited, too

Dr. N: Are you a little scared and perhaps wondering if you should go to Earth at all?

S: (pause and then more cheerfully) A little … concern … for what lies ahead of me … leaving my home here … but happy, too, at the opportunity.

Dr. N: So you have mixed emotions about leaving the spirit world?

S: Most of us do, as our time draws near. I have second thoughts before some lives … but Pomar knows when I am lagging behind my schedule-you can’t hide anything here, you know.

Dr. N: Okay, let’s assume it’s a go situation for your next life. On the count of three, your decision to return at an appointed time is firm and you are in the final stage to leave the spirit world. One, two, three! Describe to me what happens to you now.

S: I say goodbye to everyone. This can be… difficult. (tosses her head back with resolution) Anyway, they all wish me well and I move away from them … drifting alone. There is no great rush Pomar allows me to collect my thoughts. When I am quite ready he comes to escort me … to offer encouragement … reassurance … and he knows when I am prepared to go.

Dr. N: I sense that you are now more upbeat about the prospect of rebirth.

S: Yes, it’s a period of inspiration and expectations… a new body … the course ahead

I now prepare this subject to leave the spirit world for the last time before her current life. I am as careful here as when I brought her into the spirit world for the first time following normal age-regression. Starting with a reinforcement of the protective energy shield already placed around this  subject, I  apply additional conditioning techniques to keep her soul in proper balance with the mind of the child she is joining on Earth.

Dr. N: All right, you and Pomar are together for your exit from the spirit world. I want you to go deep inside yourself and explain to me what you do next as if it were happening in slow motion. Go!

S: (pause) We … begin to move… at a greater speed. Then I am aware of Pomar… detaching from me … and I am alone.

Dr. N: What do you see and feel? S: Oh, I…

Dr. N: Stay with it! You are alone and moving faster. Then what?

S: (in a faint voice) … Away … slanting away … through pillows of whiteness … moving away …

Dr. N: Stay with it! Keep going and report back to me.

S: Oh, I’m … passing through… folds of silky cloth… smooth I’m on a band … a pathway … faster and faster

Dr. N: Keep going! Don’t stop talking to me.

S: Everything is blurred… I’m sliding down… down into a long, dark tube … a hollow feeling … darkness … then … warmth!

Dr. N: Where are you now?

S: (pause) I’m aware of being inside my mother. Dr. N: Who are you?

S: (chuckles) I’m in a baby-I’m a baby.

The hollow tube effect described by my cases is apparently not the mother’s birth canal. It is similar to the tunnel souls pass through at physical death and may be the same route. The reader might wonder why I would take more care with the act of birthing when I have already brought my subjects in and out of a number of past lives during a session. There are two reasons. First, reliving a past life does not need

to involve the birthing process. I help my clients go straight from the spirit world into the next life, usually as adults. Second, if I return subjects to their current body and decide to command them to relive the birthing experience, I want to remove any minor discomforts felt by some people after they wake up.

Before continuing with this case, I should offer a little more general information about souls and babies. All my subjects tell me the transition of their souls from the spirit world to the mind of a baby is relatively more rapid than the passage back. What is the reason for this difference? After physical death our souls travel through the time tunnel and move past a gateway into the spirit world in a progressive way. We have seen how the outward passage is intended to be more gradual than our return to Earth in order to allow for acclimatization of a newly freed soul. However, as souls who enter babies, we come from a state of all-knowing and thus are mentally able to adjust more quickly to our surroundings than at the end of a physical life. Then too, we are given additional time for adaptation while in our mother’s womb.

Nevertheless,  having  this  time  inside  our  mother  does  not  mean  we  are  fully

prepared for the jarring paroxysm of birth, with blinding hospital lights, having to suddenly breathe air, and being physically handled for the first time. My subjects say if they were to compare the moment of birth with that of death, the physical shock of being born is much greater.

At some point prior to birth, the soul will carefully touch and join more fully with the impressionable, developing brain of a baby. When a soul decides to enter a baby, apparently that child has no free choice in accepting or rejecting the soul. At the moment of first entry, chronological time begins for the soul. Depending upon the inclinations of the particular soul involved, the connection may be early or late in the mother’s pregnancy. I have had cases where souls timed their arrival at the last minute during delivery, but this is unusual. My findings indicate even those souls who join the baby early seem to do a lot of traveling outside the mother’s womb during her term.

Once birth has taken place, the union of spirit and flesh has been fully solidified into

a partnership. The immortal soul then becomes the seat of perception for the developing human ego. The soul brings a spiritual force which is the heritage of infinite consciousness. Although I have said souls can be confined by a human in trauma, they are never trapped. Besides leaving at the moment of death, souls may also come and go when the body is sleeping, in deep meditation, or under an anesthetic in surgery. The soul’s absences are much longer in cases of severe brain damage and coma.

Case 29 continues by explaining the creative beauty of a soul joining with a new

human being. This coupling of an intelligent life force before birth brings us full circle from the death scene described in Case 1.

Dr. N: Well, I’m glad you arrive safe and sound in your new body. Tell me, how old is the baby?

S: Five months have passed (since conception).

Dr. N: Is this your usual arrival time as far as the maturation of a child?

S: In my lives … I have arrived at different times … depending on the baby, the mother, and my life-to-be.

Dr. N: As a soul, are you in distress if the baby is aborted from the mother’s womb for any reason before full term?

S: We know if a baby is going to full term or not. Not being born comes as no surprise to us. We may be around to just comfort the child.

Dr. N: Well, if the child does not go to term, is your life assignment as a soul aborted as well?

S: No, there never was a full life assignment as far as that child was concerned. Dr. N: Might some babies who are aborted never have souls?

S: That depends on how far along they are. The ones who die very early often don’t need us.

Note: This issue was as hotly debated in the past as it is today. During the thirteenth century, the Christian church found it necessary to establish guidelines for the existence of souls with regard to an aborted fetus. St. Thomas Aquinas and other medieval theologians arbitrarily decided ensoulment took place forty days after conception.

Dr. N: Assuming a baby is going to full term, do you know about the convergence habits of other souls with these children?

S: (offhandedly) Oh, some float around more than others, going in and out of the baby until birth because they get bored.

Dr. N: What do you usually do?

S: I’m average, I guess. Actually, I don’t spend a long time at any one stretch with babies because it can get pretty dull.

Dr. N: All right, let’s take this current situation inside your mother and allow some time to pass. What do you do when you are not with the unborn baby?

S: (laughs with delight) You want the truth? I’ll tell you. Me-I play! It’s a fine time to leave and purely goof off … when the baby is less active. I have fun with my friends who are doing the same thing. We bounce around Earth to visit with each other … and go to interesting places … where we have once lived together in former lives.

Dr. N: Don’t you and these other souls feel leaving the unborn baby for long periods is shirking the responsibilities of your assignment on Earth?

S: (defensively) Oh, lighten up! Who said anything about long periods? I don’t do that! Anyway, our tough exercises haven’t begun yet.

Dr. N: When you leave the baby for a while, what astral plane are you on in relation to Earth?

S: We are still on the Earth plane … and we try not to get too distracted, either. A lot of our fooling around is in the neighborhood of the baby. I don’t want you to get the idea there is nothing for us to do with unborn babies.

Dr.N: Oh…?

S: (continues) I’m busy with this new mind, even though it’s not fully ready.

Dr. N: Why don’t we talk more about that? When your soul enters a baby to remain with this new body for a lifetime, give me the scope of this undertaking.

S: (takes a deep sigh) Once I attach to a child it is necessary to bring my mind into synchronization with the brain. We have to get used to each other as partners.

Dr. N: This is what other people tell me, but do you and the baby have an affinity for each other right away?

S: Well… I am in the mind of the child but separate, too. I go slowly at first. Dr. N: Okay, why don’t you explain what you do with the mind of the baby.

S: It’s delicate and can’t be hurried. I start with a gentle probe … defining connections … gaps … every mind is different.

Dr. N: Is there any conflict within the child against you?

S: (softly) Ah … there is a slight resistance in the beginning … not full acceptance while I trace the passages … that’s usual … until there is familiarization (stops for a moment and laughs quietly). I keep bumping into myself!

Dr. N: As you integrate with the baby, when does it become receptive to the force of your identity as a soul?

S: I’m disturbed by your word “force.” We never force ourselves when entering an unborn baby. My tracing is done carefully.

Dr. N: Did it take you many lives to learn to trace a human brain?

S: Uh … a while … new souls are assisted with their tracing.

Dr. N: Since you represent pure energy, are you tracing electrical brain connections such as neurotransmitters, nerve cells, and the like?

S: (pause) Well, something like that … I disrupt nothing, though while I learn the brain wave patterns of the baby.

Dr. N: Are you referring to the thought-regulation circuitry of the mind?

S: How this person translates signals. Its capacity. No two children are the same.

Dr. N: Be completely frank with me. Isn’t your soul taking over this mind and subjugating it to your will?

S: You don’t understand. It’s a melding. There is an … emptiness before my arrival which I fill to make the baby whole.

Dr. N: Do you bring intellect? S: We expand what is there.

Dr. N: Could you be more specific about what your soul actually provides the human body?

S: We bring a… comprehension of things… a recognition of the truth of what the brain sees.

Dr. N: Are you sure this child doesn’t think of you at first as an alien entity in her mind?

S: No, that’s why we unify with undeveloped minds. She recognizes me as a friend … a twin … who is going to be part of her. It’s as if the baby was waiting for me to come.

Dr. N: Do you think a higher power prepares the baby for you? S: I don’t know, it would seem so.

Dr. N: Is your work at unification completed before birth?

S: Not really, but at birth we have started to complement each other. Dr. N: So, the unification process does take some time?

S: Sure, while we adjust to each other. And, like I told you, I leave the unborn baby at intervals.

Dr. N: But what about those souls who join babies at the last minute before birth?  S: Humph! That’s their style, not mine. They have to start their work in the crib.  Dr. N: How far along in age is the body by the time your soul stops leaving the child

altogether?

S: At about five or six years of age. Usually we get fully operational when the child starts school. Children under this age can be left to their own devices a lot.

Dr. N: Don’t you have a duty to always be with your body?

S: If things get bad in a physical way-then I’m back inside like a shot.

Dr. N: How would you know this if you were off fooling around with other souls?

S: Every brain has a wave pattern-it’s like a fingerprint. We know immediately if the baby assigned to us is in trouble.

Dr. N: So, you are watching the baby assigned to you all the time-both inside and out-during the early stages of growth?

S: (with pride) Oh yes, and I watch the parents. They might be having squabbles around the baby which sets up disturbing vibrations.

Dr. N: If this happens to the child, what do you do as its soul?

S: Quiet the child as best I can. Reach out to the parents through the baby to calm them.

Dr. N: Give me an example of how you can reach out to your parents?

S: Oh, make the baby laugh in front of them by poking my parents’ faces with both hands. This sort of thing further endears babies to parents.

Dr. N: As a soul, you can control motor movements of the baby?

S: I’m … me. I can push a little on that part of the brain which controls movements. I can tickle the kid’s funny bone sometimes, too … I’ll do whatever it takes to bring harmony to my assigned family.

Dr. N: Tell me what it is like being inside a mother’s womb.

S: I like the warm comfortable feeling of love. Most of the time there is love … sometimes there is stress. Anyway, I use this time to think and plan what I am going to do after birth. I think about my past lives and missed opportunities with other bodies and this gives me incentive.

Dr. N: And you haven’t yet had the memories of all your past lives and your life in the spirit world blocked out by amnesia?

S: That starts after birth.

Dr. N: When the baby is born, does it have any conscious thoughts of who its soul is and the reasons for the attachment?

S: (pause) The child mind is so undeveloped it does not reason out this information. It does have parts of this knowledge as a means of comfort, which then fades. By the time I speak, this information is locked deep inside me and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Dr. N: So, will you have fleeting thoughts of other lives as a child?

S: Yes . . we daydream … the way we play as children … creating stories … having imaginary friends who are real .. but it fades. In the first few years of life babies know more than they are given credit for.

Dr. N: All right, now it is the time right before your birth in this life. Tell me what you are doing.

S: I’m listening to music. Dr. N: What music?

S: I’m listening to my father play records-very relaxing for him-it helps him to think-I’m a bit anxious for him

Dr. N: Why?

S: (giggles) He thinks he wants a boy, but I’ll change his mind in a hurry! Dr. N: So, this is a productive time for you?

S: (with determination) Yes, I’m busy planning for the approaching time when I will enter the world as a human and take that first breath. This is my last chance for quiet contemplation of the next life. When I come out-I’ll be running.

Conclusion

THE information contained in this book about the existence of souls after physical

death represents the most meaningful explanation I have found in my life as to why we are here. All my years of searching to discover the purpose of life hardly prepared me for that moment when a subject in hypnosis finally opened the door to an eternal world.

My oldest friend is a Catholic priest today. As boys walking together in the hills and along the beaches of Los Angeles we had many philosophical discussions, but were miles apart in our spiritual beliefs. He once told me, “I think it must take courage for you to be an atheist and believe in nothing beyond this life.” I didn’t see it that way at the time, nor for many years afterward. Starting at age five, I had been sent by my parents to military-type boarding schools for long periods. The feelings of abandonment and loneliness were so great I believed in no higher power than myself. I now realize strength was given to me in subtle ways I was unable to see. My friend and I still have different approaches to spirituality, but we both have convictions today that order and purpose in the universe emanate from a higher consciousness.

Looking back,  I suppose it was no accident in my  own  life that people would

eventually come to me for hypnosis-a medium of truth I could believe in-to tell me about guides, heavenly gateways, spiritual study groups, and creation itself in a world of souls. Even now, I sometimes feel like an intruder in the minds of those who describe the spirit world and their place in it, but their knowledge has given me direction.  Still,  I  wonder why  I  am the  messenger  for the  spiritual  knowledge contained in this book, when someone with less original cynicism and doubt would surely have been much better suited. Actually, it is the people represented in these cases who are the real messengers of hope for the future, not the reporter. Everything I have learned about who we are and where we come from, I owe to those who were drawn to me for help. They have taught me that a major aspect of our mission on Earth as souls is to mentally survive being cut off from our real home. While in a human body, the soul is essentially alone. A soul’s relative isolation on Earth during a temporary physical life is made more difficult on a conscious level by thoughts that nothing exists beyond this life. Our doubts tempt us into finding attachments solely in a physical world we can see. The scientific knowledge that Earth is only a grain of sand at the edge of a galactic shoreline within a vast sea in the universe adds to our feelings of insignificance.

Why is no other living thing on Earth concerned with life after death? Is this simply

because our inflated egos hate to think of life as only temporary, or is it because our being is associated with a higher power? People argue that any thoughts of a hereafter are wishful thinking. I used to do so myself. However, there is logic to the concept we were not created by accident for mere survival, and that we do operate within a universal system which directs the physical transformation of Self for a reason. I believe it is the voice of our souls, which tell us we do have personhood that is not intended to die.

All the accounts of life after death in my case files have no scientific foundation to

prove the statements of these subjects. To those readers who find the material offered in this book too unprecedented to accept, I would hope for one thing. If you carry away nothing except the idea you may have a permanent identity worth finding, I will have accomplished a great deal.

One of the most troublesome concerns of all people who want to believe in something higher than themselves is the causality of so much negativity in the world. Evil is given as the primary example. When I ask my subjects how a loving God could permit suffering, surprisingly there are few variations in their responses. My cases report our souls are born of a creator which places a totally peaceful state deliberately out of reach so we will strive harder.

We learn from wrongdoing. The absence of good traits exposes the ultimate flaws in our nature. That which is not good is testing us, otherwise we would have no motivation to better the world through ourselves, and no way to measure advancement. When I ask my subjects about the alternating merciful and wrathful qualities we perceive to be the self-expression of a teacher-oversoul, some of them say the creator only shows certain attributes to us for specific ends. For instance, if we equate evil with justice and mercy with goodness and if God allowed us only to know mercy, there would be no state of justice.

This book presents a theme of order and wisdom rising from many spiritual energy levels. In a remarkable underlying message, particularly from advanced subjects, the possibility is held out that the God-oversoul of our universe is on a less-than- perfect level. Thus, complete infallibility is deferred to an even higher divine source. From my work I have come to believe that we live in an imperfect world by design. Earth is one of countless worlds with intelligent beings, each with its own set of imperfections to bring into harmony. Extending this thought further, we might exist as one single dimensional universe out of many, each having its own creator governing at a different level of proficiency in levels similar to the progression of souls seen in this book. Under this pantheon, the divine being of our particular house would be allowed to govern in His, Her, or Its own way.

If the souls who go to planets in our universe are the offspring of a parent oversoul

who is made wiser by our struggle, then could we have a more divine grandparent who is the absolute God? The concept that our immediate God is still evolving as we are takes nothing away from an ultimate source of perfection who spawned our God. To my mind, a supreme, perfect God would not lose omnipotence or total control over all creation by allowing for the maturation of less-than-perfect superior offspring. These lesser gods could be allowed to create their own imperfect worlds as a final means of edification so they might join with the ultimate God.

The reflected aspects of divine intervention in this universe must remain as our

ultimate reality. If our God is not the best there is because of the use of pain as a teaching tool, then we must accept this as the best we have and still take the reasons for our existence as a divine gift. Certainly this idea is not easy to convey to someone who is physically suffering, for example, from a terminal illness. Pain in life is especially insidious because it can block the healing power of our souls, especially if we have not accepted what is happening to us as a preordained trial. Yet, throughout life, our karma is designed so that each trial will not be too great for us to endure.

At a wat temple in the mountains of Northern Thailand, a Buddhist teacher once reminded me of a simple truth. “Life,” he said, “is offered as a means of self- expression, only giving us what we seek when we listen to the heart.” The highest forms of this expression are acts of kindness. Our soul may be traveling away from a

permanent home, but we are not just tourists. We bear responsibility in the evolution of a higher consciousness for ourselves  and others in life. Thus, our journey is a collective one.

We are divine but imperfect beings who exist in two worlds, material and spiritual.

It is our destiny to shuttle back and forth between their universes through space and time while we learn to master ourselves and acquire knowledge. We must trust in this process with patience and determination. Our essence is not fully knowable in most physical hosts, but Self is never lost because we always remain connected to both worlds.

A number of my more advanced subjects have stated there is a growing movement

in the spirit world to “change the game rules on Earth.” These people say their souls had less amnesia about Self and the interlife when they lived in earlier cultures. It seems in the last few thousand years there has been tighter blocking, on a conscious level, of our immortal memories. This has been a contributing factor in the loss of faith in our capacity for self-transcendence. Earth is filled with people who feel an empty hopelessness toward the meaning of life. The lack of connection with our immortality combined with the availability of mind-altering chemicals and overpopulation has created rumbles upstairs. I am told large numbers of souls who have had more frequent incarnations in recent centuries on Earth are opting, when they get the chance, for less stressful worlds. There are enlightened places where amnesia is greatly reduced without causing homesickness for the spirit world. As we approach the next millennium, the masters who direct Earth’s destiny appear to be making changes to permit more information and understanding of who we are and why we are here to come into our lives.

Perhaps the most gratifying feature of my work in uncovering the existence of a spirit world in the minds of my subjects is the effect this conscious knowledge has on them. The most significant benefit which comes from knowing we have a home of everlasting love waiting for us, is being receptive to the higher spiritual power within our minds. The awareness that we do belong somewhere is reassuring and offers us peace, not merely as a haven from conflict, but to unify ourselves with a universal mind. One day we are going to finish this long journey-all of us-and reach an ultimate state of enlightenment, where everything is possible.

Wait! There’s more…

Important Note
This post contains the complete reprint of the non-fiction work by Dr. Michael Newton titled “Journey of Souls”. That is the first book written by Dr. Newton. His second book is much more comprehensive and really gets into the “meat” of this subject completely. It’s titled “Destiny of Souls” and can be found in my MAJestic Index (below).

Are you interested in other MAJestic writings?

I have other writings in my MAJestic Index here…

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Hyper-stealth cloaking technology. Just in time for SHTF Geo-political realignments.

A cloaking device is a hypothetical or fictional stealth technology that can cause objects, such as spaceships or individuals, to be partially or wholly invisible to parts of the electromagnetic (EM) spectrum. Jul 2 2019

-Cloaking device - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Um. Sure, Wikipedia. What ever you say…

Invisibility on Demand.  

“Everything is theoretically impossible, until it is done.“

-Robert A. Heinlein

Our extraterrestrial benefactors and most other (technologically advanced) non-human species possess the power of invisibility “cloaking” on demand.  This invisibility was inclusive of widely varying methodology and could be all inclusive or selective for various radiative sources. 

Indeed, depending on the method used, their activities were shielded most effectively from human observation.

The techniques that they used to do this, generally, tended to work by bending light.  

There are all kinds of studies based on this technology foothold. 

For instance, scientists at the University of California, Irvine hope to fix that with what they call invisibility patches, based on a structural protein that common squid (the ones that end up as calamari) use to change the color and reflectivity of their skin. 

This protein, called reflectin, functions in the same wavelengths as night vision systems, and therein lies its promise.

In general, all extraterrestrial vehicles were capable of this ability, as it was (apparently) a very simple thing to do.  Any time a person sees a extraterrestrial vehicle or “UFO” it is either because the field was intentionally turned off, or that it was simply malfunctioning. 

The way these vehicles work is how the light is received by the cones inside our eyes.  The device(s) that they used altered or “bent” the light so that our (human) eye cones could not perceive them. 

A diagram of the human eye, showing the location of the "eye cones".
A diagram of the human eye, showing the location of the “eye cones”.

However, some animals, with different kinds of eye cones could still see the objects. Like dogs, and cats, and horses, and pigs.

The ability to “cloak” ones actions is actually structurally simple. It is characteristic of advanced species and technologically advanced civilizations to alter the physical world surrounding them.

By copying and duplicating their technologies, we too are able to accomplish this feat.

Invisibility on Demand.
Invisibility on Demand.

In regards to MAJestic, no matter how diligently we tried, our solutions were never as elegant or inclusive as those with whom we emulated. That is because we tried to copy them directly. We did not try to fully understand them.

I like to hope that today, those studying these objects and technologies would like to spend some time studying how they worked and the basic underlying principles of their operation. As opposed to just simply mimicking their performance.

Human attempts…

Retro-reflective Projection Technology (RPT)

Optical Camouflage using Retro-reflective Projection Technology (RPT) was developed in 1998 at the University of Tokyo. 

Retro-reflective Projection Technology (RPT) developed in Japan in the middle to late 1990's.
Retro-reflective Projection Technology (RPT) developed in Japan in the middle to late 1990’s.

It is essentially a kind of projection technology that projects the background image in front of the object in question. Like most new product and R&D efforts, it is often fraught with “dead ends” and “black holes”. Eventually resulting on the “shelving” of the technology.

As far as I know, this technology pretty much died in Asia.

Or did it?

Human attempts at invisibility cloaking

Where would you develop such technologies? Where would you go? Where you you find the necessary funding, and the necessary people that would desire to play around” with such “science fiction”, “tin foil hat” technologies?

Follow the money?

Well, if money were the core driver, then you might want to discuss this technology with financiers, bankers, wall street traders, and attorneys. If so, then where would you find them? Where is the financial capitals in the world? Oh, that’s easy. London, Hong Kong, Dubai, New York, Shanghai.

You know, they might help fund such “tin foil hat” technologies, but they wouldn’t get too close to them. They are not the kind of people that like to “get their hands dirty”. You need to go where the inventors, the innovators, the engineers, and the designers live…

So, where are the technology centers in the world?

Where are they? Where would you find contemporaneous inventors? Inventors not hampered by government regulation and oversight? Where are places where innovation thrives, and “money seems to grow on trees” for the inventor class? Is it Silicon valley? Is it in Japan? Is it in Korea?

Nope. Shenzhen, China and the entire Guangzhou corridor. That’s where.

Never heard of this place, eh?

Well of course you haven’t. What goes for American “news” today is just fear-mongering half-truths designed to manipulate Americans to become the most productive serfs possible. And if the news does not promote this narrative it is censored from the American public.

Contemporaneous high tech development happens in unique clusters all over the world. However, the largest, in geographic region, the largest in number of people, the largest in infrastructure, and the largest with pro-science government support is located in one place, and only one place…

China.

All those drones that you see in the sky. Do you know where they were developed, and manufactured?

China.

Hum, what about those fine cameras in your cell phones, oh, heck the electronics and screens in the phones? The Wifi systems, and the fiber-optics and memory. Do you know where they are being developed and manufactured?

China.

Sure there is some software development in the United States, in Japan, in Korea. Just like there are development hubs in Germany, France and Mexico. And Finland. Software development is all over the world. And there are factories all over the world, but where are the greatest concentrations of development?

Indeed, where is the largest, the greatest and the most enormous clusters of inventors, innovators and designers?

China.

Technology is advancing. We all know about 5G and the latest in video games. But what of other technologies? You know, just because FOX and CNN is not reporting on other things doesn’t mean that they are not happening. They are. As such, it is both comforting and alarming at the same time.

Here we look at invisibility cloaking. And how it is being developed.

Duke University Stealth System

A device that can bestow invisibility to an object by “cloaking” it from visual light was developed almost fifteen years ago in Duke University by Chinese researchers.

After being the first to demonstrate the feasibility of such a device by constructing a prototype in 2006, a team of Duke University engineers produced a unique type of cloaking device, which is significantly more sophisticated at cloaking in a broad range of frequencies.

The invisibility cloak developed by Chinese scientists and researchers in 2006 at Duke University.
The invisibility cloak developed by Chinese scientists and researchers in 2006 at Duke University.

The latest advance was made possible by the development of a new series of complex mathematical commands, known as algorithms, to guide the design and fabrication of exotic composite materials known as metamaterials.

A metamaterial (from the Greek word μετά meta, meaning "beyond" and the Latin word materia, meaning "matter" or "material") is any material engineered to have a property that is not found in naturally occurring materials. They are made from assemblies of multiple elements fashioned from composite materials such as metals and plastics. The materials are usually arranged in repeating patterns, at scales that are smaller than the wavelengths of the phenomena they influence. Metamaterials derive their properties not from the properties of the base materials, but from their newly designed structures. Their precise shape, geometry, size, orientation and arrangement gives them their smart properties capable of manipulating electromagnetic waves: by blocking, absorbing, enhancing, or bending waves, to achieve benefits that go beyond what is possible with conventional materials.

-Wikipedia

These materials can be engineered to have properties not easily found in natural materials, and can be used to form a variety of “cloaking” structures. These structures can guide electromagnetic waves around an object, only to have them emerge on the other side as if they had passed through an empty volume of space.

The first authors of the paper were Duke’s Ruopeng Liu, who developed the algorithm, and Chunlin Li. Both Chinese nationals. After publishing their results, they left the program and returned to China.

China.

They were replaced with other leaders. This was David R. Smith, William Bevan Professor of electrical and computer engineering at Duke, as the senior member of the research team.

Once the algorithm was developed, the cloaking device was completed from conception to fabrication in nine days, compared to the four months required to create the original, and more rudimentary, device.

This powerful algorithm will make it possible to custom-design unique metamaterials with specific cloaking characteristics, the researchers said.

”The difference between the original device and the latest model is like night and day. The new device can cloak a much wider spectrum of waves — nearly limitless — and will scale far more easily to infrared and visible light. The approach we used should help us expand and improve our abilities to cloak different types of waves.”

Cloaking devices bend electromagnetic waves, such as light, in such a way that it appears as if the cloaked object is not there. In the latest laboratory experiments, a beam of microwaves aimed through the cloaking device at a “bump” on a flat mirror surface bounced off the surface at the same angle as if the bump were not present. Additionally, the device prevented the formation of scattered beams that would normally be expected from such a perturbation.

The results of the Duke experiments were published Jan. 16, 2009 in the journal Science.

“Broadband” Invisibility Cloak

Eventually, the work that we uncovered two to three decades ago crawls its way to mainstream science.  I am quite confident that it goes through various distillation procedures until a physical law or principle that parallels one that is acceptable to mainstream science is embraced. 

That is certainly the case with the “Broadband” Invisibility cloak.

This “broadband” invisibility cloak which hides objects over a wide range of frequencies has been devised.  The first working model – which concealed a small copper cylinder by bending microwaves around it – was first demonstrated in 2006. 

It was built with a thin shell of metamaterials. 

It was not perfect, but further experiments were being conducted to improve upon the design. ( While the media interest in this technology has been silent, I can assure the reader that the NSA and Darpa have taken an interest in this technology.  Thus one should expect that fully available, mass produced versions are now available to qualified alphabet organizations.)

In lab tests, scientists at the University of Texas, Austin, wrapped an 18-centimeter long cylindrical rod under their cloak and successfully made it disappear when they beamed microwaves at the object.  The researchers made the garment from a meta-screen, a super-thin material created from strips of copper attached to a flexible polycarbonate film. The copper strips are only 66-micrometers thick, while the polycarbonate film is 100-micrometers thick.

The trouble is that when you add material around an object to cloak it, you can’t avoid the fact that you are adding matter.  Thus, when you add matter, it still responds to electromagnetic waves. 

Thus… we have the current investigative direction is toward more active cloaking technology, designs which rely on electrical power to make objects “vanish”. Like what they are doing in China.

Chinese Applications

Well, it seems that if you kick the Chinese researchers off the development programs, and then pull their visas, they have no choice but to go home and find work there.

And that is exactly what they did.

China is mass producing metamaterials in state-run labs, since the mid 2015’s. These materials reportedly functions as ‘invisibility cloaks’ and are believed that they make fighter jets impossible to detect.

  • Thermally
  • Via Radar
  • Visually and optically.

A broadcast by China Central Television Station (CCTV), revealed that a laboratory in Shenzhen, in in the high-tech Guangzhou corridor, is manufacturing various types of highly technological materials—including invisibility, anti-burning and anti-icing cloaks.

The functions of these materials have not been disclosed to the public. Chinese news platform Sina reported that the assembly line is directly related to the military and the materials are likely to be used to camouflage J-20 fighter jets.

The Chinese J-20 fighter Jet. It is a fifth generation air superiority fighter with Chinese metamaterial "cloaking" technology.
The Chinese J-20 fighter Jet. It is a fifth generation air superiority fighter with Chinese metamaterial “cloaking” technology. It made it’s first public flight in 2016 in Zhuhai, China.

Scientists are reportedly producing the materials at the State Key Laboratory of Metamaterial Electromagnet Modulation Technology, which was established in 2011 and is based in the Guangqi Advanced Institute of Technology. According to its website, the lab has an annual production capacity of more than 107,600 square feet of metamaterial plates.

"State key" indicates the organization is state-funded or run by the Chinese government. The United States does not make this distinction. Most American universities are funded through the US government in the form of programs, grants or loans.

The Sina report also confirmed that the materials will likely be used by the military, specifically for camouflaging the J-20 fighter jets as its chief engineer Yang Wei is also on the laboratory’s academic board.

In December 2015, a video of a man demonstrating the abilities of a quantum invisibility cloak went viral worldwide after it was shared to Weibo, a Chinese social media platform. The footage was posted by Chen Shiqu, the deputy director of Criminal Investigations Bureau of the Ministry of Public Security.

The Chinese adaptive camfouflage/cloaking technology is apparently also multispectral, as a team has developed a device that can cloak an object in the thermal/IR (InfraRed) light spectrum (thus the anti-heat-seeking-missile protective aspect) and prevent it from being picked up by metal detectors. 

DR assumes it's thermal/IR camo aspect would also prevent the cloaked object from being seen in the near-IR (night vision) light spectrum, but this hasn't been confirmed/verified, yet. 

Professor Ma Yungui, an optical engineering specialist at Zhejiang University recently spoke about this device, which is roughly the size of matchbox, but can be enlarged as necessary to allow weapons to be secreted passed security checkpoints.

The fly in the ointment is that a ...

"useable and practical invisibility cloak might still be decades away as it needed super-materials that could not be produced with current technology",

...but the Chinese government and military are pressing ahead with it anyway to gleen theoretical knowledge that can potentially produce many tech spin-offs. 

"I went to an international forum on invisibility studies in Paris last year and found that at least a third of the researchers came from mainland China. It is challenging to get a research grant no matter what the subject is, but the Chinese government’s support on fundamental frontier research such as invisibility study is strong and increasing." 

-Defense Review

Of course, those in the United States, believe that this is impossible. There is no way, none what so ever, that the Chinese would be able to surpass the United States in any kind of technology. It’s frankly inconceivable!

It's frankly inconceivable!
It’s frankly inconceivable!
"Softwares such as Adobe's After Effects, Nuke or Blackmagic Fusion can edit the background and blend the object into it. The effect has previously seen in a lot of action movies,"

-Newsweek

Well, since it’s inconceivable that a Chinese company would develop “cloaking” technology, how about a Canadian company? I mean, if it is “preposterous” and “inconceivable” for the Chinese to develop such technology, perhaps the Canadians can do so…

HyperStealth

A Canadian company called Hyperstealth® is reporting that it has developed Quantum Stealth®, a material that renders the target…

 “completely invisible by bending light waves around the target.” 

If the photos are to be believed, Quantum Stealth® basically works like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.

Since 2002, Hyperstealth® has been in the business of designing camouflage patterns for military uniforms, vehicles, and installations.

In 2010, at the International Camouflage Symposium, Hyperstealth®’s CEO Guy Cramer demonstrated SmartCamo® — a material that could adjust its camouflage markings to match its surroundings.

The first recent public presentation of this technology was released by DefenseReview in May 2011. There, they had an interview with Guy Cramer about Hyperstealth Biotechnology Corp.’s Quantum Stealth light-bending multi-spectral “invisibility cloaking” technology.

This release resulted in numerous major mainstream science and technology publications picking up the story.

Hyperstealth Quantum Stealth technology.
Hyperstealth Quantum Stealth technology.

Patent Pending

The reason Cramer/Hyperstealth Biotechnology Corp. finally released videos and (initial) technical information on the Hyperstealth Quantum Stealth multi-spectral adaptive camo/visual cloaking tech is because they’ve now filed for patent (multiple patents, actually), so they’re now protected from intellectual property theft.

The operation

The primary patentable aspect of Quantum Stealth is configuring of positioning lenticular lenses back to back. In the process they end up creating an entirely new type of lens.

Current density. Hyperstealth can fit about 100 lenses per square inch. It is, from a functional and development point of view, much easier to work with this amount. However, that is not the target. Right now, they are currently working on getting up to about 200 lenses per square inch.

Current weight is approximately one (1) pound per square foot, but the goal is to get the weight down to a small fraction of that.

Current thickness is roughly that of two pieces of cardboard stacked back to back. So, now, hiding aircraft (on the ground), tanks, ground vehicles, tents, buildings and entire military bases becomes possible, and will negate the need for building hardened protective structures in many cases.

The primary patentable aspect of Quantum Stealth is configuring/positioning lenticular lenses back to back.
The primary patentable aspect of Quantum Stealth is configuring/positioning lenticular lenses back to back.

Functional limitations

Quantum Stealth’s current weight and standoff requirement (and we’re guessing, durability) means it can’t be applied to standard/winged military aircraft skin. This includes fighter jet aircraft. However, it CAN be applied to rotary aircraft like helicopters and UAS/UAVs (Unmanned Aircraft Systems/Unmanned Aerial Vehicles).

Multi-Spectral Camouflage

Quantum Stealth is true multi-spectral (adaptive) camouflage, in that it It bends near-infrared (night vision) and shortwave infrared, ultraviolet light, and visible light, and even blocks thermal/IR (Infrared).

Quantum Stealth is true multi-spectral (adaptive) camouflage, in that it It bends near-infrared (night vision) and shortwave infrared, ultraviolet light, and visible light, and even blocks thermal/IR (Infrared).
Quantum Stealth is true multi-spectral (adaptive) camouflage, in that it It bends near-infrared (night vision) and shortwave infrared, ultraviolet light, and visible light, and even blocks thermal/IR (Infrared).

Uniforms

The goal for U.S. Military BDU’s (Battle Dress Uniforms) is to be able to cover them with a lightweight Quantum Stealth parachute-type material. This would be like a flight suit or jumpsuit.

The technology can hide the thermal image of those protected.
The technology can hide the thermal image of those protected.

Of course, the face/head and helmet will also have to be covered with the material, and the primary challenge will be allowing the soldier / warfighter to be able to breathe, see and hear, without the enemy seeing him/her.

Projection of images

You can also project video and still images onto the Quantum Stealth material. This opens up all sorts of advanced types of camouflage. It means you can create decoys and diversions. So instead of using the technology to hide existing troops and weapons, it can be used to create the impression of military forces in other areas, or civilians, or vehicles that do not exist.

You can also project video and still images onto the Quantum Stealth material, which means you can create decoys and diversions.
You can also project video and still images onto the Quantum Stealth material, which means you can create decoys and diversions.

And, here’s the kicker, Quantum Stealth lenticular lens arrays can be utilized to quantumly improve LIDAR (Laser Radar) systems, which Cramer says can essentially render low-observable “stealth” aircraft technology obsolete.

Advanced "cloaking" technology for military uniforms.
Advanced “cloaking” technology for military uniforms.

Videos

The following videos were recommended from the Defense Review website.

Company Contact Info:

Guy Cramer, President/Owner
HyperStealth Biotechnology Corp.
P.O. Box 21134
Maple Ridge Sq.
Maple Ridge, B.C., V2X 1P7
Office Phone: 604-961-7046
Email: info@hyperstealth.com
Website: http://www.hyperstealth.com

Related Links:

The following links were recommended from the Defense Review website.

Conclusion

Pretty interesting, eh?

It’s always a matter of time before the “tin foil hat” crowd is vindicated. It too 70 years for the news to get out about how the “deep state” killed President Kennedy and turned the United States into a military empire, and now it looks like it took fifty years to make invisibility cloaks.

Yeah, all that “tin foil hat” nonsense about “cloaking” and “invisibility” is actually real. And MAJestic has been involved in the reverse engineering of it for decades. It’s nice to see that some of the technology is coming out of the black and being used.

Even if it’s only for warfare.

It’s being developed all over the world and being mass produced in technology centers in China, and under development in Canada (for the United States) today. Who knows what will come of all this technology?

We don’t know, but it sure is exciting.

Do you want more?

MAJestic

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Inherit the Stars (full text) by James Hogan

Here is the full text of the wonderful science fiction story titled “Inherit the stars” by James Hogan. It is a fine “take you away” adventure about discovery, space, and history.

I got the science fiction bug when I was 12 reading Heinlein, Asimov, and Piper. This is one of my absolute favorite SciFi novels in the last 58 years. It appeals to my technical bent. I was a computer consultant for 32 years. I will never give up this copy.

-Amazon Customer review

My regular readers are going to hate me for this post.

As they slap themselves on the head! “Gosh no! Not another science fiction novel. What are you trying to do to us?”

Inherit the stars.
Inherit the stars.

It’s amazing to me the amount of flack that I get for having a website / blog. It seems that there are just miserable people that want to complain, disparage me, or my experiences, or are just hateful. I mean, really people! Up your game or shut the fuck up.

I have spelling or grammar mistakes. I need to “prove” myself. I don’t have a “unified message”. I ramble on and on and don’t get to the point. I don’t provide proof. Others can read the same kind of things on other websites, yada, yada, yada.

For goodness sakes!

To understand things, especially new and unique things, you need to have a different frame of reference. You need to look outside your echo chamber and your circle of “yes men”. You need to see and experience things form other alternative points of view.

What I have experienced is wholly outside “normal” human experience.

The best that I can provide is science fiction, and fantasy that helps explain some of the more complex concepts that I am trying to put forth.

Thus this story. It’s just a fine science fiction read…

…or is it?

Could it be shocking to believe that there are civilizations older than ours that has changed the human species? Could it be that the solar system was different millions or even billions of years ago? Could it be that humans had to adapt or perish?

Things for thought.

Change is universal. We must be adaptable, no matter what the situation and never, NEVER take what we have for granted.

Introduction

The man on the moon was dead. They called him Charlie. He had big eyes, abundant body hair, and fairly long nostrils. His skeletal body was found clad in a bright red spacesuit, hidden in a rocky grave. They didn’t know who he was, how he got there, or what had killed him. All they knew was that his corpse was fifty thousand years old — and that meant this man had somehow lived long before he ever could have existed.

James P. Hogan's Inherit the Stars deserves its status as a science fiction classic. The book is set in the mid-21st century. In the first chapter, a 50,000 year-old human skeleton dressed in a spacesuit is found on the moon. The inescapable conclusion is that a technologically-advanced race of humans existed 50 millenia ago. But where did this race evolve? How did this particular human get to the moon? What happened to the rest of his kind? And why is there no archeological evidence of this civilization on earth?

As the teams of paleontologists, physicists, biologists, linguists and government officials (not to mention the media) address these questions, even more astounding archeological findings are made and more questions are raised.

This tightly-woven, compact novel is rich in analysis and deductive reasoning. The book addresses the horror, destructiveness and irrationality of war. 

Its themes and lessons are just as important today as in 1977 when Hogan penned this work. 

From hindsight, Hogan's vision of the 21st century is startlingly accurate. Among other things, he predicted the internet and the factors that brought an end to the Cold War. 

We haven't quite reached the age of routine space travel, but we have a couple of decades to go before we catch up to the timeframe of the novel. The work is so realistic, it is difficult to believe that it was written over 30 years ago.

Apart from Edgar Allan Poe and Umberto Eco, I'd be hard-pressed to name an author who is more adept at ratiocination than Hogan. This is a sensitive, timely and intellectually-satisfying novel. I'm looking forward to reading more of Hogan's work.

-Science Fiction Classic

Inherit the Stars

James P. Hogan

Inherit the Stars

Prologue

He became aware of consciousness returning.

Instinctively his mind recoiled, as if by some effort of will he could arrest the relentless flow of seconds that separated non-awareness from awareness and return again to the timeless oblivion in which the agony of total exhaustion was unknown and unknowable.

The hammer that had threatened to burst from his chest was now quiet. The rivers of sweat that had drained with his strength from every hollow of his body were now turned cold. His limbs had turned to lead. The gasping of his lungs had returned once more to a slow and even rhythm. It sounded loud in the close confines of his helmet.

He tried to remember how many had died. Their release was final; for him there was no release. How much longer could he go on? What was the point? Would there be anyone left alive at Gorda anyway?

“Gorda…? Gorda…?”

His mental defenses could shield him from reality no longer.

“Must get to Gorda!”

He opened his eyes. A billion unblinking stars stared back without interest. When he tried to move, his body refused to respond, as if trying to prolong to the utmost its last precious moments of rest. He took a deep breath and, clenching his teeth at the pain that instantly racked again through every fiber of his body, forced himself away from the rock and into a sitting position. A wave of nausea swept over him. His head sagged forward and struck the inside of his visor. The nausea passed.

He groaned aloud.

“Feeling better, then, soldier?” The voice came clearly through the speaker inside his helmet. “Sun’s getting low. We gotta be moving.”

He lifted his head and slowly scanned the nightmare wilderness of scorched rock and ash-gray dust that confronted him.

“Whe-” The sound choked in his throat. He swallowed, licked his lips, and tried again. “Where are you?”

“To your right, up on the rise just past that small cliff that juts out-the one with the big boulders underneath.”

He turned his head and after some seconds detected a bright blue patch against the ink-black sky. It seemed blurred and far away. He blinked and strained his eyes again, forcing his brain to coordinate with his vision. The blue patch resolved itself into the figure of the tireless Koriel, clad in a heavy-duty combat suit.

“I see you.” After a pause: “Anything?”

“It’s fairly flat on the other side of the rise-should be easier going for a while. Gets rockier farther on. Come have a look.”

He inched his arms upward to find purchase on the rock behind, then braced them to thrust his weight forward over his legs. His knees trembled. His face contorted as he fought to concentrate his remaining strength into his protesting thighs. Already his heart was pumping again, his lungs heaving. The effort evaporated and he fell back against the rock. His labored breathing rasped over Koriel’s radio.

“Finished… Can’t move…”

The blue figure on the skyline turned.

“Aw, what kinda talk’s that? This is the last stretch. We’re there, buddy-we’re there.”

“No-no good… Had it…” Koriel waited a few seconds.

“I’m coming back down.”

“No-you go on. Someone’s got to make it.”

No response.

“Koriel…”

He looked back at where the figure had stood, but already it had disappeared below the intervening rocks and was out of the line of transmission. A minute or two later the figure emerged from behind the nearby boulders, covering the ground in long, effortless bounds. The bounds broke into a walk as Koriel approached the hunched form clad in red.

“C’mon, soldier, on your feet now. There’s people back there depending on us.”

He felt himself gripped below his arm and raised irresistibly, as if some of Koriel’s limitless reserves of strength were pouring into him. For a while his head swam and he leaned with the top of his visor resting on the giant’s shoulder insignia.

“Okay,” he managed at last. “Let’s go.”

Hour after hour the thin snake of footprints, two pinpoints of color at its head, wound its way westward across the wilderness amid steadily lengthening shadows. He marched as if in a trance, beyond feeling pain, beyond feeling exhaustion-beyond feeling anything. The skyline never seemed to change; soon he could no longer look at it. Instead, he began picking out the next prominent boulder or crag, and counting off the paces until they reached it. “Two hundred and thirteen less to go.” And then he repeated it over again… and again… and again. The rocks marched by in slow, endless, indifferent procession. Every step became a separate triumph of will-a deliberate, conscious effort to drive one foot yet one more pace beyond the last. When he faltered, Koriel was there to catch his arm; when he fell, Koriel was always there to haul him up. Koriel never tired.

At last they stopped. They were standing in a gorge perhaps a quarter mile wide, below one of the lines of low, broken cliffs that flanked it on either side. He collapsed on the nearest boulder. Koriel stood a few paces ahead surveying the landscape. The line of crags immediately above them was interrupted by a notch, which marked the point where a steep and narrow cleft tumbled down to break into the wall of the main gorge. From the bottom of the cleft, a mound of accumulated rubble and rock debris led down about fifty feet to blend with the floor of the gorge not far from where they stood. Koriel stretched out an arm to point up beyond the cleft.

“Gorda will be roughly that way,” he said without turning. “Our best way would be up and onto that ridge. If we stay on the flat and go around the long way, it’ll be too far. What d’you say?” The other stared up in mute despair. The rockfall, funneling up toward the mouth of the cleft, looked like a mountain. In the distance beyond towered the ridge, jagged and white in the glare of the sun. It was impossible.

Koriel allowed his doubts no time to take root. Somehow-slipping, sliding, stumbling, and falling-they reached the entrance to the cleft. Beyond it, the walls narrowed and curved around to the left, cutting off the view of the gorge below from where they had come. They climbed higher. Around them, sheets of raw reflected sunlight and bottomless pits of shadow met in knife-edges across rocks shattered at a thousand crazy angles. His brain ceased to extract the concepts of shape and form from the insane geometry of white and black that kaleidoscoped across his retina. The patterns grew and shrank and merged and whirled in a frenzy of visual cacophony.

His face crashed against his visor as his helmet thudded into the dust. Koriel hoisted him to his feet.

“You can do it. We’ll see Gorda from the ridge. It’ll be all downhill from there…”

But the figure in red sank slowly to its knees and folded over. The head inside the helmet shook weakly from side to side. As Koriel watched, the conscious part of his mind at last accepted the inescapable logic that the parts beneath consciousness already knew. He took a deep breath and looked about him.

Not far below, they had passed a hole, about five feet across, cut into the base of one of the rock walls. It looked like the remnant of some forgotten excavation-maybe a preliminary digging left by a mining survey. The giant stooped, and grasping the harness that secured the backpack to the now insensible figure at his feet, dragged the body back down the slope to the hole. It was about ten feet deep inside. Working quickly, Koriel arranged a lamp to reflect a low light off the walls and roof. Then he removed the rations from his companion’s pack, laid the figure back against the rear wall as comfortably as he could, and placed the food containers within easy reach. Just as he was finishing, the eyes behind the visor flickered open.

“You’ll be fine here for a while.” The usual gruffness was gone from Koriel’s voice. “I’ll have the rescue boys back from Gorda before you know it.”

The figure in red raised a feeble arm. Just a whisper came through.

“You-you tried… Nobody could have…” Koriel clasped the gauntlet with both hands.

“Mustn’t give up. That’s no good. You just have to hang on a while.” Inside his helmet the granite cheeks were wet. He backed to the entrance and made a final salute. “So long, soldier.” And then he was gone.

Outside he built a small cairn of stones to mark the position of the hole. He would mark the trail to Gorda with such cairns. At last he straightened up and turned defiantly to face the desolation surrounding him. The rocks seemed to scream down in soundless laughing mockery. The stars above remained unmoved. Koriel glowered up at the cleft, rising up toward the tiers of crags and terraces that guarded the ridge, still soaring in the distance. His lips curled back to show his teeth.

“So-it’s just you and me now, is it?” he snarled at the Universe. “Okay, you bastard-let’s see you take this round!”

With his legs driving like slow pistons, he attacked the ever steepening slope.

Chapter One

Accompanied by a mild but powerful whine, a gigantic silver torpedo rose slowly upward to hang two thousand feet above the sugar-cube huddle of central London. Over three hundred yards long, it spread at the tail into a slim delta topped by two sharply swept fins. For a while the ship hovered, as if savoring the air of its newfound freedom, its nose swinging smoothly around to seek the north. At last, with the sound growing, imperceptibly at first but with steadily increasing speed, it began to slide forward and upward. At ten thousand feet its engines erupted into full power, hurling the suborbital skyliner eagerly toward the fringes of space. Sitting in row thirty-one of C deck was Dr. Victor Hunt, head of Theoretical Studies at the Metadyne Nucleonic Instrument Company of Reading, Berkshire-itself a subsidiary of the mammoth Intercontinental Data and Control Corporation, headquartered at Portland, Oregon, USA. He absently surveyed the diminishing view of Hendon that crawled across the cabin wall-display screen and tried again to fit some kind of explanation to the events of the last few days.

His experiments with matter-antimatter particle extinctions had been progressing well. Forsyth-Scott had followed Hunt’s reports with evident interest and therefore knew that the tests were progressing well. That made it all the more strange for him to call Hunt to his office one morning to ask him simply to drop everything and get over to IDCC Portland as quickly as could be arranged. From the managing director’s tone and manner it had been obvious that the request was couched as such mainly for reasons of politeness; in reality this was one of the few occasions on which Hunt had no say in the matter.

To Hunt’s questions, Forsyth-Scott had stated quite frankly that he didn’t know what it was that made Hunt’s immediate presence at IDCC so imperative. The previous evening he had received a videocall from Felix Borlan, the president of IDCC, who had told him that as a matter of priority he required the only working prototype of the scope prepared for immediate shipment to the USA and an installation team ready to go with it. Also, he had insisted that Hunt personally come over for an indefinite period to take charge of some project involving the scope, which could not wait. For Hunt’s benefit, Forsyth-Scott had replayed Borlan’s call on his desk display and allowed him to verify for himself that Forsyth-Scott in turn was acting under a thinly disguised directive. Even stranger, Borlan too had seemed unable to say precisely what it was that the instrument and its inventor were needed for.

The Trimagniscope, developed as a consequence of a two-year investigation by Hunt into certain aspects of neutrino physics, promised to be perhaps the most successful venture ever undertaken by the company. Hunt had established that a neutrino beam that passed through a solid object underwent certain interactions in the close vicinity of atomic nuclei, which produced measurable changes in the transmitted output. By raster scanning an object with a trio of synchronized, intersecting beams, he had devised a method of extracting enough information to generate a 3-D color hologram, visually indistinguishable from the original solid. Moreover, since the beams scanned right through, it was almost as easy to conjure up views of the inside as of the out. These capabilities, combined with that of high-power magnification that was also inherent in the method, yielded possibilities not even remotely approached by anything else on the market. From quantitative cell metabolism and bionics, through neurosurgery, metallurgy, crystallography, and molecular electronics, to engineering inspection and quality control, the applications were endless. Inquiries were pouring in and shares were soaring. Removing the prototype and its originator to the USA-totally disrupting carefully planned production and marketing schedules-bordered on the catastrophic. Borlan knew this as well as anybody. The more Hunt turned these things over in his mind, the less plausible the various possible explanations that had at first occurred to him seemed, and the more convinced he became that whatever the answer turned out to be, it would be found to lie far beyond even Felix Borlan and IDCC.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice issuing from somewhere in the general direction of the cabin roof.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Mason speaking. I would like to welcome you aboard this Boeing 1017 on behalf of British Airways. We are now in level flight at our cruising altitude of fifty-two miles, speed 3,160 knots. Our course is thirty-five degrees west of true north, and the coast is now below with Liverpool five miles to starboard. Passengers are free to leave their seats. The bars are open and drinks and snacks are being served. We are due to arrive in San Francisco at ten thirty-eight hours local time; that’s one hour and fifty minutes from now. I would like to remind you that it is necessary to be seated when we begin our descent in one hour and thirty-five minutes time. A warning will sound ten minutes before descent commences and again at five minutes. We trust you will enjoy your journey. Thank you.”

The captain signed himself off with a click, which was drowned out as the regulars made their customary scramble for the vi-phone booths.

In the seat next to Hunt, Rob Gray, Metadyne’s chief of Experimental Engineering, sat with an open briefcase resting on his knees. He studied the information being displayed on the screen built into its lid.

“A regular flight to Portland takes off fifteen minutes after we get in,” he announced. “That’s a bit tight. Next one’s not for over four hours. What d’you reckon?” He punctuated the question with a sideways look and raised eyebrows.

Hunt pulled a face. “I’m not arsing about in Frisco for four hours. Book us an Avis jet-we’ll fly ourselves up.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Gray played the mini keyboard below the screen to summon an index, consulted it briefly, then touched another key to display a directory. Selecting a number from one of the columns, he mouthed it silently to himself as he tapped it in. A copy of the number appeared near the bottom of the screen with a request for him to confirm. He pressed the Y button. The screen went blank for a few seconds and then exploded into a whirlpool of color, which stabilized almost at once into the features of a platinum-blonde, who radiated the kind of smile normally reserved for toothpaste commercials.

“Good morning. Avis San Francisco, City Terminal. This is Sue Parker. Can I help you?”

Gray addressed the grille, located next to the tiny camera lens just above the screen.

“Hi, Sue. Name’s Gray-R. J. Gray, airbound for SF, due to arrive about two hours from now. Could I reserve an aircar, please?”

“Sure thing. Range?”

“Oh-about five hundred…” He glanced at Hunt.

“Better make it seven,” Hunt advised.

“Make that seven hundred miles minimum.”

“That’ll be no problem, Mr. Gray. We have Skyrovers, Mercury Threes, Honeybees, or Yellow Birds. Any preference?”

“No-any’ll do.”

“I’ll make it a Mercury, then. Any idea how long?”

“No-er-indefinite.”

“Okay. Full computer nav and flight control? Automatic VTOL?”

“Preferably and, ah, yes.”

“You have a full manual license?” The blonde operated unseen keys as she spoke.

“Yes.”

“Could I have personal data and account-checking data, please?”

Gray had extracted the card from his wallet while the exchange was taking place. He inserted it into a slot set to one side of the screen, and touched a key.

The blonde consulted other invisible oracles. “Okay,” she pronounced. “Any other pilots?”

“One. A Dr. V. Hunt.”

“His personal data?”

Gray took Hunt’s already proffered card and substituted it for his own. The ritual was repeated. The face then vanished to be replaced by a screen of formatted text with entries completed in the boxes provided.

“Would you verify and authorize, please?” said the disembodied voice from the grille. “Charges are shown on the right.”

Gray cast his eye rapidly down the screen, grunted, and keyed in a memorized sequence of digits that was not echoed on the display. The word POSITIVE appeared in the box marked “Authorization.” Then the clerk reappeared, still smiling.

“When would you want to collect, Mr. Gray?” she asked.

Gray turned toward Hunt.

“Do we want lunch at the airport first?”

Hunt grimaced. “Not after that party last night. Couldn’t face anything.” His face took on an expression of acute distaste as he moistened the inside of the equine rectum he had once called a mouth. “Let’s eat tonight somewhere.”

“Make it round about eleven thirty hours,” Gray advised. “It’ll be ready.”

“Thanks, Sue.”

“Thank you. Good-bye.”

“Bye now.”

Gray flipped a switch, unplugged the briefcase from the socket built into the armrest of his seat, and coiled the connecting cord back into the space provided in the lid. He closed the case and stowed it behind his feet.

“Done,” he announced.

The scope was the latest in a long line of technological triumphs in the Metadyne product range to be conceived and nurtured to maturity by the Hunt-Gray partnership. Hunt was the ideas man, leading something of a free-lance existence within the organization, left to pursue whatever line of study or experiment his personal whims or the demands of his researches dictated. His title was somewhat misleading; in fact he was Theoretical Studies. The position was one which he had contrived, quite deliberately, to fall into no obvious place in the managerial hierarchy of Metadyne. He acknowledged no superior, apart from the managing director, Sir Francis Forsyth-Scott, and boasted no subordinates. On the company’s organization charts, the box captioned “Theoretical Studies” stood alone and disconnected near the inverted tree headed R D, as if added as an afterthought. Inside it there appeared the single entry Dr. Victor Hunt. This was the way he liked it-a symbiotic relationship in which Metadyne provided him with the equipment, facilities, services, and funds he needed for his work, while he provided Metadyne with first, the prestige of retaining on its payroll a world-acknowledged authority on nuclear infrastructure theory, and second-but by no means least-a steady supply of fallout.

Gray was the engineer. He was the sieve that the fallout fell on. He had a genius for spotting the gems of raw ideas that had application potential and transforming them into developed, tested, marketable products and product enhancements. Like Hunt, he had survived the mine field of the age of unreason and emerged safe and single into his midthirties. With Hunt, he shared a passion for work, a healthy partiality for most of the deadly sins to counterbalance it, and his address book. All things considered, they were a good team.

Gray bit his lower lip and rubbed his left earlobe. He always bit his lower lip and rubbed his left earlobe when he was about to talk shop.

“Figured it out yet?” he asked.

“This Borlan business?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hunt shook his head before lighting a cigarette. “Beats me.”

“I was thinking… Suppose Felix has dug up some hot sales prospect for scopes-maybe one of his big Yank customers. He could be setting up some super demo or something.”

Hunt shook his head again. “No. Felix wouldn’t go and screw up Metadyne’s schedules for anything like that. Anyhow, it wouldn’t make sense-the obvious thing to do would be to fly the people to where the scope is, not the other way round.”

“Mmmm… I suppose the same thing applies to the other thought that occurred to me-some kind of crash teach-in for IDCC people.”

“Right-same thing goes.”

“Mmmm…” When Gray spoke again, they had covered another six miles. “How about a takeover? The whole scope thing is big-Felix wants it handled stateside.”

Hunt reflected on the proposition. “Not for my money. He’s got too much respect for Francis, to pull a stunt like that. He knows Francis can handle it okay. Besides, that’s not his way of doing things-too underhanded.” Hunt paused to exhale a cloud of smoke. “Anyhow, I think there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. From what I saw, even Felix didn’t seem too sure what it’s all about.”

“Mmmm…” Gray thought for a while longer before abandoning further excursions into the realms of deductive logic. He contemplated the growing tide of humanity flowing in the general direction of C-deck bar. “My guts are a bit churned up, too,” he confessed. “Feels like a crate of Guinness on top of a vindaloo curry. Come on-let’s go get a coffee.”

In the star-strewn black velvet one thousand miles farther up, the Sirius Fourteen communications-link satellite followed, with cold and omniscient electronic eyes, the progress of the skyliner streaking across the mottled sphere below. Among the ceaseless stream of binary data that flowed through its antennae, it identified a call from the Boeing’s Gamma Nine master computer, requesting details of the latest weather forecast for northern California. Sirius Fourteen flashed the message to Sirius Twelve, hanging high over the Canadian Rockies, and Twelve in turn beamed it down to the tracking station at Edmonton. From here the message was relayed by optical cable to Vancouver Control and from there by microwave repeaters to the Weather Bureau station at Seattle. A few thousandths of a second later, the answers poured back up the chain in the opposite direction. Gamma Nine digested the information, made one or two minor alterations to its course and flight plan, and sent a record of the dialogue down to Ground Control, Prestwick.

Chapter Two

It had rained for over two days.

The Engineering Materials Research Department of the Ministry of Space Sciences huddled wetly in a fold of the Ural Mountains, an occasional ray of sunlight glinting from a laboratory window or from one of the aluminum domes of the reactor building. Seated in her office in the analysis section, Valereya Petrokhov turned to the pile of reports left on her desk for routine approval. The first two dealt with run-of-the-mill high-temperature corrosion tests. She flicked casually through the pages, glanced at the appended graphs and tables, scrawled her initials on the line provided, and tossed them across into the tray marked “Out.” Automatically she began scanning down the first page of number three. Suddenly she stopped, a puzzled frown forming on her face. Leaning forward in her chair, she began again, this time reading carefully and studying every sentence. She finally went back to the beginning once more and worked methodically through the whole document, stopping in places to verify the calculations by means of the keyboard display standing on one side of the desk.

“This is unheard of!” she exclaimed.

For a long time she remained motionless, her eyes absorbed by the raindrops slipping down the window but her mind so focused elsewhere that the sight failed to register. At last she shook herself into movement and, turning again to the keyboard, rapidly tapped in a code. The strings of tensor equations vanished, to be replaced by a profile view of her assistant, hunched over a console in the control room downstairs. The profile transformed itself into a full face as he turned.

“Ready to run in about twenty minutes,” he said, anticipating the question. “The plasma’s stabilizing now.”

“No-this has nothing to do with that,” she replied, speaking a little more quickly than usual. “It’s about your report 2906. I’ve just been through my copy.”

“Oh… yes?” His change in expression betrayed mild apprehension.

“So-a niobium-zirconium alloy,” she went on, stating the fact rather than asking a question, “with an unprecedented resistance to high-temperature oxidation and a melting point that, quite frankly, I won’t believe until I’ve done the tests myself.”

“Makes our plasma-cans look like butter,” Josef agreed.

“Yet despite the presence of niobium, it exhibits a lower neutron-absorption cross section than pure zirconium?”

“Macroscopic, yes-under a millibarn per square centimeter.”

“Interesting…” she mused, then resumed more briskly: “On top of that we have alpha-phase zirconium with silicon, carbon, and nitrogen impurities, yet still with a superb corrosion resistance.”

“Hot carbon dioxide, fluorides, organic acids, hypochiorites-we’ve been through the list. Generally an initial reaction sets in, but it’s rapidly arrested by the formation of inert barrier layers. You could probably break it down in stages by devising a cycle of reagents in just the right sequence, but that would take a complete processing plant specially designed for the job!”

“And the microstructure,” Valereya said, gesturing toward the papers on her desk. “You’ve used the description fibrous.”

“Yes. That’s about as near as you can get. The main alloy seems to be formed around a-well, a sort of microcrystalline lattice. It’s mainly silicon and carbon, but with local concentrations of some titanium-magnesium compound that we haven’t been able to quantify yet. I’ve never come across anything like it. Any ideas?”

The woman’s face held a faraway look for some seconds.

“I honestly don’t know what to think at the moment,” she confessed. “But I feel this information should be passed higher without delay; it might be more important than it looks. But first I must be sure of my facts. Nikolai can take over down there for a while. Come up to my office and let’s go through the whole thing in detail.”

Chapter Three

The Portland headquarters of the Intercontinental Data and Control Corporation lay some forty miles east of the city, guarding the pass between Mount Adams to the north and Mount Hood to the south. It was here that at some time in the remote past a small inland sea had penetrated the Cascade Mountains and carved itself a channel to the Pacific, to become in time the mighty Columbia River.

Fifteen years previously it had been the site of the government-owned Bonneville Nucleonic Weapons Research Laboratory. Here, American scientists, working in collaboration with the United States of Europe Federal Research Institute at Geneva, had developed the theory of meson dynamics that led to the nucleonic bomb. The theory predicted a “clean” reaction with a yield orders of magnitude greater than that produced by thermonuclear fusion. The holes they had blown in the Sahara had proved it.

During that period of history, the ideological and racial tensions inherited from the twentieth century were being swept away by the tide of universal affluence and falling birth rates that came with the spread of high-technology living. Traditional rocks of strife and suspicion were being eroded as races, nations, sects, and creeds became inextricably mingled into one huge, homogeneous global society. As the territorial irrationalities of long-dead politicians resolved themselves and the adolescent nation-states matured, the defense budgets of the superpowers were progressively reduced year by year. The advent of the nucleonic bomb served only to accelerate what would have happened anyway. By universal assent, world demilitarization became fact.

One sphere of activity that benefited enormously from the surplus funds and resources that became available after demilitarization was the rapidly expanding United Nations Solar System Exploration Program. Already the list of responsibilities held by this organization was long; it included the operation of all artificial satellites in terrestrial, Lunar, Martian, Venusian, and Solar orbits; the building and operation of all manned bases on Luna and Mars, plus the orbiting laboratories over Venus; the launching of deep-space robot probes and the planning and control of manned missions to the outer planets. UNSSEP was thus expanding at just the right rate and the right time to absorb the supply of technological talent being released as the world’s major armaments programs were run down. Also, as nationalism declined and most of the regular armed forces were demobilized, the restless youth of the new generation found outlets for their adventure-lust in the uniformed branches of the UN Space Arm. It was an age that buzzed with excitement and anticipation as the new pioneering frontier began planet-hopping out across the Solar System.

And so NWRL Bonneville had been left with no purpose to serve. This situation did not go unnoticed by the directors of IDCC. Seeing that most of the equipment and permanent installations owned by NWRL could be used in much of the corporation’s own research projects, they propositioned the government with an offer to buy the place outright. The offer was accepted and the deal went through. Over the years IDCC had further expanded the site, improved its aesthetics, and eventually established it as their nucleonics research center and world headquarters.

The mathematical theory that had grown out of meson dynamics involved the existence of three hitherto unknown transuranic elements. Although these were purely hypothetical, they were christened hyperium, bonnevillium, and genevium. Theory also predicted that, due to a “glitch” in the transuranic mass-versus-binding-energy curve, these elements, once formed, would be stable. They were unlikely to be found occurring naturally, however-not on Earth, anyway. According to the mathematics, only two known situations could give the right conditions for their formation: the core of the detonation of a nucleonic bomb or the collapse of a supernova to a neutron star.

Sure enough, analysis of the dust clouds after the Sahara tests yielded minute traces of hyperium and bonnevillium; genevium was not detected. Nevertheless, the first prediction of the theory was accepted as amply supported. Whether, one day, future generations of scientists would ever verify the second prediction, was another matter entirely.

***

Hunt and Gray touched down on the rooftop landing pad of the IDCC administration building shortly after fifteen hundred hours. By fifteen thirty they were sitting in leather armchairs facing the desk in Borlan’s luxurious office on the tenth floor, while he poured three large measures of scotch at the teak bar built into the left wall. He walked back to the center, passed a glass to each of the Englishmen, went back around the desk, and sat down.

“Cheers, then, guys,” he offered. They returned the gesture. “Well,” he began, “it’s good to see you two again. Trip okay? How’d you make it up so soon-rent a jet?” He opened his cigar box as he spoke and pushed it across the desk toward them. “Smoke?”

“Yes, good trip. Thanks, Felix,” Hunt replied. “Avis.” He inclined his head toward the window behind Borlan, which presented a panoramic view of pine-covered hills tumbling down to the distant Columbia. “Some scenery.”

“Like it?”

“Makes Berkshire look a bit like Siberia.”

Borlan looked at Gray. “How are you keeping, Rob?”

The corners of Gray’s mouth twitched downwards. “Gutrot.”

“Party last night at some bird’s,” Hunt explained. “Too little blood in his alcohol stream.”

“Good time, huh?” Borlan grinned. “Take Francis along?”

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“Jollificating with the peasantry?” Gray mimicked in the impeccable tones of the English aristocracy. “Good God! Whatever next!”

They laughed. Hunt settled himself more comfortably amid a haze of blue smoke. “How about yourself, Felix?” he asked. “Life still being kind to you?”

Borlan spread his arms wide. “Life’s great.”

“Angie still as beautiful as the last time I saw her? Kids okay?”

“They’re all fine. Tommy’s at college now-majoring in physics and astronautical engineering. Johnny goes hiking most weekends with his club, and Susie’s added a pair of gerbils and a bear cub to the family zoo.”

“So you’re still as happy as ever. The responsibilities of power aren’t wearing you down yet.”

Borlan shrugged and showed a row of pearly teeth. “Do I look like an ulcerated nut midway between heart attacks?”

Hunt regarded the blue-eyed, deep-tanned figure with close-cropped fair hair as Borlan sprawled relaxedly on the other side of the broad mahogany desk. He looked at least ten years younger than the president of any intercontinental corporation had a right to.

For a while the small talk revolved around internal affairs at Metadyne. At last a natural pause presented itself. Hunt sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and contemplated the last drop of amber liquid in his glass as he swirled it around first from right to left and then back again. Finally he looked up.

“About the scope, Felix. What’s going on, then?”

Borlan had been expecting the question. He straightened slowly in his chair and appeared to think for a moment. At last he said:

“Did you see the call I made to Francis?”

“Yep.”

“Then…” Borlan didn’t seem sure of how to put it. “… I don’t know an awful lot more than you do.” He placed his hands palms-down on the desk man attitude of candor, but his sigh was that of one not really expecting to be believed. He was right.

“Come on, Felix. Give.” Hunt’s expression said the rest.

“You must know,” Gray insisted. “You fixed it all up.”

“Straight.” Borlan looked from one to the other. “Look, taking things worldwide, who would you say our biggest customer is? It’s no secret-UN Space Arm. We do everything for them from Lunar data links to-to laser terminal clusters and robot probes. Do you know how much revenue I’ve got forecast from UNSA next fiscal? Two hundred million bucks… two hundred million!”

“So?”

“So… well-when a customer like that says he needs help, he gets help. I’ll tell you what happened. It was like this: UNSA is a big potential user of scopes, so we fed them all the information we’ve got on what the scope can do and how development is progressing in Francis’s neck of the woods. One day-the day before I called Francis-this guy comes to see me all the way from Houston, where one of the big UNSA outfits has its HQ. He’s an old buddy of mine-their top man, no less. He wants to know can the scope do this and can it do that, and I tell him sure it can. Then he gives me some examples of the things he’s got in mind and he asks if we’ve got a working model yet. I tell him not yet, but that you’ve got a working prototype in England; we can arrange for him to go see it if he wants. But that’s not what he wants. He wants the prototype down there in Houston, and he wants people who can operate it. He’ll pay, he says-we can name our own figure-but he wants that instrument-something to do with a top-priority project down there that’s got the whole of UNSA in a flap. When I ask him what it is, he clams up and says it’s ‘security restricted’ for the moment.”

“Sounds a funny business,” Hunt commented with a frown. “It’ll cause some bloody awful problems back at Metadyne.”

“I told him all that.” Borlan turned his palms upward in a gesture of helplessness. “I told him the score regarding the production schedules and availability forecasts, but he said this thing was big and he wouldn’t go causing this kind of trouble if he didn’t have a good reason. He wouldn’t, either,” Borlan added with obvious sincerity. “I’ve known him for years. He said UNSA would pay compensation for whatever we figure the delays will cost us.” Borlan resumed his helpless attitude. “So what was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to tell an old buddy who happens to be my best customer to go take a jump?”

Hunt rubbed his chin, threw back his last drop of scotch, and took a long, pensive draw on his cigar.

“And that’s it?” he asked at last.

“That’s it. Now you know as much as I do-except that since you left England we’ve received instructions from UNSA to start shipping the prototype to a place near Houston-a biological institute. The bits should start arriving day after tomorrow; the installation crew is already on its way over to begin work preparing the site.”

“Houston… Does that mean we’re going there?” Gray asked.

“That’s right, Rob.” Borlan paused and scratched the side of his nose. His face screwed itself into a crooked frown. “I, ah-I was wondering… The installation crew will need a bit of time, so you two won’t be able to do very much there for a while. Maybe you could spend a few days here first, huh? Like, ah… meet some of our technical people and clue them in a little on how the scope works-sorta like a teach-in. What d’you say-huh?”

Hunt laughed silently inside. Borlan had been complaining to Forsyth-Scott for months that while the largest potential markets for the scope lay in the USA, practically all of the know-how was confined to Metadyne; the American side of the organization needed more in the way of backup and information than it had been getting.

“You never miss a trick, Felix,” he conceded. “Okay, you bum, I’ll buy it.”

Borlan’s face split into a wide grin.

“This UNSA character you were talking about,” Gray said, switching the subject back again. “What were the examples?”

“Examples?”

“You said he gave some examples of the kind of thing he was interested in knowing if the scope could do.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, lemme see, now… He seemed interested in looking at the insides of bodies-bones, tissues, arteries-stuff like that. Maybe he wanted to do an autopsy or something. He also wanted to know if you could get images of what’s on the pages of a book, but without the book being opened.”

This was too much. Hunt looked from Borlan to Gray and back again, mystified.

“You don’t need anything like a scope to perform an autopsy,” he said, his voice strained with disbelief.

“Why can’t he open a book if he wants to know what’s inside?” Gray demanded in a similar tone.

Borlan showed his empty palms. “Yeah. I know. Search me-sounds screwy!”

“And UNSA is paying thousands for this?”

“Hundreds of thousands.”

Hunt covered his brow and shook his head in exasperation. “Pour me another scotch, Felix,” he sighed.

Chapter Four

A week later the Mercury Three stood ready for takeoff on the rooftop of IDCC Headquarters. In reply to the queries that appeared on the pilot’s console display screen, Hunt specified the Ocean Hotel in the center of Houston as their destination. The DEC minicomputer in the nose made contact with its IBM big brother that lived underground somewhere beneath the Portland Area Traffic Control Center and, after a brief consultation, announced a flight plan that would take them via Salt Lake City, Santa Fe, and Fort Worth. Hunt keyed in his approval, and within minutes the aircar was humming southeast and climbing to take on the challenge of the Blue Mountains looming ahead.

Hunt spent the first part of the journey accessing his office files held on the computers back at Metadyne, to tidy up some of the unfinished business he had left behind. As the waters of the Great Salt Lake came glistening into view, he had just completed the calculations that went with his last experimental report and was adding his conclusions. An hour later, twenty thousand feet up over the Colorado River, he was hooked into MIT and reviewing some of their current publications. After refueling at Santa Fe they spent some time cruising around the city on manual control before finding somewhere suitable for lunch. Later on in the day, airborne over New Mexico, they took an incoming call from IDCC and spent the next two hours in conference with some of Borlan’s engineers discussing technicalities of the scope. By the time Fort Worth was behind and the sun well to the west, Hunt was relaxing, watching a murder movie, while Gray slept soundly in the seat beside him.

Hunt looked on with detached interest as the villain was unmasked, the hero claimed the admiring heroine he had just saved from a fate worse than death, and the rolling captions delivered today’s moral message for mankind. Stifling a yawn, he flipped the mode switch to MONITOR/CONTROL to blank out the screen and kill the theme music in midbar. He stretched, stubbed out his cigarette, and hauled himself upright in his seat to see how the rest of the universe was getting along.

Far to their right was the Brazos River, snaking south toward the Gulf, embroidered in gold thread on the light blue-gray of the distant haze. Ahead, he could already see the rainbow towers of Houston, standing at attention on the skyline in a tight defensive platoon. Houses were becoming noticeably more numerous in the foreground below. At intervals between them, unidentifiable sprawling constructions began to make their appearance-random collections of buildings, domes, girder lattices, and storage tanks, tied loosely together by tangles of roadways and pipelines. Farther away to the left, a line of perhaps half a dozen slim spires of silver reared up from a shantytown of steel and concrete. He identified them as gigantic Vega satellite ferries standing on their launch-pads. They seemed fitting sentinels to guard the approaches to what had become the Mecca of the Space Age.

As Victor Hunt gazed down upon this ultimate expression of man’s eternal outward urge, spreading away in every direction below, a vague restlessness stirred somewhere deep inside him.

Hunt had been born in New Cross, the shabby end of East London, south of the river. His father had spent most of his life on strike or in the pub on the corner of the street debating grievances worth going on strike for. When he ran out of money and grievances, he worked on the docks at Deptford. Victor’s mother worked in a bottle factory all day to make the money she lost playing bingo all evening. He spent his time playing football and falling in the Surrey Canal. There was a week when he stayed with an uncle in Worcester, a man who went to work dressed in a suit every day at a place that manufactured computers. And his uncle showed Victor how to wire up a binary adder.

Not long afterward, everyone was yelling at everyone more often than usual, so Victor went to live with his aunt and uncle in Worcester. There he discovered a whole new, undreamed-of world where anything one wanted could be made to happen and magic things really came true-written in strange symbols and mysterious diagrams through the pages of the books on his uncle’s shelves.

At sixteen, Victor won a scholarship to Cambridge to study mathematics, physics, and physical electronics. He moved into lodgings there with a fellow student named Mike who sailed boats, climbed mountains, and whose father was a marketing director.

When his uncle moved to Africa, Victor was adopted as a second son by Mike’s family and spent his holidays at their home in Surrey or climbing with Mike and his friends, first in the hills of the Lake District, North Wales, and Scotland, and later in the Alps. They even tried the Eiger once, but were forced back by bad weather.

After being awarded his doctorate, he remained at the university for some years to further his researches in mathematical nucleonics, his papers on which were by that time attracting widespread attention. Eventually, however, he was forced to come to terms with the fact that a growing predilection for some of the more exciting and attractive ingredients of life could not be reconciled with an income dependent on research grants. For a while he went to work on thermonuclear fusion control for the government, but rebelled at a life made impossible by the meddlings of uninformed bureaucracy. He tried three jobs in private industry but found himself unable to muster more than a cynical indisposition toward playing the game of pretending that annual budgets, gross margins on sales, earnings per share, or discounted cash flows really meant anything that mattered. And so, when he was just turning thirty, the loner he had always been finally asserted itself; he found himself gifted with rare and acknowledged talents, lettered with degrees, credited with achievements, bestowed with awards, cited with honors-and out of a job.

For a while he paid the rent by writing articles for scientific journals. Then, one day, he was offered a free-lance assignment by the chief R and D executive of Metadyne to help out on the mathematical interpretation of some of their experimental work. This assignment led to another, and before long a steady relationship had developed between him and the company. Eventually he agreed to join them full-time in return for use of their equipment and services for his own researches-but under his conditions. And so the Theoretical Studies “Department” came into being.

And now… something was missing. The something within him that had been awakened long ago in childhood would always crave new worlds to discover. And as he gazed out at the Vega ships…

His thoughts were interrupted as a stream of electromagnetic vibrations from somewhere below was transformed into the code which alerted the Mercury’s flight-control processor. The stubby wing outside the cockpit dipped and the aircar turned, beginning the smooth descent that would merge its course into the eastbound traffic corridor that led to the heart of the city at two thousand feet.

Chapter Five

The morning sun poured in through the window and accentuated the chiseled crags of the face staring out, high over the center of Houston. The squat, stocky frame, conceivably modeled on that of a Sherman tank, threw a square slab of shadow on the carpet behind. The stubby fingers hammered a restless tattoo on the glass. Gregg Caldwell, executive director of the Navigation and Communications Division of UN Space Arm, reflected on developments so far.

Just as he’d expected, now that the initial disbelief and excitement had worn off, everyone was jostling for a slice of the action. In fact, more than a few of the big wheels in some divisions-Biosciences, Chicago, and Space Medicine, Farnborough, for instance-were mincing no words in asking just how Navcomms came to be involved at all, let alone running the show, since the project obviously had no more connection with the business of navigation than it had with communication. The down-turned corners of Caldwell’s mouth shifted back slightly in something that almost approached a smile of anticipation. So, the knives were being sharpened, were they? That was okay by him; he could do with a fight. After more than twenty years of hustling his way to the top of one of the biggest divisions of the Space Arm, he was a seasoned veteran at infighting-and he hadn’t lost a drop of blood yet. Maybe this was an area in which Navcomms hadn’t had much involvement before; maybe the whole thing was bigger than Navcomms could handle; maybe it was bigger than UNSA could handle; but-that was the way it was. It had chosen to fall into Navcomms’ lap and that was where it was going to stay. If anyone wanted to help out, that was fine-but the project was stamped as Navcomms-controlled. If they didn’t like it, let them try to change it. Man-let ’em try!

His thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the console built into the desk behind him. He turned around, flipped a switch, and answered in a voice of baritone granite:

“Caldwell.”

Lyn Garland, his personal assistant, greeted him from the screen. She was twenty-eight, pretty, and had long red hair and big, brown, intelligent eyes.

“Message from Reception. Your two visitors from IDC are here-Dr. Hunt and Mr. Gray.”

“Bring them straight up. Pour some coffee. You’d better sit in with us.”

“Will do.”

Ten minutes later formalities had been exchanged and everyone was seated. Caldwell regarded the Englishmen in silence for a few seconds, his lips pursed and his bushy brows gnarled in a knot across his forehead. He leaned forward and interlaced his fingers on the desk in front of him.

“About three weeks ago I attended a meeting at one of our Lunar survey bases-Copernicus Three,” he said. “A lot of excavation and site-survey work is going on in that area, much of it in connection with new construction programs. The meeting was attended by scientists from Earth and from some of the bases up there, a few people on the engineering side and certain members of the uniformed branches of the Space Arm. It was called following some strange discoveries there-discoveries that make even less sense now than they did then.”

He paused to gaze from one to the other. Hunt and Gray returned the look without speaking. Caldwell continued: “A team from one of the survey units was engaged in mapping out possible sites for clearance radars. They were operating in a remote sector, well away from the main area being leveled…”

As he spoke, Caldwell began operating the keyboard recessed into one side of his desk. With a nod of his head he indicated the far wall, which was made up of a battery of display screens. One of the screens came to life to show the title sheet of a file, marked obliquely with the word RESTRICTED in red. This disappeared to be replaced by a contour map of what looked like a rugged and broken stretch of terrain. A slowly pulsing point of light appeared in the center of the picture and began moving across the map as Caldwell rotated a tracker ball set into the panel that held the keyboard. The light halted at a point where the contours indicated the junction of a steep-sided cleft valley with a wider gorge. The cleft valley was narrow and seemed to branch off from the gorge in a rising curve.

“This map shows the area in question,” the director resumed. “The cursor shows where a minor cleft joins the main fault running down toward the left. The survey boys left their vehicle at this point and proceeded on up to the cleft on foot, looking for a way to the top of that large rock mass-the one tagged ‘five sixty’.” As Caldwell spoke, the pulsing light moved slowly along between the minor sets of contours, tracing out the path taken by the UN team. They watched it negotiate the bend above the mouth of the cleft and proceed some distance farther. The light approached the side of the cleft and touched it at a place where the contours merged into a single heavy line. There it stopped.

“Here the side was a sheer cliff about sixty feet high. That was where they came across the first thing that was unusual-a hole in the base of the rock wall. The sergeant leading the group described it as being like a cave. That strike you as odd?”

Hunt raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Caves don’t grow on moons,” he said simply.

“Exactly.”

The screen now showed a photo view of the area, apparently taken from the spot at which the survey vehicle had been parked. They recognized the break in the wall of the gorge where the cleft joined it. The cleft was higher up than had been obvious from the map and was approached by a ramp of loose rubble. In the background they could see a squat tower of rock flattened on top- presumably the one marked “560” on the map. Caldwell allowed them some time to reconcile the picture with the map before bringing up the second frame. It showed a view taken high up, this time looking into the mouth of the cleft. A series of shots then followed, progressing up to and beyond the bend. “These are stills from a movie record,” Caldwell commented. “I won’t bother with the whole set.” The final frame in the sequence showed a hole in the rock about five feet across.

“Holes like this aren’t unknown on the Moon,” Caldwell remarked. “But they are rare enough to prompt our men into taking a closer look. The inside was a bit of a mess. There had been a rockfall-maybe several falls; not much room-just a heap of rubble and dust… at first sight, anyway.” A new picture on the screen confirmed this statement. “But when they got to probing around a bit more, they came across something that was really unusual. Underneath they found a body-dead!”

The picture changed again to show another view of the interior, taken from the same angle as the previous one. This time, however, the subject was the top half of a human figure lying amid the rubble and debris, apparently at the stage of being half uncovered. It was clad in a spacesuit which, under the layer of gray-white dust, appeared to be bright red. The helmet seemed intact, but it was impossible to make out any details of the face behind the visor because of the reflected camera light. Caldwell allowed them plenty of time to study the picture and reflect on these facts before speaking again.

“That is the body. I’ll answer some of the more obvious questions before you ask. First-no, we don’t know who he is-or was-so we call him Charlie. Second-no, we don’t know for sure what killed him. Third-no, we don’t know where he came from.” The executive director caught the puzzled look on Hunt’s face and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Accidents can happen, and it’s not always easy to say what caused them-I’ll buy that,” Hunt said. “But to not know who he is…? I mean, he must have carried some kind of ID card; I’d have thought he’d have to. And even if he didn’t, he must be from one of the UN bases up there. Someone must have noticed he was missing.”

For the first time the flicker of a smile brushed across Caldwell’s face.

“Of course we checked with all the bases, Dr. Hunt. Results negative. But that was just the beginning. You see, when they got him back to the labs for a more thorough check, a number of peculiarities began to emerge which the experts couldn’t explain-and, believe me, we’ve had enough brains in on this. Even after we brought him back here, the situation didn’t get any better. In fact, the more we find out, the worse it gets.”

“‘Back here’? You mean…

“Oh, yes. Charlie’s been shipped back to Earth. He’s over at the Westwood Biological Institute right now-a few miles from here. We’ll go and have a look at him later on today.”

Silence reigned for what seemed like a long time as Hunt and Gray digested the rapid succession of new facts. At last Gray offered:

“Maybe someobody dumped him for some reason?”

“No, Mr. Gray, you can forget anything like that.” Caldwell waited a few more seconds. “Let me say that from what little we do know so far, we can state one or two things with certainty. First, Charlie did not come from any of the bases established to date on Luna. Furthermore”-Caldwell’s voice slowed to an ominous rumble-“he did not originate from any nation of the world as we know it today. In fact, it is by no means certain that he originated from this planet at all!”

His eyes traveled from Hunt to Gray, then back again, taking in the incredulous stares that greeted his words. Absolute silence enveloped the room. A suspense almost audible tore at their nerves. Caldwell’s finger stabbed at the keyboard.

The face leaped out at them from the screen in grotesque closeup, skull-like, the skin shriveled and darkened like ancient parchment, and stretched back over the bones to uncover two rows of grinning teeth. Nothing remained of the eyes but a pair of empty pits, staring sightlessly out through dry, leathery lids.

Caldwell’s voice, now a chilling whisper, hissed through the fragile air.

“You see, gentlemen-Charlie died over fifty thousand years ago!”

Chapter Six

Dr. Victor Hunt stared absently down at the bird’s-eye view of the outskirts of Houston sliding by below the UNSA jet. The mind-numbing impact of Caldwell’s revelations had by this time abated sufficiently for him to begin putting together in his mind something of a picture of what it all meant.

Of Charlie’s age there could be no doubt. All living organisms take into their bodies known proportions of the radioactive isotopes of carbon and certain other elements. During life, an organism maintains a constant ratio of these isotopes to “normal” ones, but when it dies and intake ceases, the active isotopes are left to decay in a predictable pattern. This mechanism provides, in effect, a highly reliable clock, which begins to run at the moment of death. Analysis of the decay residues enables a reliable figure to be calculated for how long the clock has been running. Many such tests had been performed on Charlie, and all the results agreed within close limits.

Somebody had pointed out that the validity of this method rested on the assumptions that the composition of whatever Charlie ate, and the constituents of whatever atmosphere he breathed, were the same as for modern man on modern Earth. Since Charlie might not be from Earth, this assumption could not be made. It hadn’t taken long, however, for this point to be settled conclusively. Although the functions of most of the devices contained in Charlie’s backpack were still to be established, one assembly had been identified as an ingeniously constructed miniature nuclear power plant. The U235 fuel pellets were easily located and analysis of their decay products yielded a second, independent answer, although a less accurate one: The power unit in Charlie’s backpack had been made some fifty thousand years previously. The further implication of this was that since the first set of test results was thus substantiated, it seemed to follow that in terms of air and food supply, there could have been little abnormal about Charlie’s native environment.

Now, Charlie’s kind, Hunt told himself, must have evolved to their human form somewhere. That this “somewhere” was either Earth or not Earth was fairly obvious, the rules of basic logic admitting no other possibility. He traced back over what he could recall of the conventional account of the evolution of terrestrial life forms and wondered if, despite the generations of painstaking effort and research that had been devoted to the subject, there might after all be more to the story than had up until then been so confidently supposed. Several thousands of millions of years was a long time by anybody’s standards; was it so totally inconceivable that somewhere in all those gulfs of uncertainty, there could be enough room to lose an advanced line of human descent which had flourished and died out long before modern man began his own ascent?

On the other hand, the fact that Charlie was found on the Moon presupposed a civilization sufficiently advanced technically to send him there. Surely, on the way toward developing space flight, they would have evolved a worldwide technological society, and in doing so would have made machines, erected structures, built cities, used metals, and left all the other hallmarks of progress. If such a civilization had once existed on Earth, surely centuries of exploration and excavation couldn’t have avoided stumbling on at least some traces of it. But not one instance of any such discovery had ever been recorded. Although the conclusion rested squarely on negative evidence, Hunt could not, even with his tendency toward open-mindedness, accept that an explanation along these lines was even remotely probable.

The only alternative, then, was that Charlie came from somewhere else. Clearly this could not be the Moon itself: It was too small to have retained an atmosphere anywhere near long enough for life to have started at all, let alone reach an advanced level-and of course, his spacesuit showed he was just as much an alien there as was man.

That only left some other planet. The problem here lay in Charlie’s undoubted human form, which Caldwell had stressed although he hadn’t elected to go into detail. Hunt knew that the process of natural evolution was accepted as occurring through selection, over a long period, from a purely random series of genetic mutations. All the established rules and principles dictated that the appearance of two identical end products from two completely isolated families of evolution, unfolding independently in different corners of the universe, just couldn’t happen. Hence, if Charlie came from somewhere else, a whole branch of accepted scientific theory would come crashing down in ruins. So-Charlie couldn’t possibly have come from Earth. Neither could he possibly have come from anywhere else. Therefore, Charlie couldn’t exist. But he did.

Hunt whistled silently to himself as the full implications of the thing began to dawn on him. There was enough here to keep the whole scientific world arguing for decades.

Inside the Westwood Biological Institute, Caldwell, Lyn Garland, Hunt, and Gray were met by a Professor Christian Danchekker. The Englishmen recognized him, since Caldwell had introduced them earlier by vi-phone. On their way to the laboratory section of the institute, Danchekker briefed them further.

In view of its age, the body was in an excellent state of preservation. This was due to the environment in which it had been found-a germ-free hard vacuum and an abnormally low temperature sustained, even at Lunar noon, by the insulating mass of the surrounding rock. These conditions had prevented any onset of bacterial decay of the soft tissues. No rupture had been found in the spacesuit. So the currently favored theory regarding cause of death was that a failure in the life-support system had resulted in a sudden fall in temperature. The body had undergone deep freezing in a short space of time with a consequent abrupt cessation of metabolic processes; ice crystals, formed from body fluids, had caused widespread laceration of cell membranes. In the course of time most of the lighter substances had sublimed, mainly from the outer layers, to leave behind a blackened, shriveled, natural kind of mummy. The most seriously affected parts were the eyes, which, composed for the most part of fluids, had collapsed completely, leaving just a few flaky remnants in their sockets.

A major problem was the extreme fragility of the remains, which made any attempt at detailed examination next to impossible. Already the body had undergone some irreparable damage in the course of being transported to Earth and in the removal of the spacesuit; only the body’s being frozen solid during these operations had prevented the situation from being even worse. That was when somebody had thought of Felix Borlan at IDCC and an instrument being developed in England that could display the insides of things. The result had been Caldwell’s visit to Portland.

Inside the first laboratory it was dark. Researchers were using binocular microscopes to study sets of photographic transparencies arranged on several glass-topped tables, illuminated from below. Danchekker selected some plates from a pile and, motioning the others to follow, made his way over to the far wall. He positioned the first three of the plates on an eye-level viewing screen, snapped on the screen light, and stepped back to join the expectant semicircle. The plates were X-ray images showing the front and side views of a skull. Five faces, thrown into sharp relief against the darkness of the room behind, regarded the screen in solemn silence. At last Danchekker moved a pace forward, at the same time half turning toward them.

“I need not, I feel, tell you who this is.” His manner was somewhat stiff and formal. “A skull, fully human in every detail-as far as it is possible to ascertain by X rays, anyway.” Danchekker traced along the line of the jaw with a ruler he had picked up from one of the tables. “Note the formation of the teeth-on either side we see two incisors, one canine, two premolars, and three molars. This pattern was established quite early in the evolutionary line that leads to our present day anthropoids, including, of course, man. It distinguishes our common line of descent from other offshoots, such as the New World monkeys with a count of two, one, three, three.”

“Hardly necessary here,” Hunt commented. “There’s nothing apelike or monkeylike about that picture.”

“Quite so, Dr. Hunt,” Danchekker returned with a nod. “The reduced canines, not interlocking with the upper set, and the particular pattern of the cusps-these are distinctly human characteristics. Note also the flatness of the lower face, the absence of any bony brow ridges… high forehead and sharply angled jaw, well-rounded braincase. These are all features of true man as we know him today, features that derive directly from his earlier ancestors. The significance of these details in this instance is that they demonstrate an example of true man, not something that merely bears a superficial resemblance to him.”

The professor took down the plates and momentarily flooded the room with a blaze of light. A muttered profanity from one of the scientists at the tables made him switch off the light hastily. He picked up three more plates, set them up on the screen, and switched on the light to reveal the side view of a torso, an arm, and a foot.

“Again, the trunk shows no departure from the familiar human pattern. Same rib structure… broad chest with well-developed clavicles… normal pelvic arrangement. The foot is perhaps the most specialized item in the human skeleton and is responsible for man’s uniquely powerful stride and somewhat peculiar gait. If you are familiar with human anatomy, you will find that this foot resembles ours in every respect.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hunt conceded, shaking his head. “Nothing remarkable, then.”

“The most significant thing, Dr. Hunt, is that nothing is remarkable.”

Danchekker switched off the screen and returned the plates to the pile. Caldwell turned to Hunt as they began walking back toward the door.

“This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day,” he grunted. “An understandable reason for wanting some… er… irregular action, you would agree?”

Hunt agreed.

A passage, followed by a short flight of stairs and another passage, brought them to a set of double doors bearing the large red sign STERILE AREA. In the anteroom behind, they put on surgical masks, caps, gowns, gloves, and overshoes before passing out through another door at the opposite end.

In the first section they came to, samples of skin and other tissues were being examined. By reintroducing the substances believed to have escaped over the centuries, specimens had been restored to what were hoped to be close approximations to their original conditions. In general, the findings merely confirmed that Charlie was as human chemically as he was structurally. Some unfamiliar enzymes had, however, been discovered. Dynamic computer simulation suggested that these were designed to assist in the breakdown of proteins unlike anything found in the diet of modern man. Danchekker was inclined to dismiss this peculiarity with the rather vague assertion that “Times change,” a remark which Hunt appeared to find disturbing.

The next laboratory was devoted to an investigation of the spacesuit and the various other gadgets and implements found on and around the body. The helmet was the first exhibit to be presented for inspection. Its back and crown were made of metal, coated dull black and extending forward to the forehead to leave a transparent visor extending from ear to ear. Danchekker held it up for them to see and pushed his hand up through the opening at the neck. They could see clearly the fingers of his rubber glove through the facepiece.

“Observe,” he said, picking up a powerful xenon flash lamp from the bench. He directed the beam through the facepiece, and a circle of the material immediately turned dark. They could see through the area around the circle that the level of illumination inside the helmet had not changed appreciably. He moved the lamp around and the dark circle followed it across the visor.

“Built-in antiglare,” Gray observed.

“The visor is fabricated from a self-polarizing crystal,” Danchekker informed them. “It responds directly to incident light in a fashion that is linear up to high intensities. The visor is also effective with gamma radiation.”

Hunt took the helmet to examine it more closely. The blend of curves that made up the outside contained little of interest, but on turning it over he found that a section of the inner surface of the crown had been removed to reveal a cavity, empty except for some tiny wires and a set of fixing brackets.

“That recess contained a complete miniature communications station,” Danchekker supplied, noting his interest. “Those grilles at the sides concealed the speakers, and a microphone is built into the top, just above the forehead.” He reached inside and drew down a small retractable binocular periscope from inside the top section of the helmet, which clicked into position immediately in front of where the eyes of the wearer would be. “Built-in video, too,” he explained. “Controlled from a panel on the chest. The small hole in the front of the crown contained a camera assembly.” Hunt continued to turn the trophy over in his hands, studying it from all angles in absorbed silence. Two weeks ago he had been sitting at his desk in Metadyne doing a routine job. Never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined that he would one day come to be holding in his hands something that might well turn out to be one of the most exciting discoveries of the century, if not in the whole of history. Even his agile mind was having difficulty taking it all in.

“Can we see some of the electronics that were in here?” he asked after a while.

“Not today,” Caldwell replied. “The electronics are being studied at another location-that goes for most of what was in the backpack, too. Let’s just say for now that when it came to molecular circuits, these guys knew their business.”

“The backpack is a masterpiece of precision engineering in miniature,” Danchekker continued, leading them to another part of the laboratory. “The prime power source for all the equipment and heating has been identified, and is nuclear in nature. In addition, there was a water recirculation plant, life-support system, standby power and communications system, and oxygen liquefaction plant-all in that!” He held up the casing of the stripped-down backpack for them to see, then tossed it back on the bench. “Several other devices were also included, but their purpose is still obscure. Behind you, you will see some personal effects.”

The professor moved around to indicate an array of objects taken from the body and arranged neatly on another bench like museum exhibits.

“A pen-not dissimilar to a familiar pressurized ballpoint type; the top may be rotated to change color.” He picked up a collection of metallic strips that hinged into a casing, like the blades of a pocketknife. “We suspect that these are keys of some kind because they have magnetic codes written on their surfaces.”

To one side was a collection of what looked like crumpled pieces of paper, some with groups of barely discernible symbols written in places. Next to them were two pocket-size books, each about half an inch thick.

“Assorted oddments,” Danchekker said, looking along the bench. “The documents are made from a kind of plasticized fiber. Fragments of print and handwriting are visible in places-quite unintelligible, of course. The material has deteriorated severely and tends to disintegrate at the slightest touch.” He nodded toward Hunt. “This is another area where we hope to learn as much as we can with the Trimagniscope before we risk anything else.” He pointed to the remaining articles and listed them without further elaboration. “Pen-size torch; some kind of pocket flamethrower, we think; knife; pen-size electric pocket drill with a selection of bits in the handle; food and drink containers-they connect via valves to the tubes inside the lower part of the helmet; pocket folder, like a wallet-too fragile to open; changes of underclothes; articles for personal hygiene; odd pieces of metal, purpose unknown. There were also a few electronic devices in the pockets; they have been sent elsewhere along with the rest.”

The party halted on the way back to the door to gather around the scarlet spacesuit, which had been reassembled on a life-size dummy standing on a small plinth. At first sight the proportions of the figure seemed to differ subtly from those of an average man, the build being slightly on the stocky side and the limbs a little short for the height of about five feet, six inches. However, since the suit was not designed for a close fit, it was difficult to be sure. Hunt noticed the soles of the boots were surprisingly thick.

“Sprung interior,” Danchekker supplied, following his gaze.

“What’s that?”

“It’s quite ingenious. The mechanical properties of the sole material vary with applied pressure. With the wearer walking at normal speed, the sole would remain mildly flexible. Under impact, however-for example, if he jumped-it assumes the characteristics of a stiff spring. It’s an ideal device for kangarooing along in lunar gravity-utilizing conditions of reduced weight but normal inertia to advantage.”

“And now, gentlemen,” said Caldwell, who had been following events with evident satisfaction, “the moment I guess you’ve been waiting for-let’s have a look at Charlie himself.”

An elevator took them down to the subterranean levels of the institute. They emerged into a somber corridor of white-tiled walls and white lights, and followed it to a large metal door. Danchekker pressed his thumb against a glass plate set into the wall and the door slid silently aside on recognition of his print. At the same time, a diffuse but brilliant white glow flooded the room inside.

It was cold. Most of the walls were taken up by control panels, analytical equipment, and glass cabinets containing rows of gleaming instruments. Everything was light green, as in an operating theater, and gave the same impression of surgical cleanliness. A large table, supported by a single central pillar, stood to one side. On top of it was what looked like an oversize glass coffin. Inside that lay the body. Saying nothing, the professor led them across the room, his overshoes squeaking on the rubbery floor as he walked. The small group converged around the table and stared in silent awe at the figure before them.

It lay half covered by a sheet that stretched from its lower chest to its feet. In these clinical surroundings, the gruesome impact of the sight that had leaped at them from the screen in Caldwell’s office earlier in the day was gone. All that remained was an object of scientific curiosity. Hunt found it overwhelming to stand at arm’s length from the remains of a being who had lived as part of a civilization, had grown and passed away, before the dawn of history. For what seemed a long time he stared mutely, unable to frame any intelligent question or comment, while speculations tumbled through his mind on the life and times of this strange creature. When he eventually jolted himself back to the present, he realized that the professor was speaking again.

“… Naturally, we are unable to say at this stage if it was simply a genetic accident peculiar to this individual or a general characteristic of the race to which he belonged, but measurements of the eye sockets and certain parts of the skull indicate that, relative to his size, his eyes were somewhat larger than our own. This suggests that he was not accustomed to sunlight as bright as ours. Also, note the length of the nostrils. Allowing for shrinkage with age, they are constructed to provide a longer passage for the prewarming of air. This suggests that he came from a relatively cool climate… the same thing can be observed in modern Eskimos.” Danchekker made a sweeping gesture that took in the whole length of the body. “Again, the rather squat and stocky build is consistent with the idea of a cool native environment. A fat, round object presents less surface area per unit volume than a long, thin one and thus loses less heat. Contrast the compact build of the Eskimo with the long limbs and lean body of the Negro. We know that at the time Charlie was alive the Earth was just entering the last cold period of the Pleistocene Ice Age. Life forms in existence at that time would have had about a million years to adapt to the cold. Also, there is strong reason to believe that ice ages are caused by a reduction in the amount of solar radiation falling on Earth, brought about by the Sun and planets passing through exceptionally dusty patches of space. For example, ice ages occur approximately every two hundred and fifty million years; this is also the period of rotation of our galaxy-surely more than mere coincidence. Thus, this being’s evident adaptation to cold, the suggestion of a lower level of daylight, and his established age all correlate well.”

Hunt looked at the professor quizzically. “You’re pretty sure already, then, that he’s from Earth?” he said in a tone of mild surprise. “I mean-it’s early days yet, surely?”

Danchekker drew back his head disdainfully and screwed up his eyebrows to convey a shadow of irritation. “Surely it is quite obvious, Dr. Hunt.” The tone was that of a professor reproaching an errant student. “Consider the things we have observed: the teeth, the skull, the bones, the types and layout of organs. I have deliberately drawn attention to these details to emphasize his kinship to ourselves. It is clear that his ancestry is the same as ours.” He waved his hand to and fro in front of his face. “No, there can be no doubt whatsoever. Charlie evolved from the same stock as modern man and all the other terrestrial primates.”

Gray looked dubious. “Well, I dunno,” he said. “I think Vic’s got a point. I mean, if his lot did come from Earth, you’d have expected someone to have found out about it before now, wouldn’t you?”

Danchekker sighed with an overplay of indifference. “If you wish to doubt my word, you have, of course, every right to do so,” he said. “However, as a biologist and an anthropologist, I for my part see more than sufficient evidence to support the conclusions I have stated.”

Hunt seemed far from satisfied and started to speak again, but Caldwell intervened.

“Cool it, you guys. D’you think we haven’t had enough arguments like this around here for the last few weeks?”

“I really think it’s about time we had some lunch,” Lyn Garland interrupted with well-timed tact.

Danchekker turned abruptly and began walking back toward the door, reciting statistics on the density of body hair and the thickness of subdermal layers of fat, apparently having dismissed the incident from his mind. Hunt paused to survey the body once more before turning to follow, and in doing so, he caught Gray’s eye for an instant. The engineer’s mouth twitched briefly at the corners; Hunt gave a barely perceptible shrug. Caldwell, still standing by the foot of the table, observed the brief exchange. He turned his head to look after Danchekker and then back again at the Englishmen, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. At last he fell in a few paces behind the group, nodding slowly to himself and permitting a faint smile.

The door slid silently into place and the room was once more plunged into darkness.

Chapter Seven

Hunt brought his hands up to his shoulders, stretched his body back over his chair, and emitted a long yawn at the ceiling of the laboratory. He held the position for a few seconds, and then collapsed back with a sigh. Finally he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hauled himself upright to face the console in front of him once more, and returned his gaze to the three-foot-high wall of the cylindrical glass tank by his side.

The image on the Trimagniscope tube was an enlarged view of one of the pocket-size books found on the body, which Danchekker had shown them on their first day in Houston three weeks before. The book itself was enclosed in the scanner module of the machine, on the far side of the room. The scope was adjusted to generate a view that followed the change in density along the boundary surface of the selected page, producing an image of the lower section of the book only; it was as if the upper part had been removed, like a cut deck of cards. Because of the age and condition of the book, however, the characters on the page thus exposed tended to be of poor quality and in some places were incomplete. The next step would be to scan the image optically with TV cameras and feed the encoded pictures into the Navcomms computer complex. The raw input would then be processed by pattern recognition techniques and statistical techniques to produce a second, enhanced copy with many of the missing character fragments restored.

Hunt cast his eye over the small monitor screens on his console, each of which showed a magnified view of a selected area of the page, and tapped some instructions into his keyboard.

“There’s an unresolved area on monitor five,” he announced. “Cursors read X, twelve hundred to thirteen eighty; Y, nine ninety and, ah, ten seventy-five.”

Rob Gray, seated at another console a few feet away and almost surrounded by screens and control panels, consulted one of the numerical arrays glowing before him.

“Z mod’s linear across the field,” he advised. “Try a block elevate?”

“Can do. Give it a try.”

“Setting Z step two hundred through two ten… increment point one… step zero point five seconds.”

“Check.” Hunt watched the screen as the surface picked out through the volume of the book became distorted locally and the picture on the monitor began to change.

“Hold it there,” he called. Gray hit a key. “Okay?”

Hunt contemplated the modified view for a while.

“The middle of the element’s clear now,” he pronounced at last. “Fix the new plane inside forty percent. I still don’t like the strip around it, though. Give me a vertical slice through the center point.”

“Which screen d’you want it on?”

“Ah… number seven.”

“Coming up.”

The curve, showing a cross section of the page surface through the small area they were working on, appeared on Hunt’s console. He studied it for awhile, then called:

“Run an interpolation across the strip. Set thresholds of, say, minus five and thirty-five percent on Y.”

“Parameters set… Interpolator running… run complete,” Gray recited. “Integrating into scan program now.” Again the picture altered subtly. There was a noticeable improvement.

“Still not right around the edge,” Hunt said. “Try weighting the quarter and three-quarter points by plus ten. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to break it down into isodepth bands.”

“Plus ten on point two five zero and point seven five zero,” Gray repeated as he operated the keys. “Integrated. How’s it look?”

On the element of surface displayed on Hunt’s monitor, the fragments of characters had magically assembled themselves into recognizable shapes. Hunt nodded with satisfaction.

“That’ll do. Freeze it in. Okay-that clears that one. There’s another messy patch up near the top right. Let’s have a go at that next.”

***

Life had been reduced to much this kind of pattern ever since the day the installation of the scope was completed. They had spent the first week obtaining a series of cross-sectional views of the body itself. This exercise had proved memorable on account of the mild discomfort and not so mild inconvenience of having to work in electrically heated suits, following the medical authority’s insistence that Charlie be kept in a refrigerated environment. It had proved something of an anticlimax. The net results were that, inside as well as out, Charlie was surprisingly-or not so surprisingly, depending on one’s point of view-human. During the second week they began examining the articles found on the body, especially the pieces of “paper” and the pocket books. This investigation had proved more interesting.

Of the symbols contained in the documents, numerals were the first to be identified. A team of cryptographers, assembled at Navcomms HQ, soon worked out the counting system, which turned out to be based on twelve digits rather than ten and employed a positional notation with the least significant digit to the left. Deciphering the nonnumeric symbols was proving more difficult. Linguists from institutions and universities in several countries had linked into Houston and, with the aid of batteries of computers, were attempting to make some sense of the language of the Lunarians, as Charlie’s race had come to be called in commemoration of his place of discovery. So far their efforts had yielded little more than that the Lunarian alphabet comprised thirty-seven characters, was written horizontally from right to left, and contained the equivalent of upper-case characters.

Progress, however, was not considered to be bad for so short a time. Most of the people involved were aware that even this much could never have been achieved without the scope, and already the names of the two Englishmen were well-known around the division. The scope attracted a lot of interest among the UNSA technical personnel, and most evenings saw a stream of visitors arriving at the Ocean Hotel, all curious to meet the coinventors of the instrument and to learn more about its principles of operation. Before long, the Ocean became the scene of a regular debating society where anybody who cared to could give free rein to his wildest speculations concerning the Charlie mystery, free from the constraints of professional caution and skepticism that applied during business hours.

Caldwell, of course, knew everything that was said by anybody at the Ocean and what everybody else thought about it, since Lyn Garland was present on most nights and represented the next best thing to a hot line back to the HQ building. Nobody minded that much-after all, it was only part of her job. They minded even less when she began turning up with some of the other girls from Navcomms in tow, adding a refreshing party atmosphere to the whole proceedings. This development met with the full approval of the visitors from out-of-town; however, it had led to somewhat strained relationships on the domestic front for one or two of the locals.

Hunt jabbed at the keyboard for the last time and sat back to inspect the image of the completed page.

“Not bad at all,” he said. “That one won’t need much enhancement.”

“Good,” Gray agreed. He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack across to Hunt without being asked. “Optical encoding’s finished,” he added, glancing at a screen. “That’s number sixty-seven tied up.” He rose from his chair and moved across to stand beside Hunt’s console to get a better view of the image in the tank. He looked at it for a while without speaking.

“Columns of numbers,” he observed needlessly at last. “Looks like some kind of table.”

“Looks like it…” Hunt’s voice sounded far away.

“Mmm… rows and columns… thick lines and thin lines. Could be anything-mileage chart, wire gauges, some sort of timetable. Who knows?”

Hunt made no reply but continued to blow occasional clouds of smoke at the glass, cocking his head first to one side and then to the other.

“None of the numbers there are very large,” he commented after a while. “Never more than two positions in any place. That gives us what in a duodecimal system? One hundred and forty-three at the most.” Then as an afterthought, “I wonder what the biggest is.”

“I’ve got a table of Lunarian-decimal equivalents somewhere. Any good?”

“No, don’t bother for now. It’s too near lunch. Maybe we could have a look at it over a beer tonight at the Ocean.”

“I can pick out their one and two,” Gray said. “And three and Hey! What do you know-look at the right-hand columns of those big boxes. Those numbers are in ascending order!”

“You’re right. And look-the same pattern repeats over and over in every one. It’s some kind of cyclic array.” Hunt thought for a moment, his face creased in a frown of concentration. “Something else, too-see those alphabetic groups down the sides? The same groups reappear at intervals all across the page…” He broke off again and rubbed his chin.

Gray waited perhaps ten seconds. “Any ideas?”

“Dunno… Sets of numbers starting at one and increasing by one every time. Cyclic… an alphabetic label tagged on to each repeating group. The whole pattern repeating again inside bigger groups, and the bigger groups repeat again. Suggests some sort of order. Sequence…”

His mumblings were interrupted as the door opened behind them. Lyn Garland walked in.

“Hi, you guys. What’s showing today?” She moved over to stand between them and peered into the tank. “Say, tables! How about that? Where’d they come from, the books?”

“Hello, lovely,” Gray said with a grin. “Yep.” He nodded in the direction of the scanner.

“Hi,” Hunt answered, at last tearing his eyes away from the image. “What can we do for you?”

She didn’t reply at once, but continued staring into the tank.

“What are they? Any ideas?”

“Don’t know yet. We were just talking about it when you came in.”

She marched across the lab and bent over to peer into the top of the scanner. The smooth, tanned curve of her leg and the proud thrust of her behind under her thin skirt drew an exchange of approving glances from the two English scientists. She came back and studied the image once more.

“Looks like a calendar, if you ask me,” she told them. Her voice left no room for dissent.

Gray laughed. “Calendar, eh? You sound pretty sure of it. What’s this-a demonstration of infaffible feminine intuition or something?” He was goading playfully.

She turned to confront him with out-thrust jaw and hands planted firmly on hips. “Listen, Limey-I’ve got a right to an opinion, okay? So, that’s what I think it is. That’s my opinion.”

“Okay, okay.” Gray held up his hands. “Let’s not start the War of Independence all over again. I’ll note it in the lab file: ‘Lyn thinks it’s a-’”

“Holy Christ!” Hunt cut him off in midsentence. He was staring wide-eyed at the tank. “Do you know, she could be right! She could just be bloody right!”

Gray turned back to face the side of the tank. “How come?”

“Well, look at it. Those larger groups could be something like months, and the labeled sets that keep repeating inside them could be weeks made up of days. After all, days and years have to be natural units in any calendar system. See what I mean?”

Gray looked dubious. “I’m not so sure,” he said slowly. “It’s nothing like our year, is it? I mean, there’s a hell of a lot more than three hundred sixty-five numbers in that lot, and a lot more than twelve months, or whatever they are-aren’t there?”

“I know. Interesting?”

“Hey. I’m still here,” said a small voice behind them. They moved apart and half turned to let her in on the proceedings.

“Sorry,” Hunt said. “Getting carried away.” He shook his head and regarded her with an expression of disbelief.

“What on Earth made you say a calendar?”

She shrugged and pouted her lips. “Don’t know, really. The book over there looks like a diary. Every diary I ever saw had calendars in it. So, it had to be a calendar.”

Hunt sighed. “So much for scientific method. Anyway, let’s run a shot of it. I’d like to do some sums on it later.” He looked back at Lyn. “No-on second thought, you run it. This is your discovery.”

She frowned at him suspiciously. “What d’you want me to do?”

“Sit down there at the master console. That’s right. Now activate the control keyboard… Press the red button-that one.”

“What do I do now?”

“Type this: FC comma DACCO seven slash PCH dot P sixty-seven slash HCU dot one. That means ‘functional control mode, data access program subsystem number seven selected, access data file reference “Project Charlie, Book one,” page sixty-seven, optical format, output on hard copy unit, one copy.”

“It does? Really? Great!”

She keyed in the commands as Hunt repeated them more slowly. At once a hum started up in the hard copier, which stood next to the scanner. A few seconds later a sheet of glossy paper flopped into the tray attached to the copier’s side. Gray walked over to collect it.

“Perfect,” he announced.

“This makes me a scope expert, too,” Lyn informed them brightly.

Hunt studied the sheet briefly, nodded, and slipped it into a folder lying on top of the console.

“Doing some homework?” she asked.

“I don’t like the wallpaper in my hotel room.”

“He’s got the theory of relativity all around the bedroom in his flat in Wokingham,” Gray confided, “… and wave mechanics in the kitchen.”

She looked from one to the other curiously. “Do you know, you’re crazy. Both of you-you’re both crazy. I was always too polite to mention it before, but somebody has to say it.”

Hunt gave her a solemn look. “You didn’t come all the way over here to tell us we’re crazy,” he pronounced.

“Know something-you’re right. I had to be in Westwood anyway. A piece of news just came in this morning that I thought might interest you. Gregg’s been talking to the Soviets. Apparently one of their materials labs has been doing tests on some funny pieces of metal alloy they got hold of-all sorts of unusual properties nobody’s ever seen before. And guess what-they dug them up on the Moon, somewhere near Mare Imbrium. And-when they ran some dating tests, they came up with a figure of about fifty thousand years! How about that! Interested?”

Gray whistled.

“It had to be just a matter of time before something else turned up,” Hunt said, nodding. “Know any more details?”

She shook her head. “’Fraid not. But some of the guys might be able to fill you in a bit more at the Ocean tonight. Try Hans if he’s there; he was talking a lot to Gregg about it earlier.”

Hunt looked intrigued but decided there was little point in pursuing the matter further for the time being.

“How is Gregg?” he asked. “Has he tried smiling lately?”

“Don’t be mean,” she reproached him. “Gregg’s okay. He’s busy, that’s all. D’you think he didn’t have enough to worry about before all this blew up?”

Hunt didn’t dispute it. During the few weeks that had passed, he had seen ample evidence of the massive resources Caldwell was marshaling from all around the globe. He couldn’t help but be impressed by the director’s organizational ability and his ruthless efficiency when it came to annihilating opposition. There were other things, however, about which Hunt harbored mild personal doubts.

“How’s it all going, then?” he asked. His tone was neutral. It did not escape the girl’s sharply tuned senses. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Well, you’ve seen most of the action so far. How do you think it’s going?”

He tried a sidestep to avoid her deliberate turning around of the question.

“None of my business, really, is it? We’re just the machine minders in all this.”

“No, really-I’m interested. What do you think?”

Hunt made a great play of stubbing out his cigarette. He frowned and scratched his forehead.

“You’ve got rights to opinions, too,” she persisted. “Our Constitution says so. So, what’s your opinion?”

There was no way off the hook, or of evading those big brown eyes.

“There’s no shortage of information turning up,” he conceded at last. “The infantry is doing a good job…” He let the rider hang.

“But what…”

Hunt sighed.

“But… the interpretation. There’s something too dogmatic-too rigid-about the way the big names higher up are using the information. It’s as if they can’t think outside the ruts they’ve thought inside for years. Maybe they’re overspecialized-won’t admit any possibility that goes against what they’ve always believed.”

“For instance?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Well, take Danchekker, for one. He’s always accepted orthodox evolutionary theory-all his life, I suppose; therefore, Charlie must be from Earth. Nothing else is possible. The accepted theory must be right, so that much is fixed; you have to work everything else to fit in with that.”

“You think he’s wrong? That Charlie came from somewhere else?”

“Hell, I don’t know. He could be right. But it’s not his conclusion that I don’t like; it’s his way of getting there. This problem’s going to need more flexibility before it’s cracked.”

Lyn nodded slowly to herself, as if Hunt had confirmed something.

“I thought you might say something like that,” she mused. “Gregg will be interested to hear it. He wondered the same thing, too.”

Hunt had the feeling that the questions had been more than just an accidental turn of conversation. He looked at her long and hard.

“Why should Gregg be interested?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Gregg knows a lot about you two. He’s interested in anything anybody has to say. It’s people, see-Gregg’s a genius with people. He knows what makes them tick. It’s the biggest part of his job.”

“Well, it’s a people problem he’s got,” Hunt said. “Why doesn’t he fix it?”

Suddenly Lyn switched moods and seemed to make light of the whole subject, as if she had learned all she needed to for the time being.

“Oh, he will-when he gets the feeling that the time’s right. He’s very good with timing, too.” She decided to finish the matter entirely. “Anyhow, it’s time for lunch.” She stood up and slipped a hand through an arm on either side. “How about two crazy Limeys treating a poor girl from the Colonies to a drink?”

Chapter Eight

The progress meeting, in the main conference room of the Navcomms Headquarters building, had been in session for just over two hours. About two dozen persons were seated or sprawled around the large table that stood in the center of the room, by now reduced to a shambles of files, papers, overflowing ashtrays, and half-empty glasses.

Nothing really exciting had emerged so far. Various speakers had reported the results of their latest tests, the sum total of their conclusions being that Charlie’s circulatory, respiratory, nervous, endocrine, lymphatic, digestive, and every other system anybody could think of were as normal as those of anyone sitting around the table. His bones were the same, his body chemistry was the same, his blood was a familiar grouping. His brain capacity and development were within the normal range for Homo sapiens, and evidence suggested that he had been right-handed. The genetic codes carried in his reproductive cells had been analyzed; a computer simulation of combining them with codes donated by an average human female had confirmed that the offspring of such a union would have inherited a perfectly normal set of characteristics.

Hunt tended to remain something of a passive observer of the proceedings, conscious of his status as an unofficial guest and wondering from time to time why he had been invited at all. The only reference made to him so far had been a tribute in Caldwell’s opening remarks to the invaluable aid rendered by the Trimagniscope; apart from the murmur of agreement that had greeted this comment, no further mention had been made of either the instrument or its inventor. Lyn Garland had told him: “The meeting’s on Monday, and Gregg wants you to be there to answer detailed questions on the scope.” So here he was. Thus far, nobody had wanted to know anything detailed about the scope-only about the data it produced. Something gave him the uneasy feeling there was an ulterior motive lurking somewhere.

After dwelling on Charlie’s computerized, mathematical sex life, the chair considered a suggestion, put forward by a Texas planetologist sitting opposite Hunt, that perhaps the Lunarians came from Mars. Mars had reached a later phase of planetary evolution than Earth and possibly had evolved intelligent life earlier, too. Then the arguments started. Martian exploration went right back to the 1970s; UNSA had been surveying the surface from satellites and manned bases for years. How come no sign of any Lunarian civilization had showed up? Answer: We’ve been on the Moon a hell of a lot longer than that and the first traces have only just shown up there. So you could expect discovery to occur later on Mars. Objection: If they came from Mars, then their civilization developed on Mars. Signs of a whole civilization should be far more obvious than signs of visits to a place like Earth’s Moon-therefore the Lunarians should have been detected a lot sooner on Mars. Answer: Think about the rate of erosion on the Martian surface. The signs could be largely wiped out or buried. At least that could account for there not being any signs on Earth. Somebody then pointed out that this did not solve the problem-all it did was shift it to another place. If the Lunarians came from Mars, evolutionary theory was still in just as big a mess as ever.

So the discussion went on.

Hunt wondered how Rob Gray was getting on back at Westwood. They now had a training schedule to fit in on top of their normal daily data-collection routine. A week or so before, Caldwell had informed them that he wanted four engineers from Navcomms fully trained as Trimagniscope operators. His explanation, that this would allow round-the-clock operation of the scope and hence better productivity from it, had not left Hunt convinced; neither had his further assertion that Navcomms was going to buy itself some of the instruments but needed to get some in-house expertise while they had the opportunity.

Maybe Caldwell intended setting up Navcomms as an independent and self-sufficient scope-operating facility. Why would he do that? Was Forsyth-Scott or somebody else exerting pressure to get Hunt back to England? If this was a prelude to shipping him back, the scope would obviously stay in Houston. That meant that the first thing he’d be pressed into when he got back would be a panic to get the second prototype working. Big deal!

The meeting eventually accepted that the Martian-origin theory created more problems than it solved and, anyway, was pure speculation. Last rites in the form of “No substantiating evidence offered” were pronounced, and the corpse was quietly laid to rest under the epitaph In Abeyance, penned in the “Action” columns of the memoranda sheets around the table.

A cryptologist then delivered a long rambling account of the patterns of character groupings that occurred in Charlie’s personal documents. They had already completed preliminary processing of all the individual papers, the contents of the wallet, and one of the books; they were about half way through the second. There were many tables, but nobody knew yet what they meant; some structured lines of symbols suggested mathematical formulas; certain page and section headings matched entries in the text. Some character strings appeared with high frequency, some with less; some were concentrated on a few pages, while others were evenly spread throughout. There were lots of figures and statistics. Despite the enthusiasm of the speaker, the mood of the room grew heavy and the questions fewer. They knew he was a bright guy; they wished he’d stop telling them.

At length, Danchekker, who had been noticeably silent through most of the proceedings and appeared to be growing increasingly impatient as they continued, obtained leave from the chair to address the meeting. He rose to his feet, clasped his lapels, and cleared his throat. “We have devoted as much time as can be excused to exploring improbable and far-flung suggestions which, as we have seen, turn out to be fallacious.” He spoke confidently, taking in the length of the table with side-to-side swings of his body. “The time has surely come, gentlemen, for us to dally no longer, but to concentrate our efforts on what must be the only viable line of reasoning open to us. I state, quite categorically, that the race of beings to whom we have come to refer as the Lunarians originated here, on Earth, as did the rest of us. Forget all your fantasies of visitors from other worlds, interstellar travelers, and the like. The Lunarians were simply products of a civilization that developed here on our own planet and died out for reasons we have yet to determine. What, after all, is so strange about that? Civilizations have grown and passed away in the brief span of our more orthodox history, and no doubt others will continue the pattern. This conclusion follows from comprehensive and consistent evidence and from the proven principles of the various natural sciences. It requires no invention, fabrication, or supposition, but derives directly from unquestionable facts and the straightforward application of established methods of inference!” He paused and cast his eyes around the table to invite comment.

Nobody commented. They already knew his arguments. Danchekker, however, seemed about to go through it all again. Evidently he had concluded that attempts to make them see the obvious by appealing to their powers of reason alone were not enough; his only resort then was insistent repetition until they either concurred or went insane.

Hunt leaned back in his chair, took a cigarette from a box lying nearby on the table, and tossed his pen down on his pad. He still had reservations about the professor’s dogmatic attitude, but at the same time he was aware that Danchekker’s record of academic distinction was matched by those of few people alive at the time. Besides, this wasn’t Hunt’s field. His main objection was something else, a truth he accepted for what it was and made no attempt to fool himself by rationalizing: Everything about Danchekker irritated him. Danchekker was too thin; his clothes were too old-fashioned-he carried them as if they had been hung on to dry. His anachronistic gold-rimmed spectacles were ridiculous. His speech was too formal. He had probably never laughed in his life. A skull vacuum-packed in skin, Hunt thought to himself.

“Allow me to recapitulate,” Danchekker continued. “Homo sapiens-modern man-belongs to the phylum Vertebrata. So, also, do all the mammals, fish, birds, amphibians, and reptiles that have ever walked, crawled, flown, slithered, or swum in every corner of the Earth. All vertebrates share a common pattern of basic architecture, which has remained unchanged over millions of years despite the superficial, specialized adaptations that on first consideration might seem to divide the countless species we see around us.

“The basic vertebrate pattern is as follows: an internal skeleton of bone or cartilage and a vertebral column. The vertebrate has two pairs of appendages, which may be highly developed or degenerate, likewise a tail. It has a centrally located heart, divided into two or more chambers, and a closed circulatory system of blood made up of red cells containing hemoglobin. It has a dorsal nerve cord which bulges at one end into a five-part brain contained in a head. It also has a body cavity that contains most of its vital organs and its digestive system. All vertebrates conform to these rules and are thereby related.”

The professor paused and looked around as if the conclusion were too obvious to require summarizing. “In other words, Charlie’s whole structure shows him to be directly related to a million and one terrestrial animal species, extinct, alive, or yet to come. Furthermore, all terrestrial vertebrates, including ourselves and Charlie, can be traced back through an unbroken succession of intermediate fossils as having inherited their common pattern from the earliest recorded ancestors of the vertebrate line”-Danchekker’s voice rose to a crescendo-“from the first boned fish that appeared in the oceans of the Devonian period of the Paleozoic era, over four hundred million years ago!” He paused for this last to take hold and then continued. “Charlie is as human as you or I in every respect. Can there be any doubt, then, that he shares our vertebrate heritage and therefore our ancestry? And if he shares our ancestry, then there is no doubt that he also shares our place of origin. Charlie is a native of planet Earth.”

Danchekker sat down and poured himself a glass of water. A hubbub of mixed murmurings and mutterings ensued, punctuated by the rustling of papers and the clink of water glasses. Here and there, chairs creaked as cramped limbs eased themselves into more comfortable positions. A metallurgist at one end of the table was gesturing to the man seated next to her. The man shrugged, showed his empty palms, and nodded his head in Danchekker’s direction. She turned and called to the professor. “Professor Danchekker… Professor…” Her voice made itself heard. The background noise died away. Danchekker looked up. “We’ve been having a little argument here-maybe you’d like to comment Why couldn’t Charlie have come from a parallel line of evolution somewhere else?”

“I was wondering that, too,” came another voice. Danchekker frowned for a moment before replying.

“No. The point you are overlooking here, I think, is that the evolutionary process is fundamentally made up of random events. Every living organism that exists today is the product of a chain of successive mutations that has continued over millions of years. The most important fact to grasp is that each discrete mutation is in itself a purely random event, brought about by aberrations in genetic coding and the mixing of the sex cells from different parents. The environment into which the mutant is born dictates whether it will survive to reproduce its kind or whether it will die out. Thus, some new characteristics are selected for further miprovement, while others are promptly eradicated and still others are diluted away by interbreeding.

“There are still people who find this principle difficult to accept-primarily, I suspect, because they are incapable of visualizing the implications of numbers and time scales beyond the ranges that occur in everyday life. Remember we are talking about billions of billions of combinations coming together over millions of years.

“A game of chess begins with only twenty playable moves to choose from. At every move the choice available to the player is restricted, and yet, the number of legitimate positions that the board could assume after only ten moves is astronomical. Imagine, then, the number of permutations that could arise when the game continues for a billion moves and at each move the player has a billion choices open to him. This is the game of evolution. To suppose that two such independent sequences could result in end products that are identical would surely be demanding too much of our credulity. The laws of chance and statistics are quite firm when applied to sufficiently large numbers of samples. The laws of thermodynamics, for example, are nothing more than expressions of the probable behavior of gas molecules, yet the numbers involved are so large that we feel quite safe in accepting the postulates as rigid rules; no significant departure from them has ever been observed. The probability of the parallel line of evolution that you suggest is less than the probability of heat flowing from the kettle to the fire, or of all the air molecules in this room crowding into one corner at the same time, causing us all to explode spontaneously. Mathematically speaking, yes-the possibility of parallelism is finite, but so indescribably remote that we need consider it no further.”

A young electronics engineer took the argument up at this point

“Couldn’t God get a look in?” he asked. “Or at least, some kind of guiding force or principle that we don’t yet comprehend? Couldn’t the same design be produced via different lines in different places?”

Danchekker shook his head and smiled almost benevolently.

“We are scientists, not mystics,” he replied. “One of the fundamental principles of scientific method is that new and speculative hypotheses do not warrant consideration as long as the facts that are observed are adequately accounted for by the theories that already exist. Nothing resembling a universal guiding force has ever been revealed by generations of investigation, and since the facts observed are adequately explained by the accepted principles I have outlined, there is no necessity to invoke or invent additional causes. Notions of guiding forces and grand designs exist only in the mind of the misguided observer, not in the facts he observes.”

“But suppose it turns out that Charlie came from somewhere else,” the metallurgist insisted. “What then?”

“Ah! Now, that would be an entirely different matter. If it should be proved by some other means that Charlie did indeed evolve somewhere else, then we would be forced to accept that parallel evolution had occurred as an observed and unquestionable fact. Since this could not be explained within the framework of contemporary theory, our theories would be shown to be woefully inadequate. That would be the time to speculate on additional influences. Then, perhaps, your universal guiding force might find a rightful place. To entertain such concepts at this stage, however, would be to put the cart fairly and squarely before the horse. In so doing, we would be guilty of a breach of one of the most fundamental of scientific principles.”

Somebody else tried to push the professor from a different angle.

“How about convergent lines rather than parallel lines? Maybe the selection principles work in such a way that different lines of development converge toward the same optimum end product. In other words, although they start out in different directions, they will both eventually hit on the same, best final design. Like…” He sought for an analogy. “Like sharks are fish and dolphins are mammals. They both came from different origins but ended up hitting on the same general shape.”

Danchekker again shook his head firmly. “Forget the idea of perfection and best end products,” he said. “You are unwittingly falling into this trap of assuming a grand design again. The human form is not nearly as perfect as you perhaps imagine. Nature does not produce best solutions-it will try any solution. The only test applied is that it be good enough to survive and reproduce itself. Far more species have proved unsuccessful and become extinct than have survived-far, far more. It is easy to contemplate a kind of preordained striving toward something perfect when this fundamental fact is overlooked-when looking back down the tree, as it were, with the benefit of hindsight from our particular successful branch and forgetting the countless other branches that got nowhere.

“No, forget this idea of perfection. The developments we see in the natural world are simply cases of something good enough to do the job. Usually, many conceivable alternatives would be as good, and some better.

“Take as an example the cusp pattern on the first lower molar tooth of man. It is made up of a group of five main cusps with a complex of intervening grooves and ridges that help to grind up food. There is no reason to suppose that this particular pattern is any more efficient than any one of many more that might be considered. This particular pattern, however, first occurred as a mutation somewhere along the ancestral line leading toward man and has been passed on ever since. The same pattern is also found on the teeth of the great apes, indicating that we both inherited it from some early common ancestor where it happened through pure chance.

“Charlie has human cusp patterns on all his teeth.

“Many of our adaptations are far from perfect. The arrangement of internal organs leaves much to be desired, owing to our inheriting a system originally developed to suit a horizontal and not an upright posture. In our respiratory system, for example, we find that the wastes and dirt that accumulate in the throat and nasal regions drain inside and not outside, as happened originally, a prime cause of many bronchial and chest complaints not suffered by four-footed animals. That’s hardly perfection, is it?” Danchekker took a sip of water and made an appealing gesture to the room in general.

“So, we see that any idea of convergence toward the ideal is not supported by the facts. Charlie exhibits all our faults and imperfections as well as our improvements. No, I’m sorry-I appreciate that these questions are voiced in the best tradition of leaving no possibility unprobed and I commend you for them, but really, we must dismiss them.”

Silence enveloped the room at his concluding words. On all sides, everybody seemed to be staring thoughtfully through the table, through the walls, or through the ceiling.

Caldwell placed his hands on the table and looked around until satisfied that nobody had anything to add.

“Looks like evolution stays put for a while longer,” he grunted. “Thank you, Professor.”

Danchekker nodded without looking up.

“However,” Caldwell continued, “the object of these meetings is to give everyone a chance to talk freely as well as listen. So far, some people haven’t had much to say-especially one or two of the newcomers.” Hunt realized with a start that Caldwell was looking straight at him. “Our English visitor, for example, whom most of you already know. Dr. Hunt, do you have any views that we ought to hear about…?”

Next to Caldwell, Lyn Garland was making no attempt to conceal a wide smile. Hunt took a long draw at his cigarette and used the delay to collect his thoughts. In the time it took for him to coolly emit one long, diffuse cloud of smoke and flick his hand at the ashtray, all the pieces clicked together in his brain with the smooth precision of the binary regiments parading through the registers of the computers downstairs. Lyn’s persistent cross-examinations, her visits to the Ocean, his presence here-Caldwell had found a catalyst.

Hunt surveyed the array of attentive faces. “Most of what’s been said reasserts the accepted principles of comparative anatomy and evolutionary theory. Just to clear the record for anyone with misleading ideas, I’ve no intention of questioning them. However, the conclusion could be summed up by saying that since Charlie comes from the same ancestors as we do, he must have evolved on Earth the same as we did.”

“That is so,” threw in Danchekker.

“Fine,” Hunt replied. “Now, all this is really your problem, not mine, but since you’ve asked me what I think, I’ll state the conclusion another way. Since Charlie evolved on Earth, the civilization he was from evolved on Earth. The indications are that his culture was about as advanced as ours, maybe in one or two areas slightly more advanced. So, we ought to find no end of traces of his people. We don’t. Why not?”

All heads turned toward Danchekker.

The professor sighed. “The only conclusion left open to us is that whatever traces were left have been erased by the natural processes of weathering and erosion,” he said wearily. “There are several possibilities: A catastrophe of some sort could have wiped them out to the extent that there were no traces; or possibly their civilization existed in regions which today are submerged beneath the oceans. Further searching will no doubt produce solutions to this question.”

“If any catastrophe as violent as that occurred so recently, we would already know about it,” Hunt pointed out. “Most of what was land then is still land today, so I can’t see them sinking into the ocean somewhere, either; besides, you’ve only to look at our civilization to see it’s not confined to localized areas-it’s spread all over the globe. And how is it that in spite of all the junk that keeps turning up with no trouble at all from primitive races from around the same time-bones, spears, clubs, and so on-nobody has ever found a single example of anything related to this supposed technologically advanced culture? Not a screw, or a piece of wire, or a plastic washer. To me, that doesn’t make sense.”

More murmuring broke out to mark the end of Hunt’s critique. “Professor?” Caldwell invited comment with a neutral voice.

Danchekker compressed his mouth into a grimace. “Oh, I agree, I agree. It is surprising-very surprising. But what alternative are you proposing?” His voice took on a note of sarcasm. “Do you suggest that man and all the animals came to Earth in some enormous celestial Noah’s Ark?” He laughed. “If so, the fossil record of a hundred million years disproves you.”

“Impasse.” The comment came from Professor Schorn, an authority on comparative anatomy, who had arrived from Stuttgart a few days before.

“Looks like it,” Caldwell agreed.

Danchekker, however, was not through. “Would Dr. Hunt care to answer my question?” he challenged. “Precisely what other place of origin is he suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anywhere in particular,” Hunt replied evenly. “What I am suggesting is that perhaps a more openminded approach might be appropriate at this stage. After all, we’ve only just found Charlie. This business will go on for years yet; there’s bound to be a lot more information surfacing that we don’t have right now. I think it’s too early to be jumping ahead and predicting what the answers might be. Better just to keep on plodding along and using every scrap of data we’ve got to put together a picture of the place Charlie came from. It might turn out to be Earth. Then again, it might not.”

Caldwell led him on further. “How would you suggest we go about that?”

Hunt wondered if this was a direct cue. He decided to risk it. “You could try taking a closer look at this.” He drew a sheet of paper out from the folder in front of him and slid it across to the center of the table. The paper showed a complicated tabular arrangement of Lunarian numerals.

“What’s that?” asked a voice.

“It’s from one of the pocket books,” Hunt replied. “I think the book is something not unlike a diary. I also believe that that”-he pointed at the sheet-“could well be a calendar.” He caught a sly wink from Lyn Garland and returned it.

“Calendar?”

“How d’you figure that one?”

“It’s all gobbledygook.”

Danchekker stared hard at the paper for a few seconds. “Can you prove it’s a calendar?” he demanded.

“No, I can’t. But I have analyzed the number pattern and can state that it’s made up of ascending groups that repeat in sets and subsets. Also, the alphabetic groups that seem to label the major sets correspond to the headings of groups of pages further on-remarkably like the layout of a diary.”

“Hmmph! More likely some form of tabular page index.”

“Could be,” Hunt granted. “But why not wait and see? Once the language has unraveled a bit more, it should be possible to cross-check a lot of what’s here with items from other sources. This is the kind of thing that maybe we ought to be a little more open-minded about. You say Charlie comes from Earth; I say he might. You say this is not a calendar; I say it might be. In my estimation, an attitude like yours is too inflexible to permit an unbiased appraisal of the problem. You’ve already made up your mind what you want the answers to be.”

“Hear, hear!” a voice at the end of the table called.

Danchekker colored visibly, but Caldwell spoke before he could reply.

“You’ve analyzed the numbers-right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, supposing for now it’s a calendar-what more can you tell us?”

Hunt leaned forward across the table and pointed at the sheet with his pen.

“First, two assumptions. One: the natural unit of time on any world is the day-that is, the time it takes the planet to rotate on its axis…”

“Assuming it rotates,” somebody tossed in.

“That was my second assumption. But the only cases we know of where there’s no rotation-or where the orbital period equals the axial period, which amounts to the same thing-occur when a small body orbits close to a far more massive one and is swamped by gravitational tidal effects, like our Moon. For that to happen to a body the size of a planet, the planet would have to orbit very close to its parent star-too close for it to support any life comparable to our own.”

“Seems reasonable,” Caldwell said, looking around the table. Various heads were nodding assent. “Where do we go from there?”

“Okay,” Hunt resumed. “Assuming it rotates and the day is its natural unit of time-if this complete table represents one full orbit around its sun, there are seventeen hundred days in its year, one entry for each.”

“Pretty long,” someone hazarded.

“To us, yes: at least, the year-to-day ratio is big. It could mean the orbit is large, the rotational period short, or perhaps a bit of both. Now look at the major number groups-the ones tagged with the heavy alphabetic labels. There are forty-seven of them. Most contain thirty-six numbers, but nine of them have thirty-seven-the first, sixth, twelfth, eighteenth, twenty-fourth, thirtieth, thirty-sixth, forty-second, and forty-seventh. That seems a bit odd at first sight, but so would our system to someone unfamiliar with it. It suggests that maybe somebody had to do a bit of fiddling with it to make it work.”

“Mmm… like with our months.”

“Exactly. This is just the sort of juggling you have to do to get a sensible fit of our months into our year. It happens because there’s no simple relationship between the orbital periods of planet and satellite; there’s no reason why there should be. I’m guessing that if this is a calendar that relates to some other planet, then the reason for this odd mix of thirty-sixes and thirty-sevens is the same as the one that causes problems with our calendar: That planet had a moon.”

“So these groups are months,” Caldwell stated.

“If it’s a calendar-yes. Each group is divided into three subgroups-weeks, if you like. Normally there are twelve days in each, but there are nine long months, in which the middle week has thirteen days.”

Danchekker looked for a long time at the sheet of paper, an expression of pained disbelief spreading slowly across his face.

“Are you proposing this as a serious scientific theory?” he queried in a strained voice.

“Of course not,” Hunt replied. “This is all pure speculation. But it does indicate some of the avenues that could be explored. These alphabetic groups, for example, might correspond to references that the language people might dig from other sources-such as dates on documents, or date stamps on pieces of clothing or other equipment. Also, you might be able to find some independent way of arriving at the number of days in the year; if it turned out to be seventeen hundred, that would be quite a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Anything else?” Caldwell asked.

“Yes. Computer correlation analysis of this number pattern may show hidden superposed periodicities; for all we know, there could have been more than one moon. Also, it should be possible to compute families of curves giving possible relationships between planet-to-satellite mass ratios against mean orbital radii. Later on you might know enough more to be able to isolate one of the curves. It might describe the Earth-Luna system; then again, it might not.”

“Preposterous!” Danchekker exploded.

“Unbiased?” Hunt suggested.

“There is something else that may be worth trying,” Schorn interrupted. “Your calendar, if that’s what it is, has so far been described in relative terms only-days per month, months per year, and so on. There is nothing that gives us any absolute values. Now-and this is a long shot-from detailed chemical analysis we are making some progress in building a quantitative model of Charlie’s cell-metabolism cycles and enzyme processes. We may be able to calculate the rate of accumulation of waste materials and toxins in the blood and tissues, and from these results form an estimate of his natural periods of sleep and wakefulness. If, in this way, I could provide a figure for the length of the day, the other quantities would follow immediately.”

“If we knew that, then we’d know the planet’s orbital period,” said somebody else. “But could we get an estimate of its mass?”

“One way might be by doing a structural analysis of Charlie’s bone and muscle formations and then working out the power-weight ratios,” another chipped in.

“That would give us the planet’s mean distance from its sun,” said a third.

“Only if it was like our Sun.”

“You could get a check on the planet’s mass from the glass and other crystalline materials in his equipment. From the crystal structure, we should be able to figure out the strength of the gravitational field they cooled in.”

“How could we get a figure for density?”

“You still need to know the planetary radius.”

“He’s like us, so the surface gravity will be Earthlike.”

“Very probable, but let’s prove it.”

“Prove that’s a calendar first.”

Remarks began pouring in from all sides. Hunt reflected with some satisfaction that at least he had managed to inject some spirit and enthusiasm into the proceedings.

Danchekker remained unimpressed. As the noise abated, he rose again to his feet and pointed pityingly to the single sheet of paper, still lying in the center of the table.

“All balderdash!” he spat. “There is the sum total of your evidence. There”-he slid his voluminous file, bulging with notes and papers, across beside it-“is mine, backed by libraries, data banks, and archives the world over. Charlie comes from Earth!”

“Where’s his civilization, then?” Hunt demanded. “Removed in an enormous celestial garbage truck?”

Laughter from around the table greeted the return of Danchekker’s own gibe. The professor darkened and seemed about to say something obscene. Caldwell held up a restraining hand, but Schorn saved the situation by interrupting in his calm, unruffled tone. “It would seem, ladies and gentlemen, that for the moment we must compromise by agreeing to a purely hypothetical situation. To keep Professor Danchekker happy, we must accept that the Lunarians evolved from the same ancestors as ourselves. To keep Dr. Hunt happy, we must assume they did it somewhere else. How we are to reconcile these two irreconcilables, I would not for one moment attempt to predict.”

Chapter Nine

Hunt saw less and less of the Trimagniscope during the weeks that followed the progress meeting. Caldwell seemed to go out of his way to encourage the Englishman to visit the various UNSA labs and establishments nearby, to “see what’s going on first-hand,” or the offices in Navcomms HQ to “meet someone you might find interesting.” Hunt was naturally curious about the Lunarian investigations, so these developments suited him admirably. Soon he was on familiar terms with most of the engineers and scientists involved, at least in the Houston vicinity, and he had a good idea of how their work was progressing and what difficulties they were encountering. He eventually acquired a broad overview of the activity on all fronts and found that, at least at the general level, the awareness of the whole picture that he was developing was shared by only a few privileged individuals within the organization.

Things were progressing in a number of directions. Calculations of structural efficiency, based on measurements of Charlie’s skeleton and the bulk supported by it, had given a figure for the surface gravity of his home planet, which agreed within acceptable margins of error with figures deduced separately from tests performed on the crystals of his helmet visor and other components formed from a molten state. The gravity field at the surface of Charlie’s home planet seemed to have been not much different from that of Earth; possibly it was slightly stronger. These results were accepted as being no more than rough approximations. Besides, nobody knew how typical Charlie’s physical build had been of that of the Lunarians in general, so there was no firm indication of whether the planet in question had been Earth or somewhere else. The issue was still wide open.

On equipment tags, document headings, and appended to certain notes, the Linguistics section had found examples of Lunarian words which matched exactly some of the labels on the calendar, just as Hunt had suggested they might. While this proved nothing, it did add further plausibility to the idea that these words indicated dates of some kind.

Then something else that seemed to connect with the calendar appeared from a totally unexpected direction. Site-preparation work in progress near Lunar Tycho Base Three turned up fragments of metal fabrications and structures. They looked like the ruins of some kind of installation. The more thorough probe that followed yielded no fewer than fourteen more bodies, or more accurately, bits of bodies from which at least fourteen individuals of both sexes could be identified. Clearly, none of the bodies was in anything approaching the condition of Charlie’s. They had all been literally blown to pieces. The remains comprised little more than splinters of charred bone scattered among scorched tatters of spacesuits. Apart from suggesting that besides being physically the same as humans, the Lunarians had been every bit as accident-prone, these discoveries provided no new information-until the discovery of the wrist unit. About the size of a large cigarette pack, not including the wrist bracelet, the device carried on its upper face four windows that looked like miniature electronic displays. From their size and shape, the windows seemed to have been intended to display character data rather than pictures, and the device was thought to be a chronometer or a computing-calculating aid; maybe it was both-and other things besides. After a perfunctory examination at Tycho Three the unit had been shipped to Earth along with some other items. It eventually found its way to the Navcomms laboratories near Houston, where the gadgets from Charlie’s backpack were being studied. After some preliminary experimenting the casing was safely removed, but detailed inspection of the complex molecular circuits inside revealed nothing particularly meaningful. Having no better ideas, the Navcomms engineers resorted to applying low voltages to random points to see what happened. Sure enough, when particular sequences of binary patterns were injected into one row of contacts, an assortment of Lunarian symbols appeared across the windows. This left nobody any the wiser until Hunt, who happened to be visiting the lab, recognized one sequence of alphabetic sets as the months that appeared on the calendar. Hence, at least one of the functions performed by the wrist unit seemed closely related to the table in the diary. Whether or not this had anything to do with recording the passage of time remained to be seen, but at least odd things looked as if they were beginning to tie up.

The Linguistics section was making steady if less spectacular progress toward cracking the language. Many of the world’s most prominent experts were getting involved, some choosing to move to Houston, while others worked via remote data links. As the first phase of their assault, they amassed volumes of statistics on word and character distributions and matchings, and produced reams of tables and charts that looked as meaningless to everybody else as the language itself. After that it was largely a matter of intuition and guessing games played on computer display screens. Every now and again somebody spotted a more meaningful pattern, which led to a better guess, which led to a still more meaningful pattern-and so on. They produced lists of words in categories believed to correspond to nouns, adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, and later on added adjectival and adverbial phrases-fairly basic requirements for any advanced inflecting language. They began to develop a feel for the rules for deriving variants, such as plurals and verb tenses, from common roots, and for the conventions that governed the formation of word sequences. An appreciation of the rudiments of Lunarian grammar was emerging from all this, and the experts in Linguistics faced the future with optimism, suddenly confident that they were approaching the point where they would begin attempting to match the first English equivalents to selected samples.

The Mathematics section, organized on lines similar to Linguistics, was also finding things that were interesting. Part of the diary was made up of many pages of numeric and tabular material-suggesting, perhaps, a reference section of Useful Information. One of the pages was divided vertically, columns of numbers alternating with columns of words. A researcher noticed that one of the numbers, when converted to decimal, came out to 1836-the proton-electron mass ratio, a fundamental physical constant that would be the same anywhere in the Universe. It was suggested that the page might be a listing of equivalent Lunarian units of mass, similar to equivalence tables used for converting ounces to grams, grams to pounds… and so on. If so, they had stumbled on a complete record of the Lunarian system of measuring mass. The problem was that the whole supposition rested on the slender assumption that the figure 1836 did, in fact, denote the proton-electron mass ratio and was not merely a coincidental reference to something completely different. They needed a second source of information to check it against.

When Hunt talked to the mathematicians one afternoon, he was surprised to learn that they were unaware that the chemists and anatomists in other departments had computed estimates of surface gravity. As soon as he mentioned the fact, everybody saw the significance at once. If the Lunarians had adopted the practice that was common on Earth-using the same units to express mass and weight on their own planet-then the numbers in the table gave Lunarian weights. Furthermore, there was available to them at least one object whose weight they could estimate accurately: Charlie himself. Thus, since they already had an estimate of surface gravity, they could easily approximate how much Charlie would have weighed in kilograms back home. Only one piece of information was missing for a solution to the whole problem: a factor to convert kilograms to Lunarian weight units. Then Hunt speculated that there could well be among Charlie’s personal documents an identity card, a medical card-something that recorded his weight in his own units. If so, that one number would tell them all they needed to know. The discussion ended abruptly, with the head of the Mathematics section departing in great haste and a state of considerable excitement to talk to the head of the Linguistics section. Linguistics agreed to make a special note if anything like that turned up. So far nothing had.

Another small group, tucked away in offices in the top of the Navcomms HQ building, was working on what was perhaps the most exciting discovery to come out of the books so far. Twenty pages, right at the end of the second book, showed a series of maps. They were all drawn to an apparently small scale, each one depicting extensive areas of the world’s surface-but the world so depicted bore no resemblance to Earth. Oceans, continents, rivers, lakes, islands, and most other geographical features were easily distinguishable, but in no way could they be reconciled with Earth’s surface, even allowing for the passage of fifty thousand years-which would have made little difference anyway, aside from the size of the polar ice caps.

Each map carried a rectangular grid of reference lines, similar to those of terrestrial latitude and longitude, with the lines spaced forty-eight units (decimal) apart. These numbers were presumed to denote units of Lunarian circular measure, since nobody could think of any other sensible way to dimension coordinates on the surface of a sphere. The fourth and seventh maps provided the key: the zero line of longitude to which all the other lines were referenced. The line to the east was tagged “528” and that to the west “48,” showing that the full Lunarian circle was divided into 576 Lunarian degrees. The system was consistent with their duo-decimal counting method and their convention of reading from right to left. The next step was to calculate the percentage of the planet’s surface that each map represented and to fit them together to form the complete globe.

Already, however, the general scheme was clear. The ice caps were far larger than those believed to have existed on Earth during the Pleistocene Ice Age, stretching in some places to within twenty (Earth) degrees of the equator. Most of the seas around the equatorial belt were completely locked in by coastlines and ice. An assortment of dots and symbols scattered across the land masses in the ice-free belt and, more thinly, over the ice sheets themselves, seemed to indicate towns and cities.

When Hunt received an invitation to come up and have a look at the maps, the scientists working on them showed him the scales of distance that were printed at the edges. If they could only find some way of converting those numbers into miles, they would have the diameter of the planet. But nobody had told them about the tables the Mathematics section thought might be mass-unit conversion factors. Maybe one of the other tables did the same thing for units of length and distance? If so, and if they could find a reference to Charlie’s height among his papers, the simple process of measuring him would allow them to work out how many Earth meters there were in a Lunarian mile. Since they already had a figure for the planet’s surface gravity, its mass and mean density should follow immediately.

This was all very exciting, but all it proved was that a world had existed. It did not prove that Charlie and the Lunarians originated there. After all, the fact that a man carries a London street map in his pocket doesn’t prove him to be a Londoner. So the work of relating numbers derived from physical measurements of Charlie’s body to the numbers on the maps and in the tables could turn out to be based on a huge fallacy. If the diary came from the world shown on the maps but Charlie came from somewhere else, then the system of measurement deduced from the maps and tables in the diary might be a totally different system from the one used to record his personal characteristics in his papers, since the latter system would be the system used in the somewhere else, not in the world depicted on the maps. It all got very confusing.

Finally, nobody claimed to have proved conclusively that the world on the maps wasn’t Earth. Admittedly it didn’t look like Earth, and attempts to derive the modern distribution of terrestrial continents from the land areas on the maps had met with no success at all. But the planet’s gravity hadn’t been all that much different. Maybe the surface of Earth had undergone far greater changes over the last fifty thousand years than had been previously thought? Furthermore, Danchekker’s arguments still carried a lot of weight, and any theory that discounted them would have an awful lot of explaining to do. But by that time, most of the scientists working on the project had reached a stage where nothing would have surprised them any more, anyway.

“Got your message. Came straight over,” Hunt announced as Lyn Garland ushered him into Caldwell’s office. Caldwell nodded toward one of the chairs opposite his desk, and Hunt sat down. Caldwell glanced at Lyn, who was still standing by the door.

“It’s okay,” he said. She left, closing the door behind her.

Caldwell fixed Hunt with an expressionless stare for a few seconds, at the same time drumming his fingers on the desk. “You’ve seen a lot of the setup here during the past few months. What do you think of it?”

Hunt shrugged. The answer was obvious.

“I like it. Exciting things happen around here.”

“You like exciting things happening, huh?” The executive director nodded, half to himself. He remained thoughtful for what seemed a long time. “Well, you’ve only seen part of what goes on. Most people have no idea how big UNSA is these days. All the things you see around here-the labs, the installations, the launch areas-that’s just the backup. Our main business is up front.” He gestured toward the photographs adorning one of the walls. “We have people right now exploring the Martian deserts, flying probes down through the clouds of Venus, and walking on the moons of Jupiter. In the deep-space units in California, they’re designing ships that will make Vegas and even the Jupiter Mission ships look like paddleboats. Photon-drive robot probes that will make the first jump to the stars-some seven miles long! Think of it-seven miles long!”

Hunt did his best to react in the appropriate manner. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what manner was appropriate. Caldwell never said or did anything without a reason. The reason for this turn of conversation was far from obvious.

“And that’s only the beginning,” Caldwell went on. “After that, men will follow the robots. Then-who knows? This is the biggest thing the human race has ever embarked on: USA, US Europe, Canada, the Soviets, the Australians-they’re all in on it together. Where does a thing like that go once it starts moving, huh? Where does it stop?”

For the first time since his arrival at Houston, Hunt detected a hint of emotion in the American’s voice. He nodded slowly, though still not comprehending.

“You didn’t drag me here to give me a UNSA commercial,” he said.

“No, I didn’t,” Caldwell agreed. “I dragged you over because it’s time we had a serious talk. I know enough about you to know how the wheels go round inside your head. You are made out of the same stuff as the guys who are making all the things happen out there.” He sat back in his chair and held Hunt’s gaze with a direct stare. “I want you to quit messing around at IDCC and come over to us.”

The statement caught Hunt like a right hook.

“What…! To Navcomms!”

“Correct. Let’s not play games. You’re the kind of person we need, and we can give you the things you need. I know I don’t have to make a big speech to explain myself.”

Hunt’s initial surprise lasted perhaps half a second. Already the computer in his head was churning out answers. Caldwell had been building toward this and testing him out for weeks. So, that was why he had moved in Navcomms engineers to take over running the scope. Had the thought been in his mind as long ago as that? Already Hunt had no doubt what the outcome of the interview would be. However, the rules of the game demanded that the set questions be posed and answered before anything final could be pronounced. Instinctively he reached for his cigarette case, but Caldwell preempted him and slid his cigar box across the desk.

“You seem pretty confident you’ve got what I need,” Hunt said as he selected a Havana. “I’m not sure even I know what that is.”

“Don’t you…? Or is it that you just don’t like talking about it?” Caldwell stopped to light his own cigar. He puffed until satisfied, then continued: “New Cross to the Journal of the Royal Society, solo. Some achievement.” He made a gesture of approval. “We like self-starters over here-sorta… traditional. What made you do it?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “First electronics, then mathematics… after that nuclear physics, later on nucleonics. What’s next, Dr. Hunt? Where do you go from there?” He settled back and exhaled a cloud of smoke while Hunt considered the question.

Hunt raised his eyebrows in mild admiration. “You seem to have been doing your homework,” he said.

Caldwell didn’t answer directly but asked, simply, “How was your uncle in Lagos when you visited him on vacation last year? Did he prefer the weather to Worcester, England? Seen much of Mike from Cambridge lately? I doubt it-he joined UNSA; he’s been at Hellas Two on Mars for the last eight months. Want me to go on?”

Hunt was too mature to feel indignant; besides, he liked to see a professional in action. He smiled faintly.

“Ten out of ten.”

At once Caldwell’s mood became deadly serious. He leaned forward and spread his elbows on the desk.

“I’ll tell you where you go from here, Dr. Hunt,” he said. “Out-out to the stars! We’re on our way to the stars over here! It started when Danchekker’s fish first crawled up out of the mud. The urge that made them do it is the same as the one that’s driven you all your life. You’ve gone inside the atom as far as you can go; there’s only one way left now-out. That’s what UNSA has to offer that you can’t refuse.”

There was nothing Hunt could add. Two futures lay spread out before him: One led back to Metadyne, the other beckoned onwards toward infinity. He was as incapable of choosing the first as his species was of returning to the depths of the sea.

“What’s your side of the deal, then?” he asked after some reflection.

“You mean, what do you have that we need?”

“Yes.”

“We need the way your brain works. You can think sideways. You see problems from different angles that nobody else uses. That’s what I need to bust open this Charlie business. Everybody argues so much because they’re making assumptions that seem obvious but that they shouldn’t be making. It takes a special kind of mind to figure out what’s wrong when things that anybody with common sense can see are true turn out to be not true. I think you’re the guy.”

The compliments made Hunt feel slightly uncomfortable. He decided to move things along. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, the guys we have at present are top grade inside their own specialties,” Caldwell replied. “Don’t get me wrong, these people are good-but I’d like them to concentrate on doing the things they’re best at. However, aside from all that, I need someone with an unspecialized, and therefore impartial, outlook to coordinate the findings of the specialists and integrate them into an overall picture. If you like, I need people like Danchekker to paint the pieces of the puzzle, but I need someone like you to fit the pieces together. You’ve been doing a bit of that, unofficially, for quite a while anyway; I’m saying, ‘Let’s make it official’.”

“How about the organization?” Hunt asked.

“I’ve thought about that. I don’t want to alienate any of our senior people by subordinating them or any of their staffs to some new whiz kid. That’s only good politics. Anyhow, I don’t think you’d want it that way.”

Hunt shook his head to show his agreement.

“So,” Caldwell resumed, “what I figure is, the various departments and sections will continue to function as they do at present. Our relationship with outfits outside Navcomms will remain unaffected. However, all the conclusions that everybody has reached so far, and new findings as they turn up, will be referred to a centralized coordinating section-that’s you. Your job will be to fit the bits together, as I said earlier. You’d build up your own staff as time goes on and the work load increases. You’d be able to request any particular items of information you find you need from the specialist functions; that way you’d be defining some of their objectives. As for your objectives, they’re abeady spelled out: Find out who these Charlie people were, where they came from, and what happened to them. You report directly to me and get the whole problem off my back. I’ve got enough on my schedule without worrying about corpses.” Caldwell threw out an arm to show that he was finished. “Well, what do you say?”

Hunt had to smile within himself. As Caldwell had said, there was really nothing to think about. He took a long breath and turned both hands upward. “As you said-an offer I can’t refuse.”

“So, you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

“Welcome aboard, then.” Caldwell looked pleased. “This calls for a drink.” He produced a flask and glasses from somewhere behind the desk. He poured the whiskey and passed a glass to his newest employee.

“When do you want it to start?” Hunt asked after a moment.

“Well, you probably need a couple of months or so to sort out formalities with IDCC. But why wait for formalities? You’re on loan here from IDCC anyway and under my direction for the duration; also, we’re paying for you. So what’s wrong with tomorrow morning?”

“Christ!”

Caldwell’s manner at once became brisk and businesslike.

“I’ll allocate offices for you in this building. Rob Gray takes full charge of scope operations and keeps the engineers I’ve assigned to him as his permanent staff for as long as he’s in Houston. That frees you totally. By the end of this week I want estimates of what you think you’ll need in the way of clerical and secretarial staff, technical personnel, equipment, furniture, lab space, and computer facilities.

“By this time next week I want you to have a presentation ready for a meeting of section and department heads that I’m going to call, to tell them how you see yourself and them working together. Make it tactful. I won’t issue any official notification of these changes until after the meeting, when everybody knows what’s going on. Don’t talk about it until then, except to myself and Lyn.

“Your ouffit will be designated Special Assignment Group L, and your position will be section head, Group L. The post is classed as ‘Executive, grade four, civilian,’ within the Space Arm. It carries all the appropriate benefits of free use of UNSA vehicles and aircraft, access to restricted files up to category three, and standard issues of clothing and accessories for duties overseas or off-planet. All that is in the Executive Staff Manual; details of reporting structures, admin procedures, and that kind of thing are in the UNSA Corporate Policy Guide. Lyn will get you copies.

“You’ll have to get in touch with the federal authorities in Houston regarding permanent residence in the USA; Lyn knows the right people. Arrange transfer of your personal belongings from England at your own convenience and charge it to Navcomms. We’ll help out finding you somewhere to live, but in the meantime stay on at the Ocean.”

Hunt had the fleeting thought that had Caldwell been born three thousand years previously, Rome might well have been built in a day.

“What’s your current salary?” Caldwell asked.

“Twenty-five thousand European dollars.”

“We’ll make it thirty.”

Hunt nodded mutely.

Caldwell paused and checked mentally for anything he might have overlooked. Finding nothing, he sat back and raised his glass. “Cheers, then, Vic.”

It was the first time he had addressed Hunt informally.

“Cheers.”

“To the stars.”

“To the stars.”

A low roar from a point outside the city reached the room. They glanced toward the window to see a column of light climbing into the blue as a Vega lifted off from a distant launch pad. A quiet surge of excitement welled up in Hunt’s veins as he took in the sight. It was a symbol of the ultimate expression of man’s outward urge, and he was about to become part of it.

Chapter Ten

Demands for the services of Special Assignment Group L commenced as soon as the new unit officially went into operation, and they continued to increase rapidly in the weeks that followed. By the end of a month Hunt was swamped and forced to take on extra people at a faster rate than he had intended. Originally his idea had been to keep going with a skeleton staff for a while, at least until he formed a better idea of what was required. When Caldwell first announced the establishment of the new group, there had been one or two instances of petty jealousy and resentment, but the attitude that prevailed in the end was that Hunt had contributed several worthwhile ideas, and it seemed only sensible to get him in on the team permanently. After a while, even the dissenters grudgingly began to concede that things seemed to run more smoothly with Group L around. Some of them eventually did a complete about-face and became enthusiastic supporters of the scheme, as they came to appreciate that the communication channels to Hunt’s people worked in bidirectional mode, and for every bit of data they fed in, ten bits came back in the other direction. As the oil thus added to Caldwell’s jigsaw-puzzle-solving machine began to prove effective, the machine shifted fully into top gear, and suddenly pieces started fitting together.

The Mathematics section was still working on the equations and formulas found in the books. Since mathematical relationships would remain true irrespective of the conventions used to express them, their interpretation was a far less arbitrary affair than that of deciphering the Lunarian language. The mathematicians had been stimulated by the discovery of the mass conversion table. They turned their attention to the other tables contained in the same book and soon found one that listed many commonly used physical and mathematical constants. From it they quickly picked out pi as well as e, the base of natural logarithms, and one or two more, but they still didn’t understand the system of units well enough to evaluate the majority.

Another set of tables turned out to be simple trigonometric functions; these were easily recognized once the cartographers had provided the units of circular measure. The headings of the columns of these tables gave the Lunarian symbols for sine, cosine, tangent, and the like. Once these were known, many of the mathematical expressions elsewhere started making more sense; some of them fell out immediately as familiar trigonometric relationships. These in turn helped establish the conventions used to denote normal arithmetic operations and that of exponentiation, which led to the identification of the equations of mechanical motion. Nobody was surprised when these equations revealed that Lunarian scientists had deduced the same laws as Newton. The mathematicians progressed to tables of elementary first integrals and standard forms of low-order differential equations. On later pages were expressions which they suspected might describe systems of resonance and damped oscillations. Here again, the uncertainty over units presented a problem; expressions of this type would be in a standard form that could apply equally well to electrical, mechanical, thermal, or many other types of physical phenomena. Until they knew more about Lunarian units, they could not be sure precisely what these equations meant, even if they succeeded in interpreting them mathematically.

Hunt remembered having noticed that many of the electrical subassemblies from Charlie’s backpack had small metal labels mounted adjacent to plugs, sockets, and other input-output connections. He speculated that some of the symbols engraved on these labels might represent ratings in units of voltage, current, power, frequency, and so on. He spent a day in the electronics labs, produced a full report on these markings, and passed it on to Mathematics. Nobody had thought to tell them about it sooner.

The electronics technicians located the battery in the wrist unit from Tycho, took it to pieces, and with the assistance of an electrochemist from another department, worked out the voltage it had been designed to produce. Linguistics translated the markings on the casing, and that gave a figure for the Lunarian unit for electrical voltage. Well, it was a start.

Professors Danchekker and Schom were in charge of the biological side of the research. Perhaps surprisingly, Danchekker exhibited no reluctance to cooperate with Group L and kept them fully updated with a regular flow of information. This was more the result of his deeply rooted sense of propriety than of any change of heart. He was a formalist, and if this procedure was what the formalities of the arrangement required, he would adhere to it rigidly. His refusal to budge one inch from his uncompromising views regarding the origins of the Lunarians, however, was total.

As promised, Schorn had set up investigations to determine the length of Charlie’s natural day from studies of body chemistry and cell metabolism, but he was running into trouble. He was getting results, all right, but the results made no sense. Some tests gave a figure of twenty-four hours, which meant that Charlie could be from Earth; some gave thirty-five hours, which meant he couldn’t be; and other tests came up with figures in between. Thus, if the aggregate of these results meant anything at all, it indicated that Charlie came from a score of different places all at the same time. Either it was crazy, or there was something wrong with the methods used, or there was more to the matter than they thought.

Danchekker was more successful in a different direction. From an analysis of the sizes and shapes of Charlie’s blood vessels and associated muscle tissues, he produced equations describing the performance of Charlie’s circulatory system. From these he then derived a set of curves that showed the proportions of body heat that would be retained and lost for any given body temperature and outside temperature. He came up with a figure for Charlie’s normal body temperature from some of Schorn’s figures that were not suspect and were based on the assumption that, as in the case of terrestrial mammals, the process of evolution would have led to Charlie’s body regulating its temperature to such a level that the chemical reactions within its cells would proceed at their most efficient rates. By substituting this figure back into his original equations, Danchekker was able to arrive at an estimate of the outside temperature or, more precisely, the temperature of the environment in which Charlie seemed best adapted to function. Allowing for error, it came out at somewhere between two and nine degrees Celsius.

With Schorn’s failure to produce a reliable indication of the length of the Lunarian day, there was still no way of assigning any absolute values to the calendar, although sufficient corroborating evidence had been forthcoming from various sources to verify beyond reasonable doubt that it was indeed a calendar. As more clues to Lunarian electrical units were found by Electronics, an alternative approach to obtaining the elusive Lunarian unit of time suggested itself. If Mathematics could untangle the equations of electrical oscillation, they should be able to manipulate the quantities involved in such a way as to express the two constants denoting the dielectric permittivity and magnetic permeability of free space in Lunarian units. The ratio of these constants would yield the velocity of light, expressed in Lunarian units of distance per Lunarian units of time. The units for representing distance were understood already; therefore, those used for measuring time would be given automatically.

All this activity in UNSA naturally attracted widespread public attention. The discovery of a technologically advanced civilization from fifty thousand years in the past was not something that happened very often. Some of the headlines flashed around the World News Grid when the story was released, a few weeks after the original find, were memorable: MAN ON MOON BEFORE ARMSTRONG; some were hilarious: EXTINCT CIVILIZATION ON MARS; some were just wrong: CONTACT MADE WITH ALIEN INTELLIGENCE. But most summed up the situation fairly well.

In the months that followed, UNSA’s public relations office in Washington, long geared to conducting steady and predictable dealings with the news media, reeled under a deluge of demands from hard-pressed editors and producers all over the globe. Washington struggled valiantly for a while, but in the end did the human thing, and delegated the problem to Navcomms’ local PR department at Houston. The PR director at Houston found a ready-made clearinghouse of new information in the form of Group L, right on his doorstep, so still another dimension was added to Hunt’s ever growing work load. Soon, press conferences, TV documentaries, filmed interviews, and reporters became part of his daily routine; so did the preparation of weekly progress bulletins. Despite the cold objectivity and meticulous phrasing of these bulletins, strange things seemed to happen to them between their departure from the offices of Navcomms and their arrival on the world’s newspaper pages and wall display screens. Even stranger things happened in the minds of some people who read them.

One of the British Sunday papers presented just about all of the Old Testament in terms of the interventions of space beings as seen through the eyes of simple beholders. The plagues of Egypt were ecological disruptions deliberately brought about as warnings to the oppressors; flying saucers guided Moses through the Red Sea while the waters were diverted by nucleonic force fields; and the manna from heaven was formed from the hydrocarbon combustion products of thermonuclear propulsion units. A publisher in Paris observed the results, got the message, and commissioned a free-lancer to reexamine the life of Christ as a symbolic account of the apparent miracle workings of a Lunarian returning to Earth after a forty-eight-thousand-year meditation in the galactic wilderness.

“Authentic” reports that the Lunarians were still around abounded. They had built the pyramids, sunk Atlantis, and dug the Bosporus. There were genuine eyewitness accounts of Lunarian landings on Earth in modern times. Somebody had held a conversation with the pilot of a Lunarian spaceship two years before in the middle of the Colorado Desert. Every reference ever recorded to supernatural phenomena, apparitions, visitations, miracles, saints, ghosts, visions, and witches had a Lunarian connection.

But as the months passed and no dramatic revelations unfolded, the world began to turn elsewhere for new sensations. Reports of further findings became confined to the more serious scientific journals and proceedings of the professional societies. But the scientists on the project continued their work undisturbed.

Then a UNSA team erecting an optical observatory on the Lunar Farside detected unusual echoes on ultrasonics from about two hundred feet below the surface. They sank a shaft and discovered what appeared to be all that was left of the underground levels of another Lunarian base, or at any rate, some kind of construction. It was just a metal-walled box about ten feet high and as broad and as long as a small house; one end was missing, and about a quarter of the volume enclosed had filled up with dust and rock debris. In the space that was left at the end, they found the charred skeletons of eight more Lunarians, some pieces of furniture, a few items of technical equipment, and a heap of sealed metal containers. Whatever had formed the remainder of the structure that this gallery had been part of was gone without a trace.

The metal containers were later opened by the scientists at Westwood. Inside the cans was a selection of assorted foodstuffs, well preserved despite having been cooked. Presumably, whatever had done the cooking had also cooked the Lunarians. Most of the cans contained processed vegetables, meats, and sweet preparations; a few, however, yielded a number of fish, about the size of herrings and preserved intact.

When Danchekker’s assistant dissected one of the fish and began looking inside, he couldn’t make sense of what he found, so he called the professor down to the lab to ask what he made of it. Danchekker didn’t go home until eight o’clock the next morning. A week later he announced to an incredulous Vic Hunt: “This specimen never swam in any of our oceans; it did not evolve from, nor is it in any way related to, any form of life that has ever existed on this planet!”

Chapter Eleven

The Apollo Seventeen Mission, in December 1972, had marked the successful conclusion to man’s first concerted effort to reach and explore first-hand a world other than his own. After the Apollo program, NASA activities were restricted, mainly as a result of the financial pressures exerted on the USA by the economic recessions that came and went across the Western world throughout that decade, by the politically inspired oil crisis and various other crises manufactured in the Middle East and the lower half of Africa, and by the promotion of the Vietnam War. During the mid and late seventies, a succession of unmanned probes were dispatched to Mars, Venus, Mercury, and some of the outer planets. When manned missions were resumed in the 1980’s, they focused on the development of various types of space shuttle and on the construction of permanently manned orbiting laboratories and observatories, the main objective being the consolidation of a firm jumping-off point prior to resumed expansion outward. Thus, for a period, the Moon was left once more on its own, free to continue its billion-year contemplation of the Universe without further interruption by man.

The information brought back by the Apollo astronauts finally resolved the conflicting speculations concerning the Moon’s nature and origins that had been mooted by generations of Earth-bound observers. Soon after the Solar System was formed, 4,500 million years ago, give or take a few, the Moon became molten to a considerable depth, possibly halfway to the center; the heat was generated by the release of gravitational energy as the Moon continued to accumulate. During the cooling that followed, the heavier, iron-bearing minerals sank toward the interior, while the less dense, aluminum-rich ones floated to the surface to form the highland crust. Continual bombardment by meteorites stirred up the mixture and complicated the process to some degree but by 4,300 million years ago the formation of the crust was virtually complete. The bombardment continued until 3,900 million years ago, by which time most of the familiar surface features already existed. From then until 3,200 million years ago, basaltic lavas flowed from the interior, induced in some places by remelting due to concentrations of radioactive heat sources below the surface, to fill in the impact basins and create the darker maria. The crust continued cooling to greater depths until molten material could no longer penetrate. Thereafter, all remained unchanging through the ages. Occasionally an additional impact crater appeared and falling dust gradually eroded the top millimeter of surface, but essentially, the Moon became a dead planet.

This history came from detailed observations and limited explorations of Nearside. Orbital observations of Farside suggested that much of the same story applied there also, and since this sequence was consistent with existing theory, nobody doubted its validity for many years after Apollo. Of course, details remained to be added, but the broad picture was convincingly clear. However, when man returned to the Moon in strength and to stay, ground exploration of Farside threw up a completely different and totally unexpected story.

Although the surface of Farside looked much the same as Nearside to the distant observer, it proved at the microscopic level to have undergone something radically different in its history. Furthermore, as bases, launch sites, communications installations, and all the other paraphernalia that accompanied man wherever he went, began proliferating on Nearside, the methodical surface coverage that this entailed produced oddities there, too.

All the experiments performed on the rock samples brought back from the eight sites explored before the mid-seventies gave consistent results supporting the orthodox theories. When the number of sites grew to thousands, by far the majority of additional data confirmed them-but some curious exceptions were noted, exceptions which seemed to indicate that some of the features on Nearside ought, rightfully, to be on Farside.

None of the explanations hazarded were really conclusive. This made little difference to the executives and officers of UNSA, since by that time the pattern of Lunar activity had progressed from that of pure scientific research to one of intense engineering operations. Only the academic fraternity of a few universities found time to ponder and correspond on the spectral inconsistencies between dust samples. So for many years the well-documented problem of “lunar hemispheric anomalies” remained filed, along with a million and one other items, in the “Awaiting Explanation” drawer of science.

A methodical review of the current state of knowledge in any branch of science that might have a bearing on the Lunarian problem was a routine part of Group L’s business. Anything to do with the Moon was, naturally, high on the list of things to check up on, and soon the group had amassed enough information to start a small library on the subject. Two junior physicists, who didn’t duck quickly enough when Hunt was giving out assignments, were charged with the Herculean task of sifting through all this data. It took some time for them to get around to the topic of hemispheric anomalies. When they did, they found reports of a series of dating experiments performed some years previously by a nucleologist named Kronski at the Max Planck Institute in Berlin. The data that appeared in those reports caused the two physicists to drop everything and seek out Hunt immediately.

After a long discussion, Hunt made a vi-phone call to a Dr. Saul Steinfield of the Department of Physics of the University of Nebraska, who specialized in Lunar phenomena. As a consequence of that call, Hunt made arrangements for the deputy head of Group L to take charge for a few days, and he flew north to Omaha early the next morning. Steinfleld’s secretary met Hunt at the airport, and within an hour Hunt was standing in one of the physics department laboratories, contemplating a three-foot-diameter model of the Moon.

“The crust isn’t evenly distributed,” Steinfield said, waving toward the model. “It’s a lot thicker on Farside than on Nearside-something that has been known for a long time, ever since the first artificial satellites were hung around the Moon in the nineteen sixties. The center of mass is about two kilometers away from the geometric center.”

“And there’s no obvious reason,” Hunt mused.

Steinfleld’s flailing arm continued to describe wild circles around the sphere in front of them. “There’s no reason for the crust to solidify a lot thicker on one side, sure, but that doesn’t really matter, because that’s not the way it happened. The material that makes up the Farside surface is much younger than anything anybody ever believed existed on the Moon in any quantity up until about, ah, thirty or so years back-one hell of a lot younger! But you know that-that’s why you’re here.”

“You don’t mean it was formed recently,” Hunt stated.

Steinfield shook his head vigorously from side to side, causing the two tufts of white hair that jutted from the sides of his otherwise smooth head to wave about in a frenzy. “No. We can tell that it’s about as old as the rest of the Solar System. What I mean is-it hasn’t been where it is very long.”

He caught Hunt’s shoulder and half turned him to face a wall chart showing a sectional view through the Lunar center. “You can see it on this. The red shell is the original outer crust going right around-it’s roughly circular, as you’d expect. On Farside-here-this blue stuff sits on top of it and wasn’t added very long ago.”

“On top of what used to be the surface.”

“Exactly. Somebody dumped a couple of billion tons of junk down on the old crust-but only on this side.”

“And that’s been verified pretty conclusively?” Hunt asked, just to be doubly sure.

“Yeah… yeah. Enough bore holes and shafts have been sunk all over Farside to tell us pretty closely where the old surface was. I’ll show you something over here…” A major section of the far wall comprised nothing but rows of small metal drawers, each with its own neatly lettered label, extending from floor to ceiling. Steinfield walked across the room, and stooped to scan the labels, at the same time mumbling to himself semi-intelligibly. With a sudden “That’s it!” he pounced on one of the drawers, opened it, and returned bearing a closed glass container about the size of a small pickle jar. It contained a coarse piece of a light gray rocky substance that glittered faintly in places, mounted on a wire support.

“This is a fairly common KREEP basalt from Farside. It-“

“‘Creep’?”

“Rich in potassium-that is, K-rare earth elements, and phosphorus: KREEP.”

“Oh-I see.”

“Compounds like this,” Steinfield continued, “make up a lot of the highlands. This one solidified around 4.1 billion years ago. Now, by analyzing the isotope products produced by cosmic-ray exposure, we can tell how long it’s been lying on the surface. Again, the figure for this one comes out at about 4,100 million years.”

Hunt looked slightly puzzled. “But that’s normal. It’s what you’d expect, isn’t it?”

“If it had been lying on the surface, yes. But this came from the bottom of a shaft over seven hundred feet deep! In other words, it was on the surface for all that time-then suddenly it’s seven hundred feet down.” Steinfleld gestured toward the wall chart again. “As I said, we find the same thing all over Farside. We can estimate how far down the old surface used to be. Below it we find old rocks and structures that go way back, just like on Nearside; above it everything’s a mess-the rock all got pounded up and lots of melting took place when the garbage came down, all the way up to what’s now the surface. It’s what you’d expect.”

Hunt nodded his agreement. The energy released by that amount of mass being stopped dead in its tracks would have been phenomenal.

“And nobody knows where it came from?” he asked.

Steinfield repeated his head-shaking act. “Some people say that a big meteorite shower must have got in the way of the Moon. That may be true-it’s never been argued conclusively one way or the other. The composition of the garbage isn’t really like a lot of meteorites, though-it’s closer to the Moon itself. It’s as if they were made out of the same stuff-that’s why it looks the same from higher up. You have to look at the microstructure to see the things I’ve been talking about.”

Hunt examined the specimen curiously for a while in silence. At length he laid it carefully on the top of one of the benches. Steinfield picked it up and returned it to its drawer.

“Okay,” Hunt said as Steinfield rejoined him. “Now, what about the Farside surface?”

“Kronski and company.”

“Yes-as we discussed yesterday.”

“The Farside surface craters were made by the tail end of the garbage-dumping process, unlike the Nearside craters, which came from meteorite impacts oh… a few billion years back. In rock samples from around the rims of Farside craters we find that things like the activity levels of long half-life elements are very low-for instance, aluminum twenty-six and chlorine thirty-six; also the rates of absorption of hydrogen, helium, and inert gases from the Solar wind. Things like that tell us that those rocks haven’t been lying there very long; and since they got where they were by being thrown out of the craters, the craters haven’t been there very long, either.” Steinfield made an exaggerated empty-handed gesture. “The rest you know. People like Kronski have done all the figuring and put them at around fifty thousand years old-yesterday!” He waited for a few seconds. “There must be a Lunarian connection somewhere. The number sounds like too much of a coincidence to me.”

Hunt frowned for a while and studied the detail of the Farside hemisphere of the model. “And yet, you must have known about all this for years,” he said, looking up. “Why the devil did you wait for us to call you?”

Steinfield showed his hands again and held the pose for a second or two. “Well, you UNSA people are pretty smart cookies. I figured you already knew about all this.”

“We should have picked it up sooner, I admit,” Hunt agreed. “But we’ve been rather busy.”

“Guess so,” Steinfield murmured. “Anyhow, there’s even more to it. I’ve told you all the consistent things. Now I’ll tell you some of the funny things…” He broke off as if just struck by a new thought. “I’ll tell you about the funny things in a second. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Great.”

Steinfield lit a Bunsen burner, filled a large laboratory beaker from the nearest tap, and positioned it on a tripod over the flame. Then he squatted down to rummage in the cupboard beneath the bench and at last emerged triumphantly with two battered enamel mugs.

“First funny thing: The distribution of samples that we dig up on Farside that have a history of recent radioactive exposure doesn’t match the distribution or strength of the activity sources. There ought to be sources clustered in places where there aren’t.”

“How about the meteorite storm including some, highly active meteorites?” Hunt suggested.

“No, won’t wash,” Steinfield answered, looking along a shelf of glass jars and eventually selecting one that contained a reddish-brown powder and was labeled “Ferric Oxide.” “If there were meteorites like that, bits of them should still be around. But the distribution of active elements in the garbage is pretty even-about normal for most rocks.” He began spooning the powder into the mugs. Hunt inclined his head apprehensively in the direction of the jar.

“Coffee doesn’t seem to last long around here if you leave it lying around in coffee jars,” Steinfield explained. He nodded toward a door that led into the room next-door and bore the sign “RESEARCH STUDENTS.” Hunt nodded understandingly.

“Vaporized?” Hunt tried.

Again Steinfield shook his head.

“In that case they wouldn’t have been in proximity to the rock long enough to produce the effects observed.” He opened another jar marked “Disodium Hydrogen Phosphate.” “Sugar?”

“Second funny thing,” Steinfield continued. “Heat balance. We know how much mass came down, and from the way it fell, we can figure its kinetic energy. We also know from statistical sampling how much energy needed to be dissipated to account for the melting and structural deformations; also, we know how much energy gets produced by underground radioactivity and where. Problem: The equations don’t balance; you’d need more energy to make what happened happen than there was available. So, where did the extra come from? The computer models of this are very complex and there could be errors in them, but that’s the way it looks right now.”

Steinfield allowed Hunt to digest this while he picked up the beaker with a pair of tongs and proceeded to fill the mugs. Having safely completed this operation, he began filling his pipe, still silent.

“Any more?” Hunt asked at last, reaching for his own cigarette case.

Steinfield nodded affirmatively. “Nearside exceptions. Most of the Nearside craters fit with the classic model: old. However, there are some scattered around that don’t fit the pattern; cosmic-ray dating puts them at approximately the same age as those on Farside. The usual explanation is that some strays from the recent Farside bombardment overshot around to the Nearside…” He shrugged. “But there are peculiarities in some instances that don’t really support that.”

“Like?”

“Like some of the glasses and breccia formations show heating patterns that aren’t consistent with recent impact… I’ll show you what I mean later.”

Hunt turned this new information over in his mind as he lit a cigarette and sipped his drink. It tasted like coffee, anyway.

“And that’s the last funny thing?”

“Yep, that’s about the broad outline. No, wait a minute-last funny thing plus one. How come none of the meteorites in the shower hit Earth? Plenty of eroded remains of terrestrial meteorite craters have been identified and dated. All the computer simulations say that there should be a peak of abnormal activity at around this time, judging from how big the heap of crud that hit the Moon must have been. But there aren’t any signs of one, even allowing for the effects of the atmosphere.”

Hunt and Steinfield spent the rest of that day and all of the next sifting through figures and research reports that went back many years. Hunt did not sleep at all during the following night, but smoked a pack of cigarettes and consumed a gallon of coffee while he stared at the walls of his hotel room and twisted the new information into every contortion his mind could devise.

Fifty thousand years ago the Lunarians were on the Moon. Where they came from didn’t really matter for the time being; that was another question. At about the same time an intense meteorite storm obliterated the Farside surface. Did the storm wipe out the Lunarians on the Moon? Possibly-but that wouldn’t have had any effect on them back on whatever planet they had come from. If all the UNSA people on Luna were wiped out, it wouldn’t make any lasting difference to Earth. So, what happened to the rest of the Lunarians? Why hadn’t anybody seen them since? Had something else happened to them that was more widespread than whatever happened on the Moon? Could the something else have caused the meteorite storm? Could a second something else have both caused the first and extinguished the Lunarians in other places? Perhaps there was no connection? Unlikely.

Then there were the inconsistencies that Steinfield had talked about… An absurd idea came from nowhere, which Hunt rejected impatiently. But as the night wore on, it kept coming back again with growing insistence. Over breakfast he decided that he had to know the story that lay below those billions of tons of rubble. There had to be some way of extracting enough information to reconstruct the characteristics of the surface just before the bombardment commenced. He put the question to Steinfield later on that morning, back in the lab.

Steinfield shook his head firmly. ‘We tried for over a year to make a picture like that. We had twelve programmers working on it. They got nowhere. It’s too much of a mess down there-all ploughed up. All you get is garbage.”

“How about a partial picture?” Hunt persisted. Was there any way that a contour map could be calculated, showing just the distribution of radiation sources immediately prior to the bombardment?

“We tried that, too. You do get a degree of statistical clustering, yes. But there’s no way we could tell where each individual sample was when it got irradiated. They would have been thrown miles by the impacts; a lot of them would have been bounced all over the place by repeat impacts. Nobody ever built a computer that could unscramble all that entropy. You’re up against the second law of thermodynamics; if you ever built one, it wouldn’t be a computer at all-it would be a refrigerator.”

“What about a chemical approach? What techniques are available that might reveal where the prebombardment craters were? Could their ‘ghosts’ still be detected a thousand feet down below the surface?”

“No way!”

“There has to be some way of reconstructing what the surface used to look like.”

“Did you ever try reconstructing a cow from a truckload of hamburger?”

They talked about it for another two days and into the nights at Steinfield’s home and Hunt’s hotel. Hunt told Steinfield why he needed the information. Steinfield told Hunt he was crazy. Then one morning, back at the laboratory, Hunt exclaimed, “The Nearside exceptions!”

“Huh?”

“The Nearside craters that date from the time of the storm. Some of them could be right from the beginning of it.”

“So?”

“They didn’t get buried like the first craters on Farside. They’re intact.”

“Sure-but they won’t tell you anything new. They’re from recent impacts, same as everything that’s on the surface of Farside.”

“But you said some of them showed radiation anomalies. That’s just what I want to know more about.”

“But nobody ever found any suggestion of what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe they weren’t looking for the right things. They never had any reason to.”

The physics department had a comprehensive collection of Lunar rock samples, a sizeable proportion of which comprised specimens from the interiors and vicinities of the young, anomalous craters on Nearside. Under Hunt’s persistent coercion, Steinfleld agreed to conduct a specially devised series of tests on them. He estimated that he would need a month to complete the work.

Hunt returned to Houston to catch up on developments there and a month later flew back to Omaha. Steinfield’s experiments had resulted in a series of computer-generated maps showing anomalous Nearside craters. The craters divided themselves into two classes on the maps: those with characteristic irradiation patterns and those without.

“And another thing,” Steinfield informed him. “The first class, those that show the pattern, have also got another thing in common that the second class hasn’t got: glasses from the centers were formed by a different process. So now we’ve got anomalous anomalies on Nearside, too!”

Hunt spent a week in Omaha and then went directly to Washington to talk to a group of government scientists and to study the archives of a department that had ceased to exist more than fifteen years before. He then returned to Omaha once again and showed his findings to Steinfleld. Steinfield persuaded the university authorities to allow selected samples from their collection to be loaned to the UNSA Mineralogy and Petrology Laboratories in Pasadena, California, for further testing of an extremely specialized nature, suitable equipment for which existed at only a few establishments in the world.

As a direct consequence of these tests, Caldwell authorized the issue of a top-priority directive to the UNSA bases at Tycho, Crisium, and some other Lunar locations, to conduct specific surveys in the areas of certain selected craters. A month after that, the first samples began arriving at Houston and were forwarded immediately to Pasadena; so were the large numbers of samples collected from deep below the surface of Farside.

The outcome of all this activity was summarized in a memorandum stamped “SECRET” and written on the anniversary of Hunt’s first arrival in Houston.

9 September 2028

TO: G. Caldwell

Executive Director

Navigation and Communications

Division

FROM: Dr. V. Hunt

Section Head

Special Assignment Group L

ANOMALIES OF LUNAR CRATERING

(1) Hemispheric Anomalies

For many years, radical differences have been known to exist between the nature and origins of Lunar Nearside and Farside surface features.

(a) Nearside

Original Lunar surface from 4 billion years ago. Nearly all surface cratering caused by explosive release of kinetic energy by meteorite impacts. Some younger-e.g., Copernicus, 850 million years old.

(b) Farside

Surface comprises large mass of recently added material to average depth circa 300 meters. Craters formed during final phase of this bombardment. Dating of these events coincides with Lunarian presence. Origin of bombardment uncertain.

(2) Nearside Exceptions

Known for approx. the last thirty years that some Nearside craters date from same period as those on Farside. Current theory ascribes them to overshoots from Farside bombardment.

(3) Conclusion From Recent Research at Omaha and Pasadena

All Nearside exceptions previously attributed to meteoritic impacts. This belief now considered incorrect. Two classes of exceptions now distinguished:

(a) Class I Exceptions

Confirmed as meteoritic impacts occurring 50,000 years ago.

(b) Class II Exceptions Differing from Class I in irradiation history, formation of glasses, absence of impact corroboration and positive results to tests for elements hyperium, bonnevilliuin, genevium. Example: Crater Lunar Catalogue reference MB 3076/K2/E currently classed as meteoritic. Classification erroneous. Crater MB 3076/K2/E was made by a nucleonic bomb. Other cases confirmed. Investigations continuing.

(4) Farside Subsurface

Intensive sampling from depths approximating that of the original crust indicate widespread nucleonic detonations prior to meteorite bombardment. Thermonuclear and fission reactions also suspected but impossible to confirm.

(5) Implications

(a) Sophisticated weapons used on Luna at or near time of Lunarian presence, mainly on Farside. Lunarian involvement implied but not proved.

(b) If Lunarians involved, possibility of more widespread conflict embracing Lunarian home planet. Possible cause of Lunarian extinction.

(c) Charlie was a member of more than a small, isolated expedition to our Moon. A significant Lunarian presence on the Moon is indicated. Mainly concentrated on Farside. Practically all traces since obliterated by meteorite storm.

Chapter Twelve

Front page feature of the New York Times,

14 October 2028:

LUNARIAN PLANET LOCATED

Did Nuclear War Destroy Minerva?

Sensational new announcements by UN Space Arm Headquarters, Washington, D.C., at last positively identify the home planet of the Lunarian civilization, known to have achieved space flight and reached Earth’s Moon fifty thousand years ago. Information pieced together during more than a year of intense work by teams of scientists based at the UNSA Navigation and Communications Division Headquarters, Houston, Texas, shows conclusively that the Lunarians came from an Earth-like planet that once existed in our own Solar System.

A tenth planet, christened Minerva after the Roman goddess of wisdom, is now known to have existed approximately 250 million miles from the Sun between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, in the position now occupied by the Asteroid Belt, and is firmly established as having been the center of the Lunarian civilization.

In a further startling announcement, a UNSA spokesman stated that data collected recently at the Lunar bases, following research at the University of Nebraska, Omaha, and the UNSA Mineralogy and Petrology Laboratories, Pasadena, California, indicate that a large-scale nuclear conflict took place on the Moon at the time the Lunarians were there. The possibility that Minerva was destroyed in a full-scale nuclear holocaust of interplanetary dimensions cannot be ruled out.

Nucleonic Bombs Used at Crisium

Investigations in recent months at the University of Nebraska and Pasadena give positive evidence that nucleonic bombs have caused craters on the Moon previously attributed to meteorite impacts. H-bomb and A-bomb effects are also suspected but cannot be confirmed.

Dr. Saul Steinfield of the Department of Physics at the University of Nebraska explained: “For many years we have known that Lunar Farside craters are very much younger than most of the craters on Nearside. All the Farside craters, and a few of the Nearside ones, date from about the time of the Lunarians, and have always been thought to be meteoritic. Most of them, including all Farside ones, are. We have now proved, however, that some of the Nearside ones were made by bombs-for example, a few on the northern periphery of Mare Crisium and a couple near Tycho. So far, we’ve identified twenty-three positively and have a long list to check out.”

Further evidence collected from deep below the Farside surface indicates heavier bombing there than on Nearside. Obliteration of the original Farside surface by a heavy meteorite storm immediately after these events accounts for only meteorite craters being found there today and makes detailed reconstruction of exactly what took place unlikely. “The evidence for higher activity on Farside is mainly statistical,” said Steinfield yesterday. “There’s no way you could figure anything specific-for example, an actual crater count-under all that garbage.”

The new discoveries do not explain why the meteorite storm happened at this time. Professor Pierre Guillemont of the Hale Observatory commented: “Clearly, there could be a connection with the Lunarian presence. Personally, I would be surprised if the agreement in dates is just a coincidence, although that, of course, is possible. For the time being, it must remain an unanswered question.”

Clues from ILIAD Mission

Startling confirmation that Minerva disintegrated to form the Asteroid Belt has been received from space. Examination of Asteroid samples carried out on board the spacecraft Iliad, launched from Luna fifteen months ago to conduct a survey of parts of the Belt, shows many Asteroids to be of recent origin. Data beamed back to Mission Control Center at UNSA Operational Command Headquarters, Galveston, Texas, gives cosmic-ray exposure times and orbit statistics pinpointing Minerva’s disintegration at fifty thousand years ago.

Earth scientists are eagerly awaiting arrival of the first Asteroid material to be sent back from Iliad, which is due at Luna in six weeks time.

Lunarian Origin Mystery

Scientists do not agree that Lunarians necessarily originated on Minerva. Detailed physical examinations of “Charlie” (Times, 7 November 2027) shows Lunarian anatomy identical to that of humans and incapable of being the product of a separate evolutionary process, according to all accepted theory. Conversely, absence of traces of Lunarian history on Earth seems to rule out any possibility of terrestrial origins. This remains the main focus of controversy among the investigators.

In an exclusive interview, Dr. Victor Hunt, the British-born UNSA nucleonics expert coordinating Lunarian investigations from Houston, explained to a Times reporter: “We know quite a lot about Minerva now-its size, its mass, its climate, and how it rotated and orbited the Sun. Upstairs we’ve built a six-foot scale model of it that shows you every continent, ocean, river, mountain range, town, and city. Also, we know it supported an advanced civilization. We also know a lot about Charlie, including his place of birth, which is given on several of his personal documents as a town easily identified on Minerva. But that doesn’t prove very much. My deputy was born in Japan, but both his parents come from Brooklyn. So until we know a lot more than we do, we can’t even say for sure that the Minervan civilization and the Lunarian civilization were one and the same.

“It’s possible the Lunarians originated on Earth and either went to live on Minerva or made contact with another race who were there already. Maybe the Lunarians originated on Minerva. We just don’t know. Whichever alternative you choose, you’ve got problems.”

Alien Marine Life Traced to Minerva

Professor Christian Danchekker, an eminent biologist at Westwood Laboratories, Houston, and also involved in Lunarian research from the beginning, confirmed that the alien species of fish discovered among foodstocks in the ruin of a Lunarian base on Lunar Farside several months ago (Times, 6 July 2028) appear to have been a life form native to Minerva. Markings on the containers in which the fish were preserved show that they came from a well-defined group of equatorial islands on Minerva. According to Professor Danchekker: “There is no question whatsoever that this species evolved on a planet other than Earth. It seems clear that the fish belong to an evolutionary line that developed on Minerva, and they were caught there by members of a group of colonists from Earth who established an extension of their civilization there.”

The professor described the suggestion that the Lunarians might also be natives of Minerva as “ludicrous.”

Despite a wealth of new information, therefore, much remains to be explained about recent events in the Solar System. Almost certainly, the next twelve months will see further exciting developments.

(See also the Special Supplement by our Science Editor on page 14.)

Chapter Thirteen

Captain Hew Mills, UN Space Arm, currently attached to the Solar System Exploration Program mission to the moons of Jupiter, stood gazing out of the transparent dome that surmounted the two-story Site Operations Control building. The building stood just clear of the ice, on a rocky knoll overlooking the untidy cluster of domes, vehicles, cabins, and storage tanks that went to make up the base he commanded. In the dim gray background around the base, indistinct shadows of rock buttresses and ice cliffs vanished and reappeared through the sullen, shifting vapors of the methane-ammonia haze. Despite his above-average psychological resilience and years of strict training, an involuntary shudder ran down his spine as he thought of the thin triple wall of the dome-all that separated him from this foreboding, poisonous, alien world, cold enough to freeze him as black as coal and as brittle as glass in seconds. Ganymede, largest of the moons of Jupiter, was, he thought, an awful place.

“Close-approach radars have locked on. Landing sequence is active. Estimated time to touchdown: three minutes, fifty seconds.” The voice of the duty controller at one of the consoles behind Mills interrupted his broodings.

“Very good, Lieutenant,” he acknowledged. “Do you have contact with Cameron?”

“There’s a channel open on screen three, sir.”

Mills moved around in front of the auxiliary console. The screen showed an empty chair and behind it an interior view of the low-level control room. He pressed the call button, and after a few seconds the face of Lieutenant Cameron moved into the viewing angle.

“The brass are due in three minutes,” Mills advised. “Everything okay?”

“Looking good, sir.”

Mills resumed his position by the wall of the dome and noted with satisfaction the three tracked vehicles lurching into line to take up their reception positions. Minutes ticked by.

“Sixty seconds,” the duty controller announced. “Descent profile normal. Should make visual contact any time now.”

A patch of fog above the landing pads in the central area of the base darkened and slowly materialized into the blurred outline of a medium-haul surface transporter, sliding out of the murk, balanced on its exhausts with its landing legs already fully extended. As the transporter came to rest on one of the pads and its shock absorbers flexed to dispose of the remaining momentum, the reception vehicles began moving forward. Mills nodded to himself and left the dome via the stairs that led down to ground level.

Ten minutes later, the first reception vehicle halted outside the Operations Control building and an extending tube telescoped out to dock with its airlock. Major Stanislow, Colonel Peters, and a handful of aides walked through into the outer access chamber, where they were met by Mills and a few other officers. Mutual introductions were concluded, and without further preliminaries the party ascended to the first floor and proceeded through an elevated walkway into the adjacent dome, constructed over the head of number-three shalt. A labyrinth of stairs and walkways brought them eventually to number-three high-level airlock anteroom. A capsule was waiting beyond the airlock. For the next four minutes they plummeted down, down, deep into the ice crust of Ganymede.

They emerged through another airlock into number-three low-level anteroom. The air vibrated with the humming and throbbing of unseen machines. Beyond the anteroom, a short corridor brought them at last to the low-level control room. It was a maze of consoles and equipment cubicles, attended by perhaps a dozen operators, all intent on their tasks. One of the longer walls, constructed completely from glass, gave a panoramic view down over the workings in progress outside the control room. Lieutenant Cameron joined them as they lined up by the glass to take in the spectacle beyond.

They were looking out over the floor of an enormous cathedral, over nine hundred feet long and a hundred feet high, hewn and melted out of the solid ice. Its rough-formed walls glistened white and gray in the glare of countless arc lights. The floor was a litter of steel-mesh roadways, cranes, gantries, girders, pipes, tubes, and machinery of every description. The left-side wall, stretching away to the far end of the tunnel, carried a lattice of ladders, scaffolding, walkways, and cabins that extended up to the roof. All over the scene, scores of figures in ungainly heavy-duty spacesuits bustled about in a frenzy of activity, working in an atmosphere of pressurized argon to eliminate any risk of explosion from methane and the other gases released from the melted ice. But all eyes were fixed on the right-hand wall of the tunnel.

For almost the entire length, a huge, sweeping wall of smooth, black metal reared up from the floor and curved up and over, out of sight above their heads to be lost below the roof of the cavern. It was immense-just a part of something vast and cylindrical, lying on its side, the whole of which must have stretched far down into the ice below floor level. At the near end, outside the control room, a massive, curving wing flared out of the cylinder and spanned the cavern above their heads like a bridge, before disappearing into the ice high on the far left. At intervals along the base of the wall, where metal and ice met, a series of holes six feet or so across marked the ends of the network of pilot tunnels that had been driven all around and over and under the object.

It was far larger than a Vega. How long it had lain there, entombed beneath the timeless ice sheets of Ganymede, nobody knew. But the computations of field-vector resultants collected from the satellites had been right; there certainly had been something big down here-and it hadn’t been just ore deposits.

“Ma-an,” breathed Stanislow, after staring for a long time. “So that’s it, huh?”

“That is big!” Peters added with a whistle. The aides echoed the sentiments dutifully.

Stanislow turned to Mills. “Ready for the big moment, then, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” Mills confirmed. He indicated a point about two hundred feet away where a group of figures was gathered close to the wall of the hull, surrounded by an assortment of equipment. Beside them a rectangular section of the skin about eight feet square had been cut away. “First entry point will be there- approximately amidships. The outer hull is double layered; both layers have been penetrated. Inside is an inner hull…” For the benefit of the visitors, he gestured toward a display positioned near the observation window showing the aperture in close-up.

“Preliminary drilling shows that it’s a single layer. The valves that you can see projecting from the inner hull were inserted to allow samples of the internal atmosphere to be taken before opening it up. Also, the cavity behind the access point has been argon-flooded.”

Mills turned to Cameron before going on to describe further details of the operation. “Lieutenant, carry out a final check of communications links, please.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Cameron walked back to the supervisory console at the end of the room and scanned the array of screens.

“Ice Hole to Subway. Come in, please.”

The face of Commander Stracey, directing activities out near the hull, moved into view, encased in its helmet. “All checks completed and go,” he reported. “Standing by, ready to proceed.”

“Ice Hole to Pithead. Report transmission quality.”

“All clear, vision and audio,” responded the duty controller from the dome far above them.

“Ice Hole to Ganymede Main.” Cameron addressed screen three, which showed Foster at Main Base, situated seven hundred miles away to the south.

“Clear.”

“Ice Hole to Jupiter Four. Report, please.”

“All channels clear and checking positive.” The last acknowledgment came from the deputy mission director on screen four, speaking from his nerve center in the heart of the mile-long Jupiter Mission Four command ship, at that moment orbiting over two thousand miles up over Ganymede.

“All channels positive and ready to proceed, sir,” Cameron called to Mills.

“Carry on, then, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Cameron passed the order to Stracey, and out by the hull the ponderous figures lumbered into action, swinging forward a rockdrill supported from an overhead gantry. The group by the window watched in silence as the bit chewed relentlessly into the inner wall. Eventually the drill was swung back.

“Initial penetration complete,” Stracey’s voice informed them. “Nothing visible inside.”

An hour later, a pattern of holes adorned the exposed expanse of metal. When lights were shone through and a TV probe inserted, the screen showed snatches of a large compartment crammed with ducts and machinery. Shortly afterward, Stracey’s team began cutting out the panel with torches. Mills invited Peters and Stanislow to come and observe the operations first-hand. The trio left the control room, descended to the lower floor, and a few minutes later emerged, clad in spacesuits, through the airlock onto the tunnel floor. As they arrived at the aperture, the rectangle of metal was just being swung aside.

The spotlights confirmed the general impression obtained via the drill holes. When preliminary visual examinations were completed, two sergeants who had been standing by stepped forward. Communications lines were plugged into their backpacks and they were handed TV cameras trailing cables, flashlights, and a pouch of tools and accessories. At the same time, other members of the team were smoothing over the jagged edges of the hole with pads of adhesive plastic to prevent tearing of the lines. An extending aluminum ladder was lowered into the hole and secured. The first sergeant to enter turned about on the edge of the hole, carefully located the top rung with his feet, and inch by inch disappeared down into the chamber. When he had found a firm footing, the second followed.

For twenty minutes they clambered through the mechanical jungle, twisting and turning among the chaotic shadows cast by the lights pouring in through the hole above. Progress was slow; they had difficulty finding level surfaces to move on, since the ship appeared to be lying on its side. But foot by foot, the lines continued to snake sporadically down into the darkness. Eventually the sergeants stopped before the noseward bulkhead of the compartment. The screens outside showed their way barred by a door leading through to whatever lay forward; it was made of a steely-gray metal and looked solid. It was also about ten feet high by four wide. A long conference produced the decision that there was no alternative but for them to return to where the hole had been cut to collect drills, torches, and all the other gadgetry needed to go through the whole drilling, purging, argon-filling, and cutting routine all over again. From the look of the door, it could be a long job. Mills, Stanislow, and Peters went back to the control room, collected the remainder of their party, and went to the surface installations for lunch. They returned three hours later.

Behind the bulkhead was another machinery compartment, as confusing as the first but larger. This one had many doors leading from it-all closed. The two sergeants selected one at random in the ceiling above their heads, and while they were cutting through it, others descended into the first and second compartments to position rollers for minimizing the drag of their trailing cables, which was beginning to slow them down appreciably. When the door was cut, a second team relieved the first.

They used another ladder to climb up through the door and found themselves standing on what was supposed to be the wall of a long corridor running toward the nose of the ship. A succession of closed doors, beneath their feet and over their heads, passed across the screens outside. Over two hundred feet of cabling had disappeared into the original entry point.

“We’re just passing the fifth bulkhead since entering the corridor,” the commentary on the audio channel informed the observers. “The walls are smooth, and appear to be metallic, but covered with a plastic material. It’s coming away in most places. The floor up one side is black and looks rubbery. There are lots of doors in both walls, all big like the first one. Some have…”

“Just a second, Joe,” the voice of the speaker’s companion broke in. “Swing the big light down here… by your feet. See, the door you’re standing on slides to the side. It’s not closed all the way.”

The screens showed a pair of standard-issue heavy-duty UNSA boots, standing on a metal panel in the middle of a pool of light. The boots shuffled to one side to reveal a black gap, about twelve inches wide, running down one side of the panel. They then stepped off the panel and onto the surrounding area as their owner evidently inspected the situation.

“You’re right,” Joe’s voice announced at last. “Let’s see if it’ll budge.”

There then followed a jumbled sequence of arms, legs, walls, ceilings, lightness, and darkness as TV cameras and lamps exchanged hands and were waved about. When a stable picture resulted, it showed two heavily clad arms braced across the gap.

Eventually:

“No dice. Stuck solid.”

“How about the jack?”

“Yeah, maybe. Pass it down, willya?”

A long dialogue followed during which the jack was maneuvered into place and expanded. It slipped off. Muttered curses. Another try. And then:

“It’s moving! Come on, baby…-let’s have a bit more light I think it’ll go easy now…- See if you can get a foot against it…”

On the monitors the gray slab graunched gradually out of the picture. A black, bottomless pit fell away beneath.

“The door is about two-thirds open,” a breathless voice resumed. “It’s gummed up there and won’t go any further. We’re gonna have a quick looksee around from up here, then we’ll have to come back to get another ladder. Can somebody have one ready at the door that leads up into this corridor?”

The camera closed in on the pitch-black oblong. A few seconds later a circle of light appeared in the scene, picking out part of the far wall. The light began moving around inside and the camera followed. Banks of what appeared to be electronic equipment… corners of cubicles… legs of furniture… sections of bulkhead… moved through the circle.

“There’s a lot of loose junk down at that end… Move the light around a bit…” Several colored cylinders in a heap, about the size of jelly jars… something like a braided belt, lying in a tangle… a small gray box with buttons on one face…

“What was that? Go over a bit, Jerry… No, a bit more to the left.”

Something white. A bar of white.

“Jeez! Look at that! Jerry, will you look at that?”

The skull, grinning up out of the pool of eerie white light, startled even the watchers out in the tunnel. But it was the size of the skeleton that stunned them; no man had ever boasted a chest that compared with those massive hoops of bone. But besides that, even the most inexpert among the observers could see that whatever the occupants of this craft had been, they bore no resemblance to man.

The stream of data taken in by the cameras flashed back to preprocessors in the low-level control room, and from there via cable to the surface of Ganymede. After encoding by the computers in the Site Operations Control building, it was relayed by microwave repeaters seven hundred miles to Ganymede Main Base, restored to full strength, and redirected up to the orbiting command ship. Here, the message was fed into the message exchange and scheduling processor complex, transformed into high-power laser modulations, and slotted into the main outgoing signal beam to Earth. For over an hour the data streaked across the Solar System, covering 186,000 miles every second, until the sensors of the long-range relay beacon, standing in Solar orbit not many million miles outside that of Mars, fished it out of the void, a microscopic fraction of its original power. Retransmission from here found the Deep Space Link Station, lodged in Trojan equilibrium with Earth and Luna, and eventually a synchronous communications satellite hanging high over the central USA, which beamed it down to a ground station near San Antonio. A landline network completed the journey to UNSA Mission Control, Galveston, where the information was greedily consumed by the computers of Operational Command Headquarters.

The Jupiter Four command ship had taken eleven months to reach the giant planet. Within four hours of the event, the latest information to be gathered by the mission was safely lodged in the data banks of UN Space Arm.

Chapter Fourteen

The discovery of the giant spaceship, frozen under the ice field of Ganymede, was a sensation but, in a sense, not something totally unexpected. The scientific world had more or less accepted as fact that an advanced civilization had once flourished on Minerva; indeed, if the arguments of the orthodox evolutionists were accepted, at least two planets-Minerva and Earth-had supported high-technology civilizations to some extent at about the same time. It did not come as a complete surprise, therefore, that man’s persistent nosing around the Solar System should uncover more evidence of its earlier inhabitants. What did surprise everybody was the obvious anatomical difference between the Ganymeans-as the beings on board the ship soon came to be called-and the common form shared by the Lunarians and mankind.

To the still unresolved question of whether the Lunarians and the Minervans had been one and the same or not, there was immediately added the further riddle: Where had the Ganymeans come from, and had they any connection with either? One bemused UNSA scientist summed up the situation by declaring that it was about time UNSA established an Alien Civilizations Division to sort out the whole damn mess!

The pro-Danchekker faction quickly interpreted the new development as full vindication of evolutionary theory and of the arguments they had been promoting all along. Clearly, two planets in the Solar System had evolved intelligent life at around the same period in the past; the Ganymeans had evolved on Minerva and the Lunarians had evolved on Earth. They came independently from different lines and that was why they were different. Lunarian pioneers made contact with the Ganymeans and settled on Minerva-that was how Charlie had come to be born there. Extreme hostilities broke out between the two civilizations at some point, resulting in the extinction of both and the destruction of Minerva. The reasoning was consistent, plausible, and convincing. Against it, the single objection-that no evidence of any Lunarian civilization on Earth had ever been detected-began to look more lonely and more feeble every day. Deserters left the can’t-be-of-Earth-origin camp in droves to join Danchekker’s growing legions. Such was his gain in prestige and credibility that it seemed perfectly natural for his department to assume responsibility for conducting the preliminary evaluation of the data coming in from Jupiter.

Despite his earlier skepticism, Hunt too found the case compelling. He and a large part of Group L’s staff spent much time searching every available archive and record from such fields as archeology and paleontology for any reference that could be a pointer to the one-time existence of an advanced race on Earth. They even delved into the realms of ancient mythology and combed various pseudoscientific writings to see if anything could be extracted that was capable of substantiation, that suggested the works of superbeings in the past. But always the results were negative.

While all this was going on, things began to happen in an area where progress had all but ground to a halt for many months. Linguistics had run into trouble: The meager contents of the documents found about Charlie’s person simply had not contained enough information to make great inroads into deciphering a whole new, alien language. Of the two small books, one-that containing the maps and tables and resembling a handy pocket reference-together with the loose documents, had been translated in parts and had yielded most of the fundamental data about Minerva and quite a lot about Charlie. The second book contained a series of dated entries in handwritten script, but despite repeated attempts, it had obstinately defied decoding.

This situation changed dramatically some weeks after the opening up of the underground remains of the devastated Lunarian base on Lunar Farside. Among the pieces of equipment included in that find had been a metal drum, containing a series of glass plates, rather like the magazines of some slide projectors. Closer examination of the plates revealed them to be simple projection slides, each holding a closely packed matrix of nilcrodot images which, under a microscope, were seen to be pages of printed text. Constructing a system of lamps and lenses to project them onto a screen was straightforward, and in one fell swoop Linguistics became the owners of a miniature Lunarian library. Results followed in months.

Don Maddson, head of the Linguistics section, rummaged through the litter of papers and files that swamped the large table standing along the left-hand wall of his office, selected a loosely clipped wad of typed notes, and returned to the chair behind his desk.

“There’s a set of these on its way up to you,” he said to Hunt, who was sitting in the chair opposite. “I’ll leave you to read the details for yourself later. For now, I’ll just sum up the general picture.”

“Fine,” Hunt said. “Fire away.”

“Well, for a start, we know a bit more about Charlie. One of the documents found in a pouch on the backpack appears to be something like army pay records. It gives an abbreviated history of some of the things he did and a list of the places he was posted to-that kind of thing.”

“Army? Was he in the army, then?”

Maddson shook his head. “Not exactly. From what we can gather, they didn’t differentiate much between civilian and military personnel in terms of how their society was structured. It’s more like everybody belonged to different branches of the same big organization.”

“A sort of last word in totalitarianism?”

“Yeah, that’s about it. The State ran just about everything; it dominated every walk of life and imposed a rigid discipline everywhere. You went where you were sent and did what you were told to do; in most cases, that meant into industry, agriculture, or the military forces. Whatever you did, the State was your boss anyway… that’s what I meant when I said they were all different branches of the same big organization.”

“Okay. Now, about the pay records?”

“Charlie was born on Minerva, we know that. So were his parents. His father was some kind of machine operator; his mother worked in industry, too, but we can’t make out the exact occupation. The records also tell us where he went to school, for how long, where he took his military training-everybody seemed to go through some kind of military training-and where he learned about electronics. It tells us all the dates, too.”

“So he was something like an electronics engineer, was he?” Hunt asked.

“Sort of. More of a maintenance engineer than a design or development engineer. He seems to have specialized in military equipment-there’s a long list of postings to combat units. The last one is interesting-” Maddson selected a sheet and passed it across to Hunt. “That’s a translation of the last page of postings. The final entry gives the name of a place and, alongside it, a description which, when translated literally, means ‘off-planet.’ That’s probably the Lunarian name for whatever part of our Moon he was sent to.”

“Interesting,” Hunt agreed. “You’ve found out quite a lot more about him.”

“Yep, we’ve got him pretty well taped. If you convert their dates into our units, he was about thirty-two years old at the date of his last posting. Anyhow, that’s all really incidental; you can read the details. I was going to run over the picture we’re getting of the kind of world he was born into.” Maddson paused to consult his notes again. Then he resumed: “Minerva was a dying world. At the time we’re talking about, the last cold period of the Ice Age was approaching its peak. I’m told that ice ages are Solar System-wide phenomena; Minerva was a lot farther from the Sun than here, so as you can imagine, things were pretty bleak there.”

“You’ve only got to look at the size of those ice caps,” Hunt commented.

“Yes, exactly. And it was getting worse. The Lunarian scientists figured they had less than a hundred years to go before the ice sheets met and blanketed the whole planet completely. Now, as you’d expect, they had studied astronomy for centuries-centuries before Charlie’s time, that is-and they’d known for a long time that things were going to get worse before they got better. So, they’d reached the conclusion, way back, that the only way out was to escape to another world. The problem, of course, was that for generations after they got the idea, nobody knew anything about how to do something about it. The answer had to lie somewhere along the line of better science and better technology. It became kind of a racial goal-the one thing that mattered, that generation after generation worked toward-the development of the sciences that would get them to places they knew existed, before the ice wiped out the whole race.”

Maddson pointed to another pile of papers on the corner of his desk. “This was the prime objective that the State was set up to achieve, and because the stakes were so high, everything was subordinated to that objective. Hence, from birth to death the individual was subordinated to the needs of the State. It was implied in everything they wrote and drummed into them from the time they were knee-high. Those papers are a translation of a kind of catechism they had to memorize at school; it reads like Nazi stuff from the nineteen thirties.” He stopped at that point and looked at Hunt expectantly.

Hunt looked puzzled. After a moment he said, “This doesn’t quite make sense. I mean-how could they be striving to develop space flight if they were colonists from Earth? They must have already developed it.”

Maddson gave an approving nod. “Thought you might say that.”

“But… it’s bloody silly.”

“I know. It implies they must have evolved on Minerva from scratch-unless they came from Earth, forgot everything they knew, and had to learn it all over. But that also sounds crazy to me.”

“Me, too.” Hunt thought for a long time. At last he shook his head with a sigh. “Doesn’t make sense. Anyhow, what else is there?”

“Well, we’ve got the general picture of a totally authoritarian State, demanding unquestioning obedience from the individual and controlling just about everything that moves. Everything needs a license; there are travel licenses, off-work licenses, sick-ration licenses-even procreation licenses. Everything is in short supply and rationed by permits-food, every kind of commodity, fuel, light, accommodation-you name it. And to keep everybody in line, the State operates a propaganda machine like you never dreamed of. To make things worse, the whole planet was desperately short of every kind of mineral. That slowed them down a lot. Despite their concentrated effort, their rate of technological progress was probably not as fast as you’d think. Maybe a hundred years didn’t give them as long as it sounds.” Maddson turned some sheets, scanned the next one briefly, and then went on. “To make matters worse still, they also had a big political problem.”

“Go on.”

“Now, we’re assuming that as their civilization developed, it followed similar lines to ours-first tribes, then villages, towns, nations, and so on. Seems reasonable. So, somewhere along the way they started discovering the different sciences, same as we did. As you’d expect, the same ideas started occurring to different people in different places at around the same time-like, we’ve gotta get outa this place. As these ideas became accepted, the Lunarians seem to have figured also that there just weren’t sufficient resources for more than a few lucky ones to make it. No way were they going to get a whole planet full of people out.”

“So they fought about it,” Hunt offered.

“That’s right. The way I picture it, lots of nations grew up, all racing each other, as well as the ice, to get the technological edge. Every other one was a rival, so they fought it out. Another thing that made them fight was the mineral shortage, especially the shortage of metallic ores.” Maddson pointed at a map of Minerva mounted above the table. “See those dots on the ice sheets? Most of them were a combination of fortress and mining town. They dug right down through the ice to get at the deposits, and the army was there to make sure they kept the stuff.”

“And that was the way life was. Mean people, eh?”

“Yeah, for generation after generation.” Maddson shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe if we were freezing over fast, we’d be forced in the same direction. Anyhow, the situation had complications. They had the problem of having to divide their efforts and resources between two different demands all the time: first, developing a technology that would support mass interplanetary travel and, second, armaments and the defense organization to protect it-and there weren’t a lot of resources to divide in the first place. Now, how would you solve a problem like that?”

Hunt pondered for a while. “Cooperate?” he tried.

“Forget it. They didn’t think that way.”

“Only one other strategy possible, then: Wipe out the opposition first and then concentrate everything on the main objective.”

Maddson nodded solidly. “That is exactly what they did. War, or near war, was pretty well a natural way of life all through their history. Gradually the smaller fish were eliminated until, by the time we get to Charlie, there are only two superpowers left, each dominating one of the two big equatorial continental land masses…” He pointed at the map again. “… Cerios and Lambia. From various references, we know Charlie was a Cerian.”

“All set for the big showdown, then.”

“Check. The whole planet was one big fortress-factory. Every inch of surface was covered by hostile missiles; the sky was full of orbiting bombs that could be dropped anywhere. We get the impression that relative to the pattern of our own civilization, their armaments programs had taken a bigger share than space research and had progressed faster.” Maddson shrugged again. “The rest you can guess.”

Hunt nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “It all fits,” he mused. “It must have been a huge con, though. I mean, even from whichever side won, only a handful would have been able to get away in the end; I suppose they’d have been the ruling clique and its minions. Christ! No wonder they needed good propaganda; they-“

Hunt stopped in midsentence and looked at Maddson with a curious expression. “Just a minute-there’s something else in all this that doesn’t add up.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “They had already developed interplanetary travel-how else did they get to our Moon?”

“We wondered that,” Maddson said. “The only thing we could think of was that maybe they’d already figured on making for Earth eventually-that had to be the obvious choice. Maybe they were capable of sending a scouting group to stake the place out, but didn’t have full-scale mass-transportation capacity yet. Probably they weren’t too far away from their goal when they blew it. Perhaps if they’d pooled their marbles at that point instead of starting a crazy war over it, things might have been different.”

“Sounds plausible,” Hunt agreed. “So Charlie could have been part of a reconnaissance mission sent on ahead, only the opposition had the same idea and they bumped into each other. Then they started blowing holes in our Moon. Disgraceful.”

A short silence ensued.

“There’s another thing I don’t get, either,” Hunt said, rubbing his chin.

“What’s that?”

“Well, the opposition-the Lambians. Everybody in Navcomms is going around saying that the war that clobbered Minerva was fought between colonists from Earth-that must be Charlie’s lot, the Cerians-and an alien race that belonged to Minerva-the Ganymeans, who, from what you said, would be the Lambians. We said a moment ago that this idea of the Cerians being from Earth doesn’t make sense, because if they had originated there, they wouldn’t be trying to develop space flight. We can’t be one hundred percent certain of that because something unusual could have happened, such as the colony being cut off for a few thousand years for some reason. But you can’t say that about the Lambians; they couldn’t have been neck-and-neck rivals trying to develop space flight.”

“They already had it, for sure,” Maddson completed for him. “We sure as hell found them on Ganymede.”

“Quite. And that ship was no beginner’s first attempt, either. You know, I’m beginning to think that whoever the Lambians were, they weren’t Ganymeans.”

“I think you’re right,” Maddson confirmed. “The Ganymeans were a totally different biological species. Wouldn’t you expect that if they were the opposition in Lambia, somehow it would show up in the Lunarian writings? But it doesn’t. Everything we’ve examined suggests that the Cerians and the Lambians were simply different nations of the same race. For example, we’ve found extracts from what appear to be Cerian newspapers, which included political cartoons showing Lambian figures; the figures are drawn as human forms. That wouldn’t be so if the Lambians looked anything like the Ganymeans must have looked.”

“So it appears the Ganymeans had nothing to do with the war,” Hunt concluded.

“Right.”

“So where do they fit in?”

Maddson showed his empty palms. “That’s the funny thing. They don’t seem to fit anywhere-at least, we haven’t even found anything that looks like a reference to them.”

“Maybe they’re just a big red herring, then. I mean, we’ve only supposed that they came from Minerva; nothing actually demonstrates that they did. Perhaps they never had anything to do with the place at all.”

“Could well be. But I can’t help feeling that…”

The chime on Maddson’s desk display console interrupted the discussion. He excused himself and touched a button to accept the call.

“Hi, Don,” said the face of Hunt’s assistant, upstairs in Group L’s offices. “Is Vic there?” He sounded excited. Maddson swiveled the unit around to point in Hunt’s direction.

“It’s for you,” he said needlessly.

“Vic,” said the face without preamble. “I’ve just had a look at the reports of the latest tests that came in from Jupiter Four two hours ago. That ship under the ice and the big guys inside it-they’ve completed the dating tests.” He drew a deep breath. “It looks like maybe we can forget the Ganymeans in all this Charlie business. Vic, if all the figures are right, that ship has been sitting there for something like twenty-five million years!”

Chapter Fifteen

Caldwell moved a step closer to inspect more carefully the nine-foot-high plastic model standing in the middle of one of the laboratories of the Westwood Biological Institute. Danchekker gave him plenty of time to take in the details before continuing.

“A full-size replica of a Ganymean skeleton,” he said. “Built on the strength of the data beamed back from Jupiter. The first indisputable form of intelligent alien life ever to be studied by man.” Caldwell looked up at the towering frame, pursed his lips in a silent whistle, and walked in a slow circle around and back to where the professor was standing. Hunt simply stood and swept his eyes up and down the full length of the model in wordless fascination.

“That structure is in no way related to that of any animal ever studied on Earth, living or extinct,” Danchekker informed them. He gestured toward it. “It is based on a bony internal skeleton, walks upright as a biped, and has a head on top-as you can see; but apart from such superficial similarities, it has clearly evolved from completely unfamiliar origins. Take the head as an obvious example. The arrangement of the skull cannot be reconciled in any way with that of known vertebrates. The face has not receded back into the lower skull, but remains a long, down-pointing snout that widens at the top to provide a broad spacing for the eyes and ears. Also, the back of the skull has enlarged to accommodate a developing brain, as in the case of man, but instead of assuming a rounded contour, it bulges back above the neck to counterbalance the protruding face and jaw. And look at the opening through the skull in the center of the forehead; I believe that this could have housed a sense organ that we do not possess-possibly an infrared detector inherited from a nocturnal, carnivorous ancestor.”

Hunt moved forward to stand next to Caldwell and peered intently at the shoulders. “These are unlike anything I’ve ever come across, too,” he commented. “They’re made up of… kind of overlapping plates of bone. Nothing like ours at all.”

“Quite,” Danchekker confirmed. “Probably adapted from the remains of ancestral armor. And the rest of the trunk is also quite alien. There is a dorsal spine with an arrangement of ribs below the shoulder plates, as you can see, but the lowermost rib-immediately above the body cavity-has developed into a massive hoop of bone with a diametral strut stretching forward from an enlarged spinal vertebra. Now, notice the two systems of smaller linked bones at the sides of the hoop…” He pointed them out. “They were probably used to assist with breathing by helping to expand the diaphragm. To me, they look suspiciously like the degenerate remnants of a paired-limb structure. In other words, although this creature, like us, had two arms and walked on two legs, somewhere in his earlier ancestry were animals with three pairs of appendages, not two. That in itself is enough to immediately rule out any kinship with every vertebrate of this planet.”

Caldwell stooped to examine the pelvis, which comprised just an arrangement of thick bars and struts to contain the thigh sockets. There was no suggestion of the splayed dish form of the lower human torso.

“Must’ve had peculiar guts, too,” he offered.

“It could be that the internal organs were carried more by suspension from the hoop above than by support from underneath,” Danchekker suggested. He stepped back and indicated the arms and legs. “And last, observe the limbs. Both lower limbs have two bones as do ours, but the upper arm and thigh are different-they have a double-bone arrangement as well. This would have resulted in vastly improved flexibility and the ability to perform a whole range of movements that could never be duplicated by a human being. And the hand has six digits, two of them opposing; thus its owner effectively enjoyed the advantages of having two thumbs. He would have been able to tie his shoes easily with one hand.”

Danchekker waited until Caldwell and Hunt had fully studied every detail of the skeleton to their satisfaction. When they looked toward him again, he resumed: “Ever since the age of the Ganymeans was verified, there has been a tendency for everybody to discount them as merely a coincidental discovery and having no direct bearing on the Lunarian question. I believe, gentlemen, that I am now in a position to demonstrate that they had a very real bearing indeed on the question.”

Hunt and Caldwell looked at him expectantly. Danchekker walked over to a display console by the wall of the lab, tapped in a code, and watched as the screen came to life to reveal a picture of the skeleton of a fish. Satisfied, he turned to face them.

“What do you notice about that?” he asked.

Caldwell stared obediently at the screen for a few seconds while Hunt watched in silence.

“It’s a funny fish,” Caldwell said at last. “Okay-you tell me.”

“It is not obvious at first sight,” Danchekker replied, “but by detailed comparison it is possible to relate the structure of that fish, bone for bone, to that of the Ganymean skeleton. They’re both from the same evolutionary line.”

“That fish is one of those that were found on the Lunarian base on Farside,” Hunt said suddenly.

“Precisely, Dr. Hunt. The fish dates from some fifty thousand years ago, and the Ganymean skeleton from twenty-five million or so. It is evident from anatomical considerations that they are related and come from lines that branched apart from a common ancestral life form somewhere in the very remote past. It follows that they share a place of origin. We already know that the fish evolved in the oceans of Minerva; therefore, the Ganymeans also came from Minerva. We thus have proof of something that has been merely speculation for some time. All that was wrong with the earlier assumption was our failure to appreciate the gap in time between the presence of the Ganymeans on Minerva, and that of the Lunarians.”

“Okay,” Caldwell accepted. “The Ganymeans came from Minerva, but a lot earlier than we thought. What’s the big message and why did you call us over here?”

“In itself, this conclusion is interesting but no more,” Danchekker answered. “But it looks pale by comparison with what comes next. In fact”-he shot a glance at Hunt-“the rest tells us all we need to know to resolve the whole question once and for all.”

The two regarded him intently.

The professor moistened his lips, then went on: “The Ganymean ship has been opened up fully, and we now have an extremely comprehensive inventory of practically everything it contained. The ship was constructed for large freight-carrying capacity and was loaded when it met with whatever fate befell it on Ganymede. The cargo that it was carrying, in my opinion, constitutes the most sensational discovery ever to be made in the history of paleontology and biology. You see, that ship was carrying, among other things, a large consignment of botanical and zoological specimens, some alive and in cages, the rest preserved in canisters. Presumably the stock was part of an ambitious scientific expedition or something of that nature, but that really doesn’t matter for now. What does matter is that we now have in our possession a collection of animal and plant trophies the like of which has never before been seen by human eyes: a comprehensive cross section of many forms of life that existed on Earth around the late Oligocene and early Miocene periods, twenty-five million years ago!”

Hunt and Caldwell stared at him incredulously. Danchekker folded his arms and waited.

“Earth!” Caldwell managed, with difficulty, to form the word. “Are you telling me that the ship had been to Earth?”

“I can see no alternative explanation,” Danchekker returned. “Without doubt, the ship was carrying a variety of animal forms that have every appearance of being identical to species that have been well-known for centuries as a result of the terrestrial fossil record. The biologists on the Jupiter Four Mission are quite positive of their conclusions, and from the information they have sent back, I see no reason to doubt their opinions.” Danchekker moved his hand back to the keyboard. “I will show you some examples of the kind of thing I mean,” he said.

The picture of the fish skeleton vanished and was replaced by one of a massive, hornless, rhinoceroslike creature. In the background stood an enormous opened canister from which the animal had presumably been removed. The canister was lying in front of what looked like a wall of ice, surrounded by cables, chains, and parts of a latticework built of metal struts.

“The Baluchitherium, gentlemen,” Danchekker informed them, “or something so like it that the difference escapes me. This animal stood eighteen feet high at the shoulder and attained a bulk in excess of that of the elephant. It is a good example of the titanotheres, or titanic beasts, that were abundant in the Americas during the Oligocene but which died out fairly rapidly soon afterward.”

“Are you saying that baby was alive when the ship ditched?” Caldwell asked in a tone of disbelief.

Danchekker shook his head. “Not this particular one. As you can see, it has come to us in practically as good a condition as when it was alive. It was taken from that container in the background, in which it had been packed and preserved to keep for a long time. Fortunately, whoever packed it was an expert. However, as I said earlier, there were cages and pens in the ship that originally held live specimens, but by the time they were discovered they had deteriorated to skeletons condition, as had the crew. There were six of this particular species in the pens.”

The professor changed the picture to show a small quadruped with spindly legs.

“Mesohippus-ancestor of the modern horse. About the size of a collie dog and walking on a three-toed foot with the center toe highly elongated, clearly foreshadowing the single-toed horse of today. There is a long list of other examples such as these, every one immediately recognizable to any student of early terrestrial life forms.”

Speechless, Hunt and Caldwell continued to watch as the view changed once more. This time it showed something that at first sight suggested a medium-sized ape from the gibbon or chimpanzee family. Closer examination, however, revealed differences that set it apart from the general category of ape. The skull construction was lighter, especially in the area of the lower jaw, where the chin had receded back to fall almost below the tip of the nose. The arms were proportionately somewhat on the short side for an ape, the chest broader and flatter, and the legs longer and straighter. Also, the opposability of the big toe had gone.

Dancbekker allowed plenty of time for these points to register before continuing with his commentary.

“Clearly, the creature you now see before you belongs to the general anthropoid line that includes both man and the great apes. Now, remember, this specimen dates from around the early Miocene period. The most advanced anthropoid fossil from around that time so far found on Earth was discovered during the last century in East Africa and is known as Proconsul. Proconsul is generally accepted as representing a step forward from anything that had gone before, but he is definitely an ape. Here, on the other hand, we have a creature from the same period in time, but with distinctly more pronounced humanlike characteristics than Proconsul. In my opinion, this is an example of something that occupies a position corresponding to that of Proconsul, but on the other side of the split that occurred when man and ape went their own separate ways-in other words, a direct ancestor to the human line!” Danchekker concluded with a verbal flourish and gazed at the other two men expectantly. Caldwell stared back with widening eyes, and his jaw dropped as impossible thoughts raced through his mind.

“Are you telling… that the Charlie guys could have… from that?”

“Yes!” Danchekker snapped off the screen and swung back to face them triumphantly. “Established evolutionary theory is as sound as I’ve insisted all along. The notion that the Lunarians might have been colonists from Earth turns out indeed to be true, but not in the sense that was intended. There are no traces of their civilization to be found on Earth, because it never existed on Earth-but neither was it the product of any parallel process of evolution. The Lunarian civilization developed independently on Minerva from the same ancestral stock as we did and all other terrestrial vertebrates-from ancestors that were transported to Minerva, twenty-five million years ago, by the Ganymeans!” Danchekker thrust out his jaw defiantly and clasped the lapels of his jacket. “And that, Dr. Hunt, would seem to be the solution to your problem!”

Chapter Sixteen

The trail behind this rapid succession of new developments was by this time littered with the abandoned carcases of dead ideas. It reminded the scientists forcibly of the pitfalls that await the unwary when speculation is given too free a rein and imagination is allowed to float further and further aloft from the firm grounds of demonstrable proof and scientific rigor. The reaction against this tendency took the form of a generally cooler reception to Danchekker’s attempted abrupt wrapping up of the whole issue than might have been expected. So many blind alleys had been exhausted by now, that any new suggestion met with instinctive skepticism and demands for corroboration.

The discovery of early terrestrial animals on the Ganymean spaceship proved only one thing conclusively: that there were early terrestrial animals on the Ganymean spaceship. It didn’t prove beyond doubt that other consignments had reached Minerva safely, or indeed, that this particular consignment was ever intended for Minerva. For one thing, Jupiter seemed a strange place to find a ship that had been bound for Minerva from Earth. All it proved, therefore, was that this consignment hadn’t got to wherever it was supposed to go.

Danchekker’s conclusions regarding the origins of the Ganymeans, however, were fully endorsed by a committee of experts on comparative anatomy in London, who confirmed the affinity between the Ganymean skeleton and the Minervan fish. The corollary to this deduction-that the Lunarians too had evolved on Minerva from displaced terrestrial stock-although neatly accounting for the absence of Lunarian traces on Earth and for the evident lack of advanced Lunarian space technology, required a lot more in the way of substantiating evidence.

In the meantime, Linguistics had been busy applying their newfound knowledge from the microdot library to the last unsolved riddle among Charlie’s papers, the notebook containing the handwritten entries. The story that emerged provided vivid confirmation of the broad picture already deduced in cold and objective terms by Hunt and Steinfield; it was an account of the last days of Charlie’s life. The revelations from the book lobbed yet another intellectual grenade in among the already disarrayed ranks of the investigators. But it was Hunt who finally pulled the pin.

Clasping a folder of loose papers beneath his arm, Hunt strolled along the main corridor of the thirteenth floor of the Navcomms Headquarters building, toward the Linguistics section. Outside Don Maddson’s office he stopped to examine with curiosity a sign bearing a string of two-inch-high Lunarian characters that had been pinned to the door. Shrugging and shaking his head, he entered the room. Inside, Maddson and one of his assistants were sitting in front of the perpetual pile of litter on the large side table away from the desk. Hunt pulled up a chair and joined them.

“You’ve been through the translations,” Maddson observed, noting the contents of the folder as Hunt began arranging them on the table.

Hunt nodded. “Very interesting, this. There are a few points I’d like to go over just to make sure I’ve got it straight. Some parts just don’t make sense.”

“We should’ve guessed,” Maddson sighed resignedly. “Okay, shoot.”

“Let’s work through the entries in sequence,” Hunt suggested. “I’ll stop when we get to the odd bits. By the way…” He inclined his head in the direction of the door. “What’s the funny sign outside?”

Maddson grinned proudly. “It’s my name in Lunarian. Literally it means Scholar Crazy-Boy. Get it? Don Mad-Son. See?”

“Oh, Christ,” Hunt groaned. He returned his attention to the papers.

“You’ve expressed the Lunarian-dated entries simply as consecutive numbers starting at Day One, but subdivisions of their day are converted into our hours.”

“Check,” Maddson confirmed. “Also, where there’s doubt about the accuracy of the translation, the phrase is put in parentheses with a question mark. That helps keep things simple.”

Hunt selected his first sheet. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s start at the beginning.” He read aloud:

“Day One. As expected, today we received full (mobilization alert?) orders. Probably means a posting somewhere. Koriel

“This is Charlie’s pal who turns up later, isn’t it?”

“Correct.”

“thinks it could be to one of the (ice nests far-intercept?).

“What’s that?”

“That’s an awkward one,” Maddson replied. “It’s a composite word; that’s the literal translation. We think it could refer to a missile battery forming part of an outer defense perimeter, located out on the ice sheets.”

“Mmm-sounds reasonable. Anyhow, Hope so. It would be a change to get away from the monotony of this place. Bigger food ration in (ice-field combat zones?). Now…” Hunt looked up. “He says, ‘the monotony of this place.’ How sure are we that we know where ‘this place’ is?”

“Pretty sure,” Maddson replied with a firm nod. “The name of a town is written above the date at the top of the entry. It checks with the name of a coastal town on Cerios and also with the place given in his pay book for his last posting but one.”

“So you’re sure he was on Minerva when he wrote this?”

“Sure, we’re sure.”

“Okay. I’ll skip the next bit that talks about personal thoughts.

“Day Two. Koriel’s hunches have proved wrong for once. We’re going to Luna.”

Hunt looked up again, evidently considering this part important. “How do you know he means Earth’s Moon there?”

“Well, one reason is that the word he uses there is the same as the last place the pay book says he was posted to. We guess it means Luna because that’s where we found him. Another reason is that later on, as you’ll have read, he talks about being sent specifically to a base called Seltar. Now, we’ve found a reference among some of the things turned up on Farside to a list of bases on place ‘X,’ and the name Seltar appears on the list. X is the same word that is written in the pay book and in the entry you’ve just read. Implication: X is a Lunarian name for Earth’s Moon.”

Hunt thought hard for a while.

“He arrived at Seltar, too, didn’t he?” he said at last. “So if he knew where he was being sent as early as that, and you’re certain he was being sent to the Moon, and he got where he was supposed to go… that rules out the other possibility that occurred to me. There’s no way he could have been scheduled for Luna but rerouted somewhere else at the last minute without the entry in the pay book being changed, is there?”

Maddson shook his head. “No way. Why’d you want to make up things like that anyhow?”

“Because I’m looking for ways to get around what comes later. It gets crazy.”

Maddson looked at Hunt curiously but suppressed his question. Hunt looked down at the papers again.

“Days Three and Four describe news reports of the fighting on Minerva. Obviously a large-scale conflict had already broken out there. It looks as if nuclear weapons were being used by then-that bit near the end of Day Four, for instance: It looks like the Lambians have succeeded in confusing the (sky nets?) over Paverol-That’s a Cerian town, isn’t it? Over half the city vaporized instantly. That doesn’t sound like a limited skirmish. What’s a sky net-some kind of electronic defense screen?”

“Probably,” Maddson agreed.

“Day Five he spent helping to load the ships. From the descriptions of the vehicles and equipment, it sounds as if they were embarking a large military force of some kind.” Hunt scanned rapidly down the next sheet. “Ah, yes-this is where he mentions Seltar. We’re going with the Fourteenth Brigade to join the Annihilator emplacement at Seltar. There’s something crazy about this Annihilator. But we’ll come back to that in a minute.

“Day Seven. Embarked four hours ago as scheduled. Still sitting here. Takeoff delayed, since whole area under heavy missile attack. Hills inland all on fire. Launching pits intact but situation overhead confused. Unneutralized Lambian satellites still covering our flight path.

“Later. Received clearance for takeoff suddenly, and the whole flight was away in minutes. Didn’t delay in planetary orbit at all-still not very healthy-so set course at once. Two ships reported lost on the way up. Koriel is taking bets on how many ships from our flight touch down on Luna. We’re flying inside a tight defense screen but must stand out clearly on Lambian search radars. There’s a bit about Koriel flirting with one of the girls from a signals unit-quite a character, this Koriel, wasn’t he…? More war news received en route… Now-this is the part I meant.” Hunt found the entry with his finger.

“Day Eight. In Lunar orbit at last!” He laid the sheet down on the table and looked from one linguist to the other. “‘In Lunar orbit at last.’ Now, you tell me: Exactly how did that ship travel from Minerva to our Moon in under two of our days? Either there is some form of propulsion that UNSA ought to be finding out about, or we’ve been very wrong about Lunarian technology all along. But it doesn’t fit. If they could do that, they didn’t have any problem about developing space flight; they were way ahead of us. But I don’t believe it-everything says they had a problem.”

Maddson made a show of helplessness. He knew it was crazy. Hunt looked inquiringly at Maddson’s assistant, who merely shrugged and pulled a face.

“You’re sure he means Lunar orbit-our Moon?”

“We’re sure.” Maddson was sure.

“And there’s no doubt about the date he shipped out?” Hunt persisted.

“The embarkation date is stamped in the pay book, and it checks with the date of the entry that says he shipped out. And don’t forget the wording on Day-where was it?-here, Day Seven. ‘Embarked four hours ago as scheduled’- See, ‘as scheduled.’ No suggestion of a change in timetable.”

“And how certain is the date he reached Luna?” asked Hunt.

“Well that’s a little more difficult. Just going by the dates of the notes, they’re one Lunarian day apart, all right. Now, it’s possible that he used a Minervan time scale on Minerva, but switched to some local system when he got to Luna. If so, it’s a big coincidence that they tally like they do, but”-he shrugged-“it’s possible. The thing that bothers me about that idea, though, is the absence of any entries between the ship-out date and the arrival-at-Luna date. Charlie seems to have written his diary regularly. If the voyage took months, like you’re saying it should have, it looks funny to me that there’s nothing at all between those dates. It’s not as if he’d have been short of free time.”

Hunt reflected for a few moments on these possibilities. Then he said, “There’s worse to come. Let’s press on for now.” He picked up the notes and resumed:

“Landed at last, five hours ago. (Expletive) what a mess! The landscape below as we came in on the (approach run?) was glowing red in places all around Seltar for miles. There were lakes of molten rock, bright orange, some with walls of rocks plunging straight into them where whole mountains have been blown away. The base is covered deep in dust, and some of the surface installations have been crushed by flying debris. The defenses are holding out, but the outer perimeter is (torn to shreds?). Most important-[unreadable] diameter dish of the Annihilator is intact and it is operational. The last group of ships in our flight was wiped out by an enemy strike coming in from deep space. Koriel has been collecting on all sides.”

Hunt laid the paper down and looked at Maddson. “Don,” he said, “how much have you been able to piece together about this Annihilator thing?”

“It was a kind of superweapon. There was more information in some of the other texts. Both sides had them, sited on Minerva itself and, from what you’re reading right now, on Luna too.” He added as an afterthought, “Maybe on other places as well.”

“Why on Luna? Any ideas?”

“Our guess is that the Cerians and the Lambians must have developed space-fight technology further than we thought,” Maddson said. “Perhaps both sides had selected Earth as their target destination for the big move, and they both sent advance parties to Luna to set up a bridgehead and… protect the investment.”

“Why not on Earth itself, then?”

“I dunno.”

“Let’s stick with it for now, anyway,” Hunt said. “How much do we know about what these Annihilators were?”

“From the description dish, apparently it was some kind of radiation projector. From other clues, they fired a high-energy photon beam probably produced by intense matter-antimatter reaction. If so, the term Annihilator is particularly apt; it carries a double meaning.”

“Okay.” Hunt nodded. “That’s what I thought. Now it goes silly.” He consulted his notes. “Day Nine they were getting organized and repairing battle damage. What about Day Ten, then, eh?” He resumed reading:

“Day Ten. Annihilator used for the first time today. Three fifteen-minute blasts aimed at Calvares, Paneris, and Sellidorn. Now, they’re all Lambian cities, right?

“So they have this Annihilator emplacement, sitting on our Moon, happily picking off cities on the surface of Minerva?”

“Looks like it,” Maddson agreed. He didn’t look very happy. “Well, I don’t believe it,” Hunt declared firmly. “I don’t believe they had the ability to register a weapon that accurately over that distance, and even if they could, I don’t believe they could have held the beam narrow enough not to have burned up the whole planet. And I don’t believe the power density at that range could have been high enough to do any damage at all.” He looked at Maddson imploringly. “Christ, if they had technology like that, they wouldn’t have been trying to perfect interplanetary travel-they’d have been all over the bloody Galaxy!”

Maddson gestured wide with his arms. “I just translate what the words tell me. You figure it out.”

“It goes completely daft in a minute,” Hunt warned. “Where was I, now…?”

He continued to read aloud, describing the duel that developed between the Cerian Annihilator at Seltar and the last surviving Lambian emplacement on Minerva. With a weapon firing from far out in space and commanding the whole Minervan surface, the Cerians held the key that would decide the war. Destroying it was obviously the first priority of the Lambian forces and the prime objective of their own Annihilator on Minerva. The Annihilators required about one hour to recharge between firings, and Charlie’s notes conveyed vividly the tension that built up in Seltar as they waited, knowing that an incoming blast could arrive at any second. All around Seltar the battle was building up to a frenzy as Lambian ground and space-borne forces hurled everything into knocking out Seltar before it could score on its distant target. The skill in operating the weapon lay in computing and compensating for the distortions induced in the aiming system by enemy electronic countermeasures. In one passage, Charlie detailed the effects of a near miss from Minerva that lasted for sixteen minutes, during which time it melted a range of mountains about fifteen miles from Seltar, including the Twenty-second and Nineteenth Armored Divisions and the Forty-fifth Tactical Missile Squadron that had been positioned there.

“This is it,” Hunt said, waving one of the sheets in the air. “Listen to this. We’ve got it! Four minutes ago we fired a concentrated burst at maximum power. The announcement has just come over the loudspeaker down here that it scored a direct hit. Everyone is laughing and clapping each other on the back. Some of the women are crying with relief. That,” said Hunt, slapping the papers down on the table and slumping back in his chair with exasperation, “is bloody ridiculous! Within four minutes of firing they had confirmation of a hit! How? How in God’s name could they have? We know that when Minerva and Earth were at their closest, the distance between them would have been one hundred fifty to one hundred sixty million miles. The radiation would have taken something like thirteen minutes to cover that distance, and there would have to be at least another thirteen minutes before anybody on Luna could possibly know about where it struck. So, even with the planets at their closest positions, they’d have needed at least twenty-six minutes to get that report. Charlie says they got it in under four! That is absolutely, one-hundred-percent impossible! Don, how sure are you of those numbers?”

“As sure as we are of any other Lunarian time units. If they’re wrong, you might as well tear up that calendar you started out with and go all the way back to square one.”

Hunt stared at the page for a long time, as if by sheer power of concentration he could change the message contained in the neatly formatted sheets of typescript. There was only one thing that these figures could mean, and it put them right back to the beginning. At length he carried on:

“The next bit tells how the whole Seltar area came under sustained bombardment. A detachment including Charlie and Koriel was sent out overland to man an emergency command post about eleven miles from Seltar Base… I’ll skip the details of that.

“Yes, here’s the next bit that worries me. Under Day Twelve: Set off on time in a small convoy of two scout cars and three tracked trucks. The journey was weird-miles of scorched rocks and glowing pits. We could feel the heat inside the truck. Hope the shielding was good. Our new home is a dome, and underneath it are levels going down about fifty feet. Army units dug in the hills all around. We have landline contact with Seltar, but they seem to have lost touch with Main HQ at Gorda. Probably means all long distance landlines are out and our comsats are destroyed. Again no broadcasts from Minerva. Lots of garbled military traffic. They must have assumed (frequency priority?). Today was the first time above surface for many days. The face of Minerva looks dirty and blotchy. There,” Hunt said. “When I first read that, I thought he was referring to a video transmission. But thinking about it, why would he say it that way in that context? Why right after ‘the first time above surface for many days’? But he couldn’t have seen any detail of Minerva from where he was, could he?”

“Could have used a pretty ordinary telescope,” Maddson’s assistant suggested.

“Could have, I suppose,” Hunt reflected. “But you’d think there’d be more important things to worry about than star gazing in the middle of all that. Anyhow, he goes on: About two-thirds is blotted out by huge clouds of brown and gray, and coastal outlines are visible only in places. There is a strange red spot glowing through, somewhere just north of the equator, with black spreading out from it hour by hour. Koriel reckons it’s a city on fire, but it must be a tremendous blaze to be visible through all that. We’ve been watching it move across all day as Minerva rotates. Huge explosions over the ridge where Seltar Base is.”

The narrative continued and confirmed that Seltar was totally destroyed as the fighting reached its climax. For two days the whole area was systematically pounded, but miraculously the underground parts of the dome remained intact, although the upper levels were blown away. Afterward the scattered survivors from the military units occupying the surrounding hills began straggling back, some in vehicles and many on foot, to the dome, which by this time was the only inhabitable place left for miles.

The expected waves of victorious Lambian troopships and armored columns failed to materialize. From the regular pattern of incoming salvos, the Cerian officers slowly realized that there was nothing left of the enemy army that had moved forward into the mountains around Seltar. In the fighting with the Cerian defenses, the Lambians had suffered immense losses and their survivors had pulled out, leaving missile batteries programmed to fire robot mode to cover their withdrawal.

On Day Fifteen, Charlie wrote: Two more red spots on Minerva, one northeast of the first and the other well south. The first has elongated from northwest to southeast. The whole surface is now just a snags of dirty brown with huge areas of black mixing in with it. Nothing at all on radio or video from Minerva; everything blotted out by atmospherics.

There was nothing further to be done at Seltar. The inhabitable parts of what had been the dome were packed with survivors and wounded; already many were having to live in the assortment of vehicles huddled around outside it. Supplies of food and oxygen, never intended for more than a small company, would give only a temporary respite. The only hope, slender as it was, lay in reaching HQ Base at Gorda overland-a journey estimated to require twenty days.

On Day Eighteen, the departure from the dome was recorded as follows: Formed up in two columns of vehicles. Ours moved out half an hour ahead of the second as a small advanced scouting group. We reached a ridge about three miles from the dome and could see the main column finish loading and begin lining up. That was when the missiles hit. The first salvo caught them all out in the open. They didn’t have a chance. We trained our receivers on the area for a while, but there was nothing. The only way we’ll ever get off this death furnace is if there are ships left at Gorda. As far as I know, there are 340 of us, including over a hundred girls. The column comprises five scout cars, eight tracked trucks, and ten heavy tanks. It will be a grim journey. Even Koriel isn’t taking bets on how many get there.

Minerva is just a black, smoky ball, difficult to pick out against the sky. Two of the red spots have joined up to form a line stretching at an angle across the equator. Must be hundreds of miles long. Another red line is growing to the north. Every now and then, parts of them glow orange through the smoke clouds for a few hours and then die down again. Must be a mess there.

The column moved slowly through the desert of scorched gray dust, and its numbers shrank rapidly as wounds and radiation sickness took their toll. On Day Twenty-six they encountered a Lambian ground force and for three hours fought furiously among the crags and boulders. The battle ended when the remaining Lambian tanks broke cover and charged straight into the Cerian position, only to be destroyed right on the perimeter line by Cerian women firing laser artillery at point-blank range. After the battle there were 165 Cerians left, but not enough vehicles to carry them.

After conferring, the Cerian officers devised a plan to continue the journey leapfrog fashion. Half the company would be moved half a day’s distance forward and left there with one truck to use as living accommodation, while the remaining vehicles returned to collect the group left behind. So it would go on all the way to Gorda. Charlie and Koriel were among the first group lifted on ahead.

Day Twenty-eight. Uneventful drive. Set up camp in a shady gorge and watched the convoy about-face again and begin its long haul back for the others. They should be back this time tomorrow. Nothing much to do until then. Two died on the drive, so there are fifty-eight of us here. We take turns to rest and eat inside the truck. When it’s not your turn, you make yourself as comfortable as you can sitting among the rocks. Koriel is furious. He’s just spent two hours sitting outside with four of the artillery girls. He says whoever designed spacesuits should have thought of situations like that.

The convoy never returned.

Using the single remaining truck, the group continued the same tactic as before, ferrying one party on ahead, dumping them, and returning for the rest. By Day Thirty-three, sickness, mishaps, and one suicide had depleted the numbers such that all the survivors could be carried in the truck at once, so the leapfrogging was discontinued. Driving steadily, they estimated they would reach Gorda on Day Thirty-eight. On Day Thirty-seven, the truck broke down. The spare parts needed to repair it were not available.

Many were weak. It was clear that an attempt to reach Gorda on foot would be so slow that nobody would make it.

Day Thirty-seven. Seven of us-four men (myself, Koriel, and two of the combat troopers) and three girls-are going to make a dash for Gorda while the others stay put in the truck and wait for a rescue party. Koriel is cooking a meal before we set out. He has been saying what he thinks of life in the infantry-doesn’t seem to think much of it at all.

Some hours after they left the truck, one of the troopers climbed a crag to survey the route ahead. He slipped, gashed his suit, and died instantly from explosive decompression. Later on, one of the girls hurt her leg and lagged farther and farther behind as the pain worsened. The Sun was sinking and there was no time for slowing down. Everybody in the group wrestled with the same equation in his mind-one life or twenty-eight?-but said nothing. She solved the problem for them by quietly closing her air valve when they stopped to rest.

Day Thirty-eight. Just Koriel and me now-like the old days.

The trooper suddenly doubled up, vomiting violently inside his helmet. We stood and watched while he died, and could do nothing. Some hours later, one of the girls collapsed and said she couldn’t go on. The other insisted on staying with her until we sent help from Gorda. Couldn’t really argue-they were sisters. That was some time ago. We’ve stopped for a breather; I am getting near my limit. Koriel is pacing up and down impatiently and wants to get moving. That man has the strength of twelve.

Later. Stopped at last for a couple of hours sleep. I’m sure Koriel is a robot-just keeps going and going. Human tank. Sun very low in sky. Must make Gorda before Lunar night sets in.

Day Thirty-nine. Woke up freezing cold. Had to turn suit heating up to maximum-still doesn’t feel right. Think it’s developing a fault. Koriel says I worry too much. Time to be on the move again. Feel stiff all over. Seriously wondering if I’ll make it. Haven’t said so.

Later. The march has been a nightmare. Kept falling down. Koriel insisted that the only chance we had was to climb up out of the valley we were in and try a shortcut over a high ridge. I made it about halfway up the cleft leading toward the ridge. Every step up the cleft I could see Minerva sitting right over the middle of the ridge, gashes of orange and red all over it, like a (macabre?) face, taunting. Then I collapsed. When I came to, Koriel had dragged me inside a pilot digging of some sort. Maybe someone wag going to put an outpost of Gorda here. That was a while ago now. Koriel has gone on and says help will be back before I know it. Getting colder all the time. Feet numb and hands stiff. Frost starting to form in helmet-difficult to see.

Thinking about all the people strung out back there with night coming down, all like me, wondering if they’ll be picked up. if we can hold out we’ll be all right. Koriel will make it. If it were a thousand miles to Gorda, Koriel would make it.

Thinking about what has happened on Minerva and wondering if, after all this, our children will live on a sunnier world-and if they do, if they will ever know what we did.

Thinking about things I’ve never really thought about before. There should be better ways for people to spend their lives than in factories, mines, and army camps. Can’t think what, though-that’s all we’ve ever known. But if there is warmth and color and light somewhere in this Universe, then maybe something worthwhile will come out of what we’ve been through.

Too much thinking for one day. Must sleep for a while now.

Hunt found he had read right through to the end, absorbed in the pathos of those final days. His voice had fallen to a sober pitch. A long silence ensued.

“Well, that’s it,” he concluded, a little more briskly. “Did you notice that bit right at the end? In the last few lines he was talking about seeing the surface of Minerva again. Now, they might have used telescopes earlier on, but in the situation he was in there, they’d hardly be lugging half an observatory along with them, would they?”

Maddson’s assistant looked thoughtful. “How about that periscope video gadget that was in the helmet?” he suggested. “Maybe there’s something wrong in the translation. Couldn’t he be talking about seeing a transmission through that?”

Hunt shook his head. “Can’t see it. I’ve heard of people watching TV in all sorts of funny places, but never halfway up a bloody mountain. And another thing: He described it as sitting up above the ridge. That implies it’s really out there. If it were a view on video, he’d never have worded it that way. Right, Don?”

Maddson nodded wearily. “Guess so,” he said. “So, where do we go from here?”

Hunt looked from Maddson to the assistant and back again. He leaned his elbows on the edge of the table and rubbed his face and eyeballs with his fingers. Then he sighed and sat back.

“What do we know for sure?” he asked at last. “We know that those Lunarian spaceships got to our Moon in under two days. We know that they could accurately aim a weapon, sited on our Moon, at a Minervan target. We also know that the round trip for electromagnetic waves was much shorter than it could possibly have been if we’ve been talking about the right place. Finally, we can’t prove but we think that Charlie could stand on our Moon and see quite clearly the surface features of Minerva. Well, what does that add up to?”

“There’s only one place in the Universe that fits all those numbers,” Maddson said numbly.

“Exactly-and we’re standing on it! Maybe there was a planet called Minerva outside Mars, and maybe it had a civilization on it. Maybe the Ganymeans took a few animals there and maybe they didn’t. But it doesn’t really matter any more, does it? Because the only planet Charlie’s ship could possibly have taken off from, and the only planet they could have aimed that Annihilator at, and the only planet he could have seen in detail from Luna-is this one!

“They were from Earth all along!

“Everyone will be jumping off the roof and out of every window in the building when this gets around Navcomms.”

Chapter Seventeen

With the first comprehensive translation of the handwritten notebook, the paradox was complete. Now there were two consistent and apparently irrefutable bodies of evidence, one proving that the Lunarians must have evolved on Earth, and the other proving that they couldn’t have.

All at once the consternation and disputes broke out afresh. Lights burned through the night at Houston and elsewhere as the same inevitable chains of reasoning were reeled out again and yet again, the same arrays of facts scrutinized for new possibilities or interpretations. But always the answers came out the same. Only the notion of the Lunarians having been the product of a parallel line of evolution appeared to have been abandoned permanently; more than enough theories were in circulation already without anyone having to invoke this one. The Navcomms fraternity disintegrated into a myriad of cliques and strays, scurrying about to ally first with this idea and then with that. As the turmoil subsided, the final lines of defense fortified themselves around four main camps.

The Pure Earthists accepted without reservation the deductions from Charlie’s diary, and held that the Lunarian civilization had developed on Earth, flourished on Earth, and destroyed itself on Earth and that was that. Thus, all references to Minerva and its alleged civilization were nonsense; there never had been any civilization on Minerva apart from that of the Ganymeans, and that was too far in the remote past to have any bearing on the Lunarian issue. The world depicted on Charlie’s maps was Earth, not Minerva, so there had to be a gross error somewhere in the calculations that put it at 250 million miles from the Sun. That this corresponded to the orbital radius of the Asteroids was just coincidence; the Asteroids had always been there, and anything from Iliad that said they hadn’t was suspect and needed double checking.

That left only one question unexplained: Why didn’t Charlie’s maps look like Earth? To answer this one, the Earthists launched a series of commando raids against the bastions of accepted geological theory and methods of geological dating. Drawing on the hypothesis that continents had been formed initially from a single granitic mass that had been shattered under the weight of immense ice caps and pushed apart by polar material rushing in to ifil the gaps, they pointed to the size of the ice caps shown on the maps and stressed how much larger they were than anything previously supposed to have existed on Earth. Now, if in fact the maps showed Earth and not Minerva, that meant that the Ice Age on Earth had been far more severe than previously thought, and its effects on surface geography correspondingly more violent. Add to this the effects of the crustal fractures and vulcanism as described in Charlie’s observations of Earth (not Minerva), and there was, perhaps, enough in all that to account for the transformation of Charlie’s Earth into modern Earth. So, why were there no traces to be found today of the Lunarian civilization? Answer: It was clear from the maps that most of it had been concentrated on the equatorial belt. Today that region was completely ocean, dense jungle, or drifting desert-adequate to explain the rapid erasure of whatever had been left after the war and the climatic cataclysm.

The Pure Earthist faction attracted mainly physicists and engineers, quite happy to leave the geologists and geographers to worry about the bothersome details. Their main concern was that the sacred principle of the constancy of the velocity of light should not be thrown into the melting pot of suspicion along with everything else.

By entrenching themselves around the idea of Earth origins, the Pure Earthists had moved into the positions previously defended fanatically by the biologists. Now that Danchekker had led the way by introducing his fleet of Ganymean Noah’s Arks, the biologists abruptly turned about-face and rallied behind their new assertion of Minervan origin from displaced terrestrial ancestors. What about Charlie’s Minerva-Luna flight time and the loop delay around the Annihilator fire-control system? Something was screwed up in the interpretation of Minervan time scales that accounted for both these. Okay, how could Charlie see Minerva from Luna? Video transmissions. Okay, how could they aim the Annihilator over that distance? They couldn’t. The dish at Seltar was only a remote-control tracking station. The weapon itself was mounted in a satellite orbiting Minerva.

The third flag flew over the Cutoff Colony Theory. According to this, an early terrestrial civilization had colonized Minerva, and then declined into a Dark Age during which contact with the colony was lost. The deteriorating conditions of the Ice Age later prompted a recovery on both planets, with the difference that Minerva faced a life-or-death situation and began the struggle to regain the lost knowledge in order that a return to Earth might be made. Earth, however, was going through lean times of its own and, when the advance parties from Minerva eventually made contact, didn’t react favorably to the idea of another planetful of mouths to feed. Diplomacy having failed, the Minervans set up an invasion beachhead on Luna. The Annihilator at Seltar had thus been firing at targets on Earth; the translators had been misled by identical place-names on both planets-like Boston, New York, Cambridge, and a hundred other places in the USA, many of the towns on Minerva had been named after places on Earth when the original colony was first established.

The defenders of these arguments drew heavily from the claims of the Pure Earthists to account for the absence of Lunarian relics on Earth. In addition, they produced further support from the unlikely domain of the study of fossil corals in the Pacific. It had been known for a long time that analysis of the daily growth rings of ancient fossil corals provided a measure of how many days there had been in the year at various times in the past, and from this how fast the forces of tidal friction were slowing down the rotation of the Earth about its axis. These researches showed, for example, that the year of 350 million years ago contained about four hundred days. Ten years previously, work conducted at the Darwin Institute of Oceanography in Australia, using more refined and more accurate techniques, had revealed that the continuity from ancient to modem had not been as smooth as supposed. There was a confused period in the recent past-at about fifty thousand years before-during which the curve was discontinuous, and a comparatively abrupt lengthening in the day had occurred. Furthermore, the rate of deceleration was measurably greater after this discontinuity than it had been before. Nobody knew why this should have happened, but it seemed to indicate a period of violent climatic upheaval, as the corals had taken generations to settle down to a stable growth pattern afterward. The data seemed to indicate that widespread changes had taken place on Earth around this mysterious point in time, probably accompanied by global flooding, and all in all there could be enough behind the story to explain the complete disappearance of any record of the Lunarians’ existence.

The fourth main theory was that of the Returning Exiles, which found these attempts to explain the disappearance of the terrestrial Lunarians artificial and inadequate. The basic tenet of this theory was that there could be only one satisfactory reason for the fact that there were no signs of Lunarians on Earth: There had never been any Lunarians on Earth worth talking about. Thus, they had evolved on Minerva as Danchekker maintained and had evolved an advanced civilization, unlike their contemporary brothers on Earth, who remained backward. Eventually, compelled by the Ice Age threat of extinction, the two superpowers of Cerios and Lambia had emerged and begun the race toward the Sun in the way described by Linguistics. Where Linguistics had gone wrong, however, was that by the time of Charlie’s narrative, these events were already historical; the goal was already achieved. The Lambians had drawn ahead by a small margin and had already commenced building settlements on Earth, several of them named after their own towns on Minerva. The Cerians followed hard on their heels and established a fire base on Luna, the objective of course being to knock out the Lambian outposts on Earth before moving in themselves.

This theory did not explain the flight time of Charlie’s ship, but its supporters attributed the difficulty to unknown differences between Minervan and local (Lunar) dating systems. On the other hand, it required only a few pilot Lambian bases to have been set up on Earth by the time of the war; thus, whatever remained of these after the Cerian assault, could credibly have vanished in fifty thousand years.

And as the battle lines were drawn up and the first ranging shots started whistling up and down the corridors of Navcomms, in no-man’s-land sat Hunt. Somehow, he was convinced, everybody was right. He knew the competence of the people around him and had no doubt in their ability to get their figures right. If, after weeks or months of patient effort, one of them pronounced that x was 2, then he was quite prepared to believe that, in all probability, it would turn out to be. Therefore, the paradox had to be an illusion. To try to argue which side was right and which was wrong was missing the whole point. Somewhere in the maze, probably so fundamental that nobody had even thought to question it, there had to be a fallacy-some wrong assumption that seemed so obvious they didn’t even realize they were making it. If they could just get back to fundamentals and identify that single fallacy, the paradox would vanish and everything that was being argued would slide smoothly into a consistent, unified whole.

Chapter Eighteen

“You want me to go to Jupiter?” Hunt repeated slowly, making sure he had heard correctly.

Caldwell stared back over his desk impassively. “The Jupiter Five Mission will depart from Luna in six weeks time,” he stated. “Danchekker has gone about as far as he can go with Charlie. What details are left to be found out can be taken care of by his staff at Westwood. He’s got better things he’d like to be doing on Ganymede. There’s a whole collection of alien skeletons there, plus a shipload of zoology from way back that nobody’s ever seen the like of before. It’s got him excited. He wants to get his hands on them. Jupiter Five is going right there, so he’s getting together a biological team to go with it.”

Hunt already knew all this. Nevertheless, he went through the motions of digesting the information and checking through it for any point he might have missed. After an appropriate pause he replied:

“That’s fine-I can see his angle. But what does it have to do with me?”

Caldwell frowned and drummed his fingers, as if he had been expecting this question to come, while hoping it wouldn’t.

“Consider this an extension of your assignment,” he said at last. “From all the arguing that’s going on around this place, nobody seems to be able to agree just how the Ganymeans fit into the Charlie business. Maybe they’re a big part of the answer, maybe they’re not. Nobody knows for sure.”

“True.” Hunt nodded.

Caldwell took this as all the confirmation he needed. “Okay,” he said with a gesture of finality. “You’ve done a good job so far on the Charlie side of the picture; maybe it’s time to balance things up a bit and give you a crack at the other side, too. Well”-he shrugged-“the information’s not here-it’s on Ganymede. In six weeks time, J Five shoves off for Ganymede. It makes sense to me that you go with it.”

Hunt’s brow remained creased in an expression that indicated he still didn’t quite see everything. He posed the obvious question. “What about the job here?”

“What about it? Basically you correlate information that comes from different places. The information will still keep coming from the places whether you’re in Houston or on board Jupiter Five. Your assistant is capable of stepping in and keeping the routine background research and cross-checking running smoothly in Group L. There’s no reason why you can’t continue to be kept updated on what’s going on if you’re out there. Anyhow, a change of scene never did anybody any harm. You’ve been on this job a year and a half now.”

“But we’re talking about a break of years, maybe.”

“Not necessarily. Jupiter Five is a later design than J Four; it will make Ganymede in under six months. Also, a number of ships are being ferried out with the Jupiter Five Mission to start building up a fleet that will be based out there. Once a reserve’s been established, there will be regular two-way traffic with Earth. In other words, once you’ve had enough of the place we’ll have no problem getting you back.”

Hunt reflected that nothing ever seemed to stay normal for very long when Caldwell was around. He felt no inclination to argue with this new directive. On the contrary, the prospect excited him. But there was something that didn’t quite add up in the reasons Caldwell was giving. Hunt had the same feeling he had experienced on previous occasions that there was an ulterior motive lurking beneath the surface somewhere. Still, that didn’t really matter. Caldwell seemed to have made up his mind, and Hunt knew from experience that when Caldwell made up his mind that something would be so, then by some uncanny power of preordination, so it would inevitably turn out to be.

Caldwell waited for possible objections. Seeing that none were forthcoming, he concluded: “When you joined us, I told you your place in UNSA was out front. That statement implied a promise. I always keep promises.”

For the next two weeks Hunt worked frantically, reorganizing the operation of Group L and making his own personal preparations for a prolonged absence from Earth. After that, he was sent to Galveston for two weeks.

By the third decade of the twenty-first century, commercial flight reservations to Luna could be made through any reputable travel agent, for seats either on regular UNSA ships or on chartered ships crewed by UNSA officers. The standards of comfort provided on passenger ifights were high, and accommodation at the larger Lunar bases was secure, enabling Lunar travel to become a routine chore in the lives of many businessmen and a memorable event for more than a few casual visitors, none of whom needed any specialized knowledge or training. Indeed, one enterprising consortium, comprised of a hotel chain, an international airline, a travel-tour operator, and an engineering corporation, had commenced the construction of a Lunar holiday resort, which was already fully booked for the opening season.

Places like Jupiter, however, were not yet open to the public. Persons detailed for assignments with the UNSA deep-space missions needed to know what they were doing and how to act in emergency situations. The ice sheets of Ganymede and the cauldron of Venus were no places for tourists.

At Galveston, Hunt learned about UNSA spacesuits and the standard items of ancillary equipment; he was taught the use of communication equipment, survival kits, emergency life support systems, and repair kits; he practiced test routines, radiolocation procedures, and equipment-fault diagnostic techniques. “Your life could depend on this little box,” one instructor told the group. “You could wind up in a situation where it fails and the only person inside a hundred miles to fix it is you.” Doctors lectured on the rudiments of space medicine and recommended methods of dealing with oxygen starvation, decompression, heat stroke, and hypothermia. Physiologists described the effects on bone calcium of long periods of reduced body weight, and showed how a correct balance could be maintained by a specially selected diet and drugs. UNSA officers gave useful hints that covered the whole gamut of staying alive and sane in alien environments, from navigating afoot on a hostile surface using satellite beacons as reference points, to the art of washing one’s face in zero gravity.

And so, just over four weeks after his directive from Caldwell, Hunt found himself fifty feet below ground level at pad twelve of number-two terminal complex twenty miles outside Houston, walking along one of the access ramps that connected the wall of the silo to the gleaming hull of the Vega. An hour later, the hydraulic ramps beneath the platform supporting the tail thrust the ship slowly upward and out, to stand clear on the roof of the structure. Within minutes the Vega was streaking into the darkening void above. It docked thirty minutes later, two and a half seconds behind schedule, with the half-mile-diameter transfer satellite Kepler.

On Kepler the passengers traveling on to Luna-including Hunt, three propulsion-systems experts keen to examine the suspected Ganymean gravity drives, four communications specialists, two structural engineers, and Danchekker’s team, all destined to join Jupiter Five-transferred to the ugly and ungainly Capella class moonship that would carry them for the remainder of the journey from Earth orbit to the Lunar surface. The voyage lasted thirty hours and was uneventful. After they had been in Lunar orbit for twenty minutes, the announcement came over the loudspeaker that the craft had been cleared for descent.

Shortly afterward, the unending procession of plains, mountains, crags, and hills that had been marching across the cabin display screen slowed to a halt and the view started growing perceptibly larger. Hunt recognized the twin ring-walled plains of Ptolemy and Albategnius, with its central conical mountain and Crater Klein interrupting its encircling wall, before the ship swung northward and these details were lost off the top of the steadily enlarging image. The picture stabilized, now centered upon the broken and crumbling mountain wall that separated Ptolemy from the southern edge of the Plain of Hipparchus. What had previously looked like smooth terrain resolved itself into a jumble of rugged cliffs and valleys, and in the center, glints of sunlight began to appear, reflected from the metal structures of the vast base below.

As the outlines of the surface installations materialized out of the gray background and expanded to fill the screen, a yellow glow in the center grew, gradually transforming into the gaping entrance to one of the underground moonship berths. There was a brief impression of tiers of access levels stretching down out of sight and huge service gantries swung back to admit the ship. Rows of brilliant arc lights flooded the scene before the exhaust from the braking motors blotted out the view. A mild jolt signaled that the landing legs had made contact with Lunar rock, and silence fell abruptly inside the ship as the engines were cut. Above the squat nose of the moonship, massive steel shutters rolled together to seal out the stars. As the berth filled with air, a new world of sound impinged on the ears of the ship’s occupants. Shortly afterward, the access ramps slid smoothly from the walls to connect the ship to the reception bays.

Thirty minutes after clearing arrival formalities, Hunt emerged from an elevator high atop one of the viewing domes that dominated the surface of Ptolemy Main Base. For a long time he gazed soberly at the harsh desolation in which man had carved this oasis of life. The streaky blue and white disk of Earth, hanging motionless above the horizon, suddenly brought home to him the remoteness of places like Houston, Reading, Cambridge, and the meaning of everything familiar, which until so recently he had taken for granted. In his wanderings he had never come to regard any particular place as home; unconsciously he had always accepted any part of the world to be as much home as any other. Now, all at once, he realized that he was away from home for the first time in his life.

As Hunt turned to take in more of the scene below, he saw that he was not alone. On the far side of the dome a lean, balding figure stood staring silently out over the wilderness, absorbed in thoughts of its own. Hunt hesitated for a long time. At last he moved slowly across to stand beside the figure. All around them the mile-wide clutter of silver-gray metallic geometry that made up the base sprawled amid a confusion of pipes, girders, pylons, and antennae. On towers above, the radars swept the skyline in endless circles, while the tall, praying-mantis-like laser transceivers stared unblinkingly at the heavens, carrying the ceaseless dialogues between the base computers and unseen communications satellites fifty miles up. In the distance beyond the base, the rugged bastions of Ptolemy’s mountain wall towered above the plain. From the blackness above them, a surface transporter was sliding toward the base on its landing approach.

Eventually Hunt said: “To think-a generation ago, all this was just desert.” It was more a thought voiced than a statement.

Danchekker did not answer for a long time. When he did, he kept his eyes fixed outside.

“But man dared to dream…” he murmured slowly. After a pause he added, “And what man dares to dream today, tomorrow he makes come true.”

Another long silence followed. Hunt took a cigarette from his case and lit it. “You know,” he said at last, blowing a stream of smoke slowly toward the glass wall of the dome, “it’s going to be a long voyage to Jupiter. We could get a drink down below-one for the road, as it were.”

Danchekker seemed to turn the suggestion over in his mind for a while. At length he shifted his gaze back within the confines of the dome and turned to face Hunt directly.

“I think not, Dr. Hunt,” he said quietly.

Hunt sighed and made as if to turn.

“However,…” The tone of Danchekker’s voice checked him before he moved. He looked up. “If your metabolism is capable of withstanding the unaccustomed shock of nonalcoholic beverages, a strong coffee might, ah, perhaps be extremely welcome.”

It was a joke. Danchekker had actually cracked a joke!

“I’ll try anything once,” Hunt said as they began walking toward the door of the elevator.

Chapter Nineteen

Embarkation on the orbiting Jupiter Five command ship was not scheduled to take place until a few days later. Danchekker would be busy making final arrangements for his team and their equipment to be ferried up from the Lunar surface. Hunt, not being involved in these undertakings, prepared an itinerary of places to visit during the free time he had available.

The first thing he did was fly to Tycho by surface transporter to observe the excavations still going on around the areas of some of the Lunarian finds, and to meet at last many of the people who up until then had existed only as faces on display screens. He also went to see the deep mining and boring operations in progress not far from Tycho, where engineers were attempting to penetrate to the core regions of the Moon. They believed that concentrations of rich metal-bearing ores might be found there. If this turned out to be so, within decades the Moon could become an enormous spaceship factory, where parts prefabricated in processing and forming plants on the surface would be ferried up for final assembly in Lunar orbit. The economic advantages of constructing deep-space craft here and from Lunar materials, without having to lift everything up out of Earth’s gravity pit to start with, promised to be enormous.

Next, Hunt visited the huge radio and optical observatories of Giordano Bruno on Farside. Here, sensitive receivers, operating fully shielded from the perpetual interference from Earth, and gigantic telescopes, freed from any atmosphere and not having to contend with distortions induced by their own weights, were pushing the frontiers of the known Universe way out beyond the limits of their Earth-bound predecessors. Hunt sat fascinated in front of the monitor screens and resolved planets of some of the nearer stars; he was shown one nine times the size of Jupiter, and another that described a crazy figure-eight orbit about a double star. He gazed deep into the heart of the Andromeda Galaxy, and out at distant specks on the very threshold of detection. Scientists and physicists described the strange new picture of the Cosmos that was beginning to emerge from their work here and explained some of the exciting advances in concepts of space-time mechanics, which indicated that feasible methods could be devised for deforming astronomic geodesics in such a way that the limitations once thought to apply to extreme effective velocities could be avoided. If so, interstellar travel would become a practical proposition; one of the scientists confidently predicted that man would cross the Galaxy within fifty years.

Hunt’s final stop brought him back to Nearside-to the base at Copernicus near which Charlie had been found. Scientists at Copernicus had been studying descriptions of the terrain over which Charlie had traveled and the accompanying sketched maps; the information contained in the notebook had been transmitted up from Houston. From the traveling times, distances, and estimates of speed quoted, they suspected that Charlie’s journey had begun somewhere on Farside and had brought him, by way of the Jura Mountains, Sinus Iridum, and Mare Imbrium, to Copernicus. Not everybody subscribed to this opinion, however; there was a problem. For some unaccountable reason, the directions and compass points mentioned in Charlie’s notes bore no relationship to the conventional lunar north-south that derived from its axis of rotation. The only route for Charlie’s journey that could be interpreted to make any sense at all was the one from Farside across Mare Imbrium, but even that only made sense if a completely new direction was assumed for the north-south axis.

Attempts to locate Gorda had so far met with no positive success. From the tone of the final entries in the diary, it could not have been very far from the spot where Charlie was found. About fifteen miles south of this point was an area covered by numerous overlapping craters, all confirmed as being meteoritic and of recent origin. Most researchers concluded that this must have been the site of Gorda, totally obliterated by a freak concentration of meteorites in the as yet unexplained storm.

Before leaving Copernicus, Hunt accepted an invitation to drive out overland and visit the place of Charlie’s discovery. He was accompanied by a Professor Alberts from the base and the crew of the UNSA survey vehicle.

***

The survey vehicle lumbered to a halt in a wide gorge, between broken walls of slate-gray rock. All around it, the dust had been churned into a bewildering pattern of grooves and ridges by Caterpillar tracks, wheels, landing gear, and human feet-evidence of the intense activity that had occurred there over the last eighteen months. From the observation dome of the upper cabin, Hunt recognized the scene immediately; he had first seen it in Caldwell’s office. He identified the large mound of rubble against the near wall of the gorge, and above it the notch leading into the cleft.

A voice called from below. Hunt rose to his feet, his movements slow and clumsy in his encumbering spacesuit, and clambered through the floor hatch and down a short ladder to the control cabin. The driver was stretching back in his seat, taking a long drink from a flask of hot coffee. Behind him, the sergeant in command of the vehicle was at a videoscreen, reporting back to base via comsat that they had reached their destination without mishap. The third crew member, a corporal who was to accompany Hunt and Alberts outside and who was already fitted out, was helping the professor secure his helmet. Hunt took his own helmet from the storage rack by the door and fixed it in place. When the three were ready, the sergeant supervised the final checkout of life-support and communications systems and cleared them to pass, one by one, through the airlock to the outside.

“Well, there you are, Vic. Really on the Moon now.” Alberts’s voice came through the speaker inside Hunt’s helmet. Hunt felt the spongy dust yield beneath his boots and tried a few experimental steps up and down.

“It’s like Brighton Beach,” he said.

“Okay, you guys?” asked the voice of the UNSA corporal.

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go, then.”

The three brightly colored figures-one orange, one red, and one green-began moving slowly along the well-worn groove that ran up the center of the mound of rubble. At the top they stopped to gaze down at the survey vehicle, already looking toylike in the gorge below.

They moved into the cleft, climbing between vertical walls of rocks that closed in on both sides as they approached the bend. Above the bend the cleft straightened, and in the distance Hunt could see a huge wall of jagged buttresses towering over the foothills above them-evidently the ridge described in Charlie’s note. He could picture vividly the scene in this very place so long ago, when two other figures in spacesuits had toiled onward and upward, their eyes fixed on that same feature. Above it, the red and black portent of a tormented planet had glowered down on their final agony like…

Hunt stopped, puzzled. He looked up at the ridge again, then turned to stare at the bright disk of Earth, shining far behind his right shoulder. He turned to look one way, then back again the other.

“Anything wrong?” Alberts, who had continued on a few paces, had turned and was staring back at him.

“I’m not sure. Hang on there a second.” Hunt moved up alongside the professor and pointed up and ahead toward the ridge. “You’re more familiar with this place than I am. See that ridge up ahead there-At any time in the year, could the Earth ever appear in a position over the top of it?”

Alberts followed Hunt’s pointing finger, glanced briefly back at the Earth, and shook his head decisively behind his facepiece.

“Never. From the Lunar surface, the position of Earth is almost constant. It does wobble about its mean position a bit as a result of libration, but not by anything near that much.” He looked again. “Never anywhere near there. That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?”

“Just something that occurred to me. Doesn’t really matter for now.”

Hunt lowered his eyes and saw an opening at the base of one of the walls ahead. “That must be it. Let’s carry on up to it.”

The hole was exactly as he remembered from innumerable photographs. Despite its age, the shape betrayed its artificial origin. Hunt approached almost reverently and paused to finger the rock at one side of the opening with his gauntlet. The score marks had obviously been made by something like a drill.

“Well, that’s it,” came the voice of Alberts, who was standing a few feet back. “Charlie’s Cave, we call it-more or less exactly as it must have been when he and his companion first saw it. Rather like treading in the sacred chambers of one of the pyramids, isn’t it?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Hunt ducked down to peer inside, pausing to fumble for the flashlight at his belt as the sudden darkness blinded him temporarily.

The rockfall that originally had covered the body had been cleared, and the interior was roomier than he expected. Strange emotions welled inside him as he stared at the spot where, millennia before the first page of history had been written, a huddled figure had painfully scrawled the last page of a story that Hunt had read so recently in an office in Houston, a quarter of a million miles away. He thought of the time that had passed since those events had taken place-of the empires that had grown and fallen, the cities that had crumbled to dust, and the lives that had sparkled briefly and been swallowed into the past-while all that time, unchanging, the secret of these rocks had lain undisturbed. Many minutes passed before Hunt reemerged and straightened up in the dazzling sunlight.

Again he frowned up toward the ridge. Something tantalizing was dancing elusively just beyond the fringes of the thinking portions of his mind, as if from the subconscious shadows that lay below, something insistent was shrieking to be recognized. And then it was gone.

He clipped the flashlight back into position on his belt and walked across to rejoin Alberts, who was studying some rock formations on the opposite wall.

Chapter Twenty

The giant ships that would fly on the fifth manned mission to Jupiter had been under construction in Lunar orbit for over a year. Besides the command ship, six freighters, each capable of carrying thirty thousand tons of supplies and equipment, gradually took shape high above the surface of the Moon. During the final two months before scheduled departure, the floating jumbles of machinery, materials, containers, vehicles, tanks, crates, drums, and a thousand other items of assorted engineering that hung around the ships like enormous Christmas-tree ornaments, were slowly absorbed inside. The Vega surface shuttles, deep-space cruisers, and other craft also destined for the mission began moving in over a period of several weeks to join their respective mother ships. At intervals throughout the last week, the freighters lifted out of Lunar orbit and set course for Jupiter. By the time its passengers and final complement of crew were being ferried up from the Lunar surface, only the command ship was left, hanging alone in the void. As H hour approached, the gaggle of service craft and attendant satellites withdrew and a flock of escorts converged to stand a few miles off, cameras transmitting live via Luna into the World News Grid.

As the final minutes ticked by, a million viewscreens showed the awesome mile-and-a-quarter-long shape drifting almost imperceptibly against the background of stars; the serenity of the spectacle seemed somehow to forewarn of the unimaginable power waiting to be unleashed. Exactly on schedule, the flight-control computers completed their final-countdown-phase checkout, obtained “Go” acknowledgment from the ground control master processor, and activated the main thermonuclear drives in a flash that was visible from Earth.

The Jupiter Five Mission was under way.

For the next fifteen minutes the ship gained speed and altitude through successively higher orbits. Then, shrugging off the restraining pull of Luna with effortless ease, Jupiter Five soared out and away to begin overtaking and marshaling together its flock of freighters, by this time already strung out across a million miles of space. After a while the escorts turned back toward Luna, while on Earth the news screens showed a steadily diminishing point of light, being tracked by the orbiting telescopes. Soon even that had vanished, and only the long-range radars and laser links were left to continue their electronic exchanges across the widening gulf.

Aboard the command ship, Hunt and the other UNSA scientists watched on the wall screen in mess twenty-four as the minutes passed by and Luna contracted into a full disk, partly eclipsing that of Earth beyond. In the days that followed, the two globes waned and fused into a single blob of brilliance, standing out in the heavens to signpost the way they had come. As days turned into weeks, even this shrank to become just another grain of dust among millions until, after about a month, they could pick it out only with difficulty.

Hunt found that it took time to adjust to the idea of living as part of a tiny man-made world, with the cosmos stretching away to infinity on every side and the distance between them and everything that was familiar increasing at more than ten miles every second. Now they depended utterly for survival on the skills of those who had designed and built the ship. The green hills and blue skies of Earth were no longer factors of survival and seemed to shed some of their tangible attributes, almost like the aftermath of a dream that had seemed real. Hunt came to think of reality as a relative quantity-not something absolute that can be left for a while and then returned to. The ship became the only reality; it was the things left behind that ceased, temporarily, to exist.

He spent hours in the viewing domes along the outer hull, slowly coming to terms with the new dimension being added to his existence, gazing out at the only thing left that was familiar: the Sun. He found reassurance in the eternal presence of the Sun, with its limitless flood of life-giving warmth and light. Hunt thought of the first sailors, who had never ventured out of sight of land; they too had needed something familiar to cling to. But before long, men would turn their prow toward the open gulf and plunge into the voids between the galaxies. There would be no Sun to reassure them then, and there would be no stars at all; the galaxies themselves would be just faint spots, scattered all the way to infinity.

What strange new continents were waiting on the other side of those gulfs?

Danchekker was spending one of his relaxation periods in a zero-gravity section of the ship, watching a game of 3-D football being played between two teams of off-duty crew members. The game was based on American-style football and took place inside an enormous sphere of transparent, rubbery plastic. Players hurtled up, down, and in all directions, rebounding off the wall and off each other in a glorious roughhouse directed-vaguely-at getting the ball through two circular goals on opposite sides of the sphere. In reality, the whole thing was just an excuse to let off steam and flex muscles beginning to go soft during the long, monotonous voyage.

A steward tapped the scientist on the shoulder and informed him that a call was waiting in the videobooth outside the recreation deck. Danchekker nodded, unclipped the safety loop of his belt from the anchor pin attached to the seat, clipped it around the handrail, and with a single effortless pull, sent himself floating gracefully toward the door. Hunt’s face greeted him, speaking from a quarter of a mile away.

“Dr. Hunt,” he acknowledged. “Good morning-or whatever it happens to be at the present time in this infernal contraption.”

“Hello, Professor,” Hunt replied. “I’ve been having some thoughts about the Ganymeans. There are one or two points I could use your opinion on; could we meet somewhere for a bite to eat, say inside the next half hour or so?”

“Very well. Where did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m on my way to the restaurant in B section right now. I’ll be there for a while.”

“I’ll join you there in a few minutes.” Danchekker cut off the screen, emerged from the booth, and hauled himself back into the corridor and along it to an entrance to one of the transverse shafts leading “down” toward the axis of the ship. Using the handrails, he sailed some distance toward the center before checking himself opposite an exit from the shaft. He emerged through a transfer lock into one of the rotating sections, with simulated G, at a point near the axis where the speed differential was low. He launched himself back along another rail and felt himself accelerate gently, to land thirty feet away, on his feet, on a part of the structure that had suddenly become the floor. Walking normally, he followed some signs to the nearest tube access point, pressed the call button, and waited about twenty seconds for a capsule to arrive. Once inside, he keyed in his destination and within seconds was being whisked smoothly through the tube toward B section of the ship.

The permanently open self-service restaurant was about half full. The usual clatter of cutlery and dishes poured from the kitchens behind the counter at one end, where a trio of UNSA cooks were dishing out generous helpings of assorted culinary offerings ranging from UNSA eggs and UNSA beans to UNSA chicken legs and UNSA steaks. Automatic food dispensers with do-it-yourself microwave cookers had been tried on Jupiter Four but hadn’t proved popular with the crew. So the designers of Jupiter Five had gone back to the good old-fashioned methods.

Carrying their trays, Hunt and Danchekker threaded their way between diners, card players, and vociferous debating groups and found an empty table against the far wall. They sat down and began transferring their plates to the table.

“So, you’ve been entertaining some thoughts concerning our Ganymean friends,” Danchekker commented as he began to butter a roll.

“Them and the Lunarians,” Hunt replied. “In particular, I like your idea that the Lunarians evolved on Minerva from terrestrial animal species that the Ganymeans imported. It’s the only thing that accounts acceptably for no traces of any civilization showing up on Earth. All these attempts people are making to show it might be different don’t convince me much at all.”

“I’m very gratified to hear you say so,” Danchekker declared. “The problem, however, is proving it.”

“Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. Maybe we shouldn’t have to.”

Danchekker looked up and peered inquisitively over his spectacles. He looked intrigued. “Really? How, might I ask?”

“We’ve got a big problem trying to figure out anything about what happened on Minerva because we’re fairly sure it doesn’t exist any more except as a million chunks of geology strewn around the Solar System. But the Lunarians didn’t have that problem. They had it in one piece, right under their feet. Also, they had progressed to an advanced state of scientific knowledge. Now, what must their work have turned up-at least to some extent?”

A light of comprehension dawned in Danchekker’s eyes.

“Ah!” he exclaimed at once. “I see. If the Ganymean civiization had flourished on Minerva first, then Lunarian scientists would surely have deduced as much.” He paused, frowned, then added: “But that does not get you very far, Dr. Hunt. You are no more able to interrogate Lunarian scientific archives than you are to reassemble the planet.”

“No, you’re right,” Hunt agreed. “We don’t have any detailed Lunarian scientific records-but we do have the microdot library. The texts it contains are pretty general in nature, but I couldn’t help thinking that if the Lunarians discovered an advanced race had been there before them, it would be big and exciting news, something everybody would know about; you’ve only got to look at the fuss that Charlie has caused on Earth. Perhaps there were references through all of their writings that pointed to such a knowledge-if we knew how to read them.” He paused to swallow a mouthful of sausage. “So, one of the things I’ve been doing over the last few weeks is going through everything we’ve got with a fine-tooth comb to see if anything could point to something like that. I didn’t expect to find firm proof of anything much-just enough for us to be able to say with a bit more confidence that we think we know what planet we’re talking about.”

“And did you find very much?” Danchekker seemed interested.

“Several things,” Hunt replied. “For a start, there are stock phrases scattered all through their language that refer to the Giants. Phrases like ‘As old as the Giants’ or ‘Back to the year of the Giants’… like we’d say maybe, ‘Back to the year one.’ In another place there’s a passage that begins ‘A long time ago, even before the time of the Giants’… There are lots of things like that. When you look at them from this angle, they all suddenly tie together.” Hunt paused for a second to allow the professor time to reflect on these points, then resumed: “Also, there are references to the Giants in another context, one that suggests superpowers or great knowledge-for example, ‘Gifted with the wisdom of the Giants.’ You see what I mean-these phrases indicate the Lunarians felt a race of giant beings-and probably one that was advanced technologically-had existed in the distant past.”

Danchekker chewed his food in silence for a while.

“I don’t want to sound overskeptical,” he said at last, “but all this seems rather speculative. Such references could well be to nothing more than mythical creations-similar to our own heroes of folklore.”

“That occurred to me, too,” Hunt conceded. “But thinking about it, I’m not so sure. The Lunarians were the last word in pragmatism-they had no time for romanticism, religion, matters of the spirit, or anything like that. In the situation they were in, the only people who could help them were themselves, and they knew it. They couldn’t afford the luxury and the delusion of inventing gods, heroes, and Father Christmases to work their problems out for them.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe the Lunarians made up any legends about these Giants. That would have been too much out of character.”

“Very well,” Danchekker agreed, returning to his meal. “The Lunarians were aware of the prior existence of the Ganymeans. I suspect, however, that you had more than that in mind when you called.”

“You’re right,” Hunt said. “While I was going through the texts, I pulled together some other bits and pieces that are more in your line.”

“Go on.”

“Well, supposing for the moment that the Ganymeans did ship a whole zoo out to Minerva, the Lunarian biologists later on would have had a hell of a problem making any sense out of what they found all around them, wouldn’t they? I mean, with two different groups of animals loose about the place, totally unrelated-and bearing in mind that they couldn’t have known what we know about terrestrial species…”

“Worse than that, even,” Danchekker supplied. “They would have been able to trace the native Minervan species all the way back to their origins; the imported types, however, would extend back through only twenty-five million years or so. Before that, there would have been no record of any ancestors from which they could have descended.”

“That’s precisely one of the things I wanted to ask you,” Hunt said. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Suppose you were a Lunarian biologist and knew only the facts he would have known. What sort of picture would it have added up to?”

Danchekker stopped chewing and thought for a long time, his eyes staring far beyond where Hunt was sitting. At length he shook his head slowly.

“That is a very difficult question to answer. In that situation one might, I suppose, speculate that the Ganymeans had introduced alien species. But on the other hand, that is what a biologist from Earth would think; he would be conditioned to expect a continuous fossil record stretching back over hundreds of millions of years. A Lunarian, without any such conditioning, might not regard the absence of a complete record as in any way abnormal. If that was part of the accepted way of things in the world in which he had grown up…”

Danchekker’s voice faded away for a few seconds. “If I were a Lunarian,” he said suddenly, his voice decisive, “I would explain what I saw thus: Life began in the distant past on Minerva, evolved through the accepted process of mutation and selection, and branched into many diverse forms. About twenty-five million years ago, a particularly violent series of mutations occurred in a short time, out of which emerged a new family of forms, radically different in structure from anything before. This family branched to produce its own divergency of species, living alongside the older models, and culminating in the emergence of the Lunarians themselves. Yes, I would explain the new appearances in that way. It’s similar to the appearance of insects on Earth-a whole family in itself, structurally dissimilar to anything else.” He thought it over again for a second and then nodded firmly. “Certainly, compared to an explanation of that nature, suggestions of forced interplanetary migrations would appear very farfetched indeed.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” Hunt nodded, satisfied. “In fact, that’s very much what they appear to have believed. It’s not specifically stated in anything I’ve read, but odds and ends from different places add up to that. But there’s something odd about it as well.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a funny word that crops up in a number of places that doesn’t have a direct English equivalent; it means something between ‘manlike’ and ‘man-related.’ They used it to describe many animal types.”

“Probably the animals descended from the imported types and related to themselves,” Danchekker suggested.

“Yes, exactly. But they also used the same word in a totally different context-to mean ‘ashore,’ ‘on land’… anything to do with dry land. Now, why should a word become synonymous with two such different meanings?”

Danchekker stopped eating again and furrowed his brow.

“I really can’t imagine. Is it important?”

“Neither could I, and I think it is. I’ve done a lot of cross-checking with Linguistics on this, and it all adds up to a very peculiar thing: ‘Manlike’ and ‘dry-land’ became synonymous on Minerva because they did in fact mean the same thing. All the land animals on Minerva were new models. We coined the word terrestoid to describe them in English.”

“All of them? You mean that by Charlie’s time there were none of the original Minervan species left at all?” Danchekker sounded amazed.

“That’s what we think-not on land, anyway. There was a full fossil record of plenty of types all the way up to, and including the Ganymeans, but nothing after that-just terrestoids.”

“And in the sea?”

“That was different. The old Minervan types continued right through-hence your fish.”

Danchekker gazed at Hunt with an expression that almost betrayed open disbelief.

“How extraordinary!” he exclaimed.

The professor’s arm had suddenly become paralyzed and was holding a fork in midair with half a roast potato impaled on the end. “You mean that all the native Minervan land life disappeared-just like that?”

“Well, during a fairly short time, anyway. We’ve been asking for a long time what happened to the Ganymeans. Now it looks more as if the question should be phrased in even broader terms: What happened to the Ganymeans and all their land-dwelling relatives?”

Chapter Twenty-One

For weeks the two scientists debated the mystery of the abrupt disappearance of the native Minervan land dwellers. They ruled out physical catastrophe on the assumption that anything of that kind would have destroyed the terrestoid types as well. The same conclusion applied to climatic cataclysm.

For a while they considered the possibility of an epidemic caused by microorganisms imported with the immigrant animals, one against which the native species enjoyed no inherited, in-built immunity. In the end they dismissed this idea as unlikely on two counts; first, an epidemic sufficiently virulent in its effects to wipe out each and every species of what must have numbered millions, was hard to imagine; second, all information received so far from Ganymede suggested that the Ganymeans had been considerably farther ahead in technical knowledge than either the Lunarians or mankind-surely they could never have made such a blunder.

A variation on this theme supposed that germ warfare had broken out, escalated, and got out of control. Both the previous objections carried less weight when viewed in this context; in the end, this explanation was accepted as possible. That left only one other possibility: some kind of chemical change in the Minervan atmosphere to which the native species hadn’t been capable of adapting to but the terrestoids had. But what?

While the pros and cons of these alternatives were still being evaluated on Jupiter Five, the laser link to Earth brought details of a new row that had broken out in Navcomms. A faction of Pure Earthists had produced calculations showing that the Lunarians could never have survived on Minerva at all, let alone flourished there; at that distance from the Sun it would simply have been too cold. They also insisted that water could never have existed on the surface in a liquid state and held this fact as proof that wherever the world shown on Charlie’s maps had been, it couldn’t have been anywhere near the Asteroids.

Against this attack the various camps of Minervaists concluded a hasty alliance and opened counterfire with calculations of their own, which invoked the greenhouse effect of atmospheric carbon dioxide to show that a substantially higher temperature could have been sustained. They demonstrated further that the percentage of carbon dioxide required to produce the mean temperature that they had already estimated by other means was precisely the figure arrived at by Professor Schorn in his deduction of the composition of the Minervan atmosphere from an analysis of Charlie’s cell metabolism and respiratory system. The land mine that finally demolished the Pure Earthist position was Schorn’s later pronouncement that Charlie exhibited several physiological signs implying adaptation to an abnormally high level of carbon dioxide.

Their curiosity stimulated by all this sudden interest in the amount of carbon dioxide in the Minervan atmosphere, Hunt and Danchekker devised a separate experiment of their own. Combining Hunt’s mathematical skill with Danchekker’s knowledge of quantitative molecular biology, they developed a computer model of generalized Minervan microchemical behavior potentials, based on data derived from the native fish. It took them over three months to perfect. Then they applied to the model a series of mathematical operators that simulated the effects of different chemical agents in the environment. When he viewed the results on the screen in one of the console rooms Danchekker’s conclusion was quite definite: “Any air-breathing life form that evolved from the same primitive ancestors as this fish and inherited the same fundamental system of microchemistry, would be extremely susceptible to a family of toxins that includes carbon dioxide-far more so than the majority of terrestrial species.”

For once, everything added up. About twenty-five million years ago, the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere of Minerva apparently increased suddenly, possibly through some natural cause that had liberated the gas from chemical combination in rocks, or possibly as a result of something the Ganymeans had done. This could also explain why the Ganymeans had brought in all the animals. Perhaps their prime objective had been to redress the balance by covering the planet with carbon-dioxide-absorbing, oxygen-producing terrestrial green plants; the animals had been included simply to preserve a balanced ecology in which the plants could survive. The attempt failed. The native life succumbed, and the more highly resistant immigrants flourished and spread out over a whole new world denuded of alien competition. Nobody knew for sure that it had been so on Minerva. Possibly nobody ever would.

And nobody knew what had become of the Ganymeans. Perhaps they had perished along with their cousins. Perhaps, when their efforts proved futile, they had abandoned Minerva to its new inhabitants and left the Solar System completely to find a new home elsewhere. Hunt hoped so. For some strange reason he had developed an inexplicable affection for this mysterious race. In one of the Lunarian texts he had come across a verse that began: “Far away among the stars, where the Giants of old now live…” He hoped it was true.

And so, quite suddenly, at least one chapter in the early history of Minerva had been cleared up. Everything now pointed to the Lunarians and their civilization as having developed on Minerva and not on Earth. It explained the failure of Schorn’s early attempt to fix the length of the day in Hunt’s calendar by calculating Charlie’s natural periods of sleep and wakefulness. The ancestors of the Lunarians had arrived from Earth carrying a deeply rooted metabolic rhythm evolved around a twenty-four-hour cycle. During the twenty-five million years that followed, some of the more flexible biological processes in their descendants adapted successfully to the thirty-five-hour day of Minerva, while others changed only partially. By Charlie’s time, all the Lunarians’ physiological clocks had gotten hopelessly out of synchronization; no wonder Schorn’s results made no sense. But the puzzling numbers in Charlie’s notebook still remained to be accounted for.

In Houston, Caldwell read Hunt and Danchekker’s joint report with deep satisfaction. He had realized long before that to achieve results, the abilities of the two scientists would have to be combined and focused on the problem at hand instead of being dissipated fruitlessly in the friction of personal incompatibility. How could he manipulate into being a situation in which the things they had in common outweighed their differences? Well, what did they have in common? Starting with the simplest and most obvious thing-they were both human beings from planet Earth. So where would this fundamental truth come to totally overshadow anything else? Where but on the barren wastes of the Moon or a hundred million miles out in the emptiness of space? Everything seemed to be working out better than he had dared hope.

“It’s like I always said,” Lyn Garland stated coyly when Hunt’s assistant showed her a copy of the report. “Gregg’s a genius with people.”

The arrival in Ganymede orbit of the seven ships from Earth was a big moment for the Jupiter Four veterans, especially those whose tour of duty was approaching an end and who could now look forward to going home soon. In the weeks to come, as the complex program of maneuvering supplies and equipment between the ships and the surface installations unfolded, the scene above Ganymede would become as chaotic as that above Luna had been during departure preparations. The two command ships would remain standing off ten miles apart for the next two months. Then Jupiter Four, accompanied by two of the recently arrived freighters, would move out to take up station over Callisto and begin expanding the pilot base already set up there. Jupiter Five would remain at Ganymede until joined by Saturn Two, which was at that time undergoing final countdown for Lunar lift-out and due to arrive in five months. After rendezvous above Ganymede, one of the two ships (exactly which was yet to be decided) would set course for the ringed planet, on the farthest large-scale manned probe yet attempted.

The long-haul sailing days of Jupiter Four were over. Too slow by the standards of the latest designs, it would probably be stripped down to become a permanent orbiting base over Callisto. After a few years it would suffer the ignoble end of being dismantled and cannibalized for surface constructions.

With all the hustle and traffic congestion that erupted in the skies over Ganymede, it was three days before the time came for the group of UNSA scientists to be ferried to the surface. After months of getting used to the pattern of life and the company aboard the ship, Hunt felt a twinge of nostalgia as he packed his belongings in his cabin and stood in line waiting to board the Vega moored alongside in the cavernous midships docking bay. It was probably the last he would see of the inside of this immense city of metal alloys; when he returned to Earth, it would be aboard one of the small, fast cruisers ferried out with the mission.

An hour later Jupiter Five, festooned in a web of astronautic engineering, was shrinking rapidly on the cabin display in the Vega. Then the picture changed suddenly and the sinister frosty countenance of Ganymede came swelling up toward them.

Hunt sat on the edge of his bunk inside a Spartan room in number-three barrack block of Ganymede Main Base and methodically transferred the contents of his kit bag into the aluminum locker beside him. The air-extractor grill above the door was noisy. The air drawn in through the vents set into the lower walls was warm, and tainted with the smell of engine oil. The steel floor plates vibrated to the hum of heavy machinery somewhere below. Propped up against a pillow on the bunk opposite, Danchekker was browsing through a folder full of facsimiled notes and color illustrations and chattering excitedly like a schoolboy on Christmas Eve.

“Just think of it, Vic, another day and we’ll be there. Animals that actually walked the Earth twenty-five million years ago! Any biologist would give his right arm for an experience like this.” He held up the folder. “Look at that. I do believe it to be a perfectly preserved example of Trilophodon-a four-tusked Miocene mammoth over fifteen feet high. Can you imagine anything more exciting than that?”

Hunt scowled sourly across the room at the collection of pin-ups adorning the far wall, bequeathed by an earlier UNSA occupant.

“Frankly, yes,” he muttered. “But equipped rather differently than a bloody Trilophodon.”

“Eh? What’s that you said?” Danchekker blinked uncomprehendingly through his spectacles.

Hunt reached for his cigarette case. “It doesn’t matter, Chris,” he sighed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The flight northward to Pithead lasted just under two hours. On arrival, the group from Earth assembled in the officers’ mess of the control building for coffee, during which scientists from Jupiter Four updated them on Ganymean matters.

The Ganymean ship had almost certainly been destined for a large-scale, long-range voyage and not for anything like a limited exploratory expedition. Several hundred Ganymeans had died with their ship. The quantity and variety of stores, materials, equipment, and livestock that they had taken with them indicated that wherever they had been bound, they had meant to stay.

Everything about the ship, especially its instrumentation and control systems, revealed a very advanced stage of scientific knowledge. Most of the electronics were still a mystery, and some of the special-purpose components were unlike anything the UNSA engineers had ever seen. Ganymean computers were built using a mass-integration technology in which millions of components were diffused, layer upon layer, into a single monolithic silicon block. The heat dissipated inside was removed by electronic cooling networks interwoven with the functional circuitry. In some examples, believed to form parts of the navigation system, component packing densities approached that of the human brain. A physicist held up a slab of what appeared to be silicon, about the size of a large dictionary; in terms of raw processing power, he claimed, it was capable of outperforming all the computers in the Navcomms Headquarters building put together.

The ship was streamlined and strongly constructed, indicating that it was designed to fly through atmospheres and to land on a planet without collapsing under its own weight. Ganymean engineering appeared to have reached a level where the functions of a Vega and a deep-space interorbital transporter were combined in one vessel.

The propulsion system was revolutionary. There were no large exhaust apertures and no obvious reaction points to suggest that the ship had been kicked forward by any kind of thermodynamic or photonic external thrust. The main fuel-storages system fed a succession of convertors and generators designed to deliver enormous amounts of electrical and magnetic energy. This supplied a series of two-foot-square superconducting busbars and a maze of interleaved windings, fabricated from solid copper bars, that surrounded what appeared to be the main-drive engines. Nobody was sure precisely how this arrangement resulted in motion of the ship, although some of the theories were startling.

Could this have been a true starship? Had the Ganymeans left en masse in an interstellar exodus? Had this particular ship foundered on its way out of the Solar System, shortly after leaving Minerva? These questions and a thousand more remained to be answered. One thing was certain, though: If the discovery of Charlie had given two years’ work to a significant proportion of Navcomms, there was enough information here to keep half the scientific world occupied for decades, if not centuries.

The party spent some hours in the recently erected laboratory dome, inspecting items brought up from below the ice, including several Ganymean skeletons and a score of terrestrial animals. To Danchekker’s disappointment, his particular favorite-the man-ape anthropoid he had shown to Hunt and Caldwell many months before on a viewscreen in Houston-was not among them. “Cyril” had been transferred to the laboratories of the Jupiter Four command ship for detailed examination. The name, graciously bestowed by the UNSA biologists, was in honor of the mission’s chief scientist.

After lunch in the base canteen, they walked into the dome that covered one of the shaftheads. Fifteen minutes later they were standing deep below the surface of the ice field, gazing in awe at the ship itself.

It lay, fully uncovered, in the vast white floodlighted cavern, its underside still supported in its mold of ice. The hull cut a clean swath through the forest of massive steel jacks and ice pillars that carried the weight of the roof. Beneath the framework of ramps and scaffolding that clung to its side, whole sections of the hull had been removed to reveal the compartments inside. The floor all around was littered with pieces of machinery lifted out by overhead cranes. The scene reminded Hunt of the time he and Borlan had visited Boeing’s huge plant near Seattle where they assembled the 1017 skyliners-but everything here was on a far vaster scale. They toured the network of catwalks and ladders that had been laid throughout the ship, from the command deck with its fifteen-foot-wide display screen, through the control rooms, living quarters, and hospital, to the cargo holds and the tiers of cages that had contained the animals. The primary energy-convertor and generator section was as imposing and as complex as the inside of a thermonuclear power station. Beyond it, they passed through a bulkhead and found themselves dwarfed beneath the curves of the exposed portions of a pair of enormous toroids. The engineer leading them pointed up at the immense, sweeping surfaces of metal.

“The walls of those outer casings are sixteen feet thick,” he informed them. “They’re made from an alloy that would cut tungsten-carbide steel like cream cheese. The mass concentration inside them is phenomenal. We think they provided closed paths in which masses of highly concentrated matter were constrained in circulating or oscillating resonance, interacting with strong fields. It’s possible that the high rates of change of gravity potential that this produced were somehow harnessed to induce a controlled distortion in the space around the ship. In other words, it moved by continuously falling into a hole that it created in front of itself-kind of like a four-dimensional tank track.”

“You mean it trapped itself inside a space-time bubble, which propagated somehow through normal space?” somebody offered.

“Yes, if you like,” the engineer affirmed. “I guess a bubble is as good an analogy as any. The interesting point is, if it did work that way, every particle of the ship and everything inside it would be subjected to exactly the same acceleration. Therefore there would be no G effect. You could stop the ship dead from, say, a million miles an hour to zero in a millisecond, and nobody inside would even know the difference.”

“How about top speed?” someone else asked. ‘Would there have been a relativistic limit?”

“We don’t know. The theory boys up in Jupiter Four have been losing a lot of sleep over that. Conventional mechanics wouldn’t apply to any movement of the ship itself, since it wouldn’t be actually moving in the local space inside the bubble. The question of how the bubble propagates through normal space is a different ball game altogether. A whole new theory of fields has to be worked out. Maybe completely new laws of physics apply-as I said before, we just don’t know. But one thing seems clear: Those photon-drive starships they’re designing in California might turn out to be obsolete before they’re even built. If we can figure out enough about how this ship worked, the knowledge could put us forward a hundred years.”

By the end of the day Hunt’s mind was in a whirl. New information was coming in faster than he could digest it. The questions in his head were multiplying at a rate a thousand times faster than they could ever be answered. The riddle of the Ganymean spaceship grew more intriguing with every new revelation, but at the back of it there was still the Lunarian problem unresolved. He needed time to stand back and think, to put his mental house in order and sort the jumble into related thoughts that would slot into labeled boxes in his mind. Then he would be able to see better which question depended on what, and which needed to be tackled first. But the jumble was piling up faster than he could pick up the pieces.

The banter and laughter in the mess after the evening meal soon became intolerable. Alone in his room, he found the walls claustrophobic. For a while he walked the deserted corridors between the domes and buildings. They were oppressive; he had lived in metal cans for too long. Eventually he found himself in the control tower dome, staring out into the incandescent gray wall that was produced by the floodlights around the base soaking through the methane-ammonia fog of the Ganymedean night. After a while even the presence of the duty controller, his face etched out against the darkness by the glow from his console, became an intrusion. Hunt stopped by the console on his way to the stairwell.

“Check me out for surface access.”

The duty controller looked across at him. “You’re going outside?”

“I need some air.”

The controller brought one of his screens to life. “You are who, please?”

“Hunt. Dr. V. Hunt.”

“ID?”

“730289 C/EX4.”

The controller logged the details, then checked the time and keyed it in.

“Report in by radio in one hour’s time if you’re not back. Keep a receiver channel open permanently on 24.328 megahertz.”

“Will do,” Hunt acknowledged. “Good night.”

“Night.”

The controller watched Hunt disappear toward the floor below, shrugged to himself, and automatically scanned the displays in front of him. It was going to be a quiet night.

In the surface access anteroom on the ground level, Hunt selected a suit from the row of lockers along the right hand wall. A few minutes later, suited up and with his helmet secured, he walked to the airlock, keyed his name and ID code into the terminal by the gate, and waited a couple of seconds for the inner door to slide open.

He emerged into the swirling silver mist and turned right to follow the line of the looming black metal cliff of the control building. The crunch of his boots in the powder ice sounded faint and far away, through the thin vapors. Where the wall ended he continued walking slowly in a straight line, out into the open area and toward the edge of the base. Phantom shapes of steel emerged and disappeared in the silent shadows around him. The gloom ahead grew darker as islands of diffuse light passed by on either side. The ice began sloping upward. Irregular patches of naked, upthrusting rock became more frequent. He walked on as if in a trance.

Pictures from the past rolled by before his mind’s eye: a boy, reading books, shut away in the upstairs bedroom of a London slum… a youth, pedaling a bicycle each morning through the narrow streets of Cambridge. The people he had been were no more real than the people he would become. All through his life he had been moving on, never standing still, always in the process of changing from something he had been to something he would be. And beyond every new world, another beckoned. And always the faces around him were unfamiliar ones-they drifted into his life like the transient shadows of the rocks that now moved toward him from the mists ahead. Like the rocks, for a while the people seemed to exist and take on form and substance, before slipping by to dissolve into the shrouds of the past behind him, as if they had never been. Forsyth-Scott, Felix Borlan, and Rob Gray had already ceased to exist. Would Caldwell, Danchekker, and the rest soon fade away to join them? And what new figures would materialize out of the unknown worlds lying hidden behind the veils of time ahead?

He realized with some surprise that the mists around him were getting brighter again; also, he could suddenly see farther. He was climbing upward across an immense ice field, now smooth and devoid of rocks. The light was an eerie glow, permeating evenly through mists on every side as if the fog itself were luminous. He climbed higher. With every step the horizon of his vision broadened further, and the luminosity drained from the surrounding mist to concentrate itself in a single patch that second by second grew brighter above his head. And then he was looking out over the top of the fog bank. It was just a pocket, trapped in the depression of the vast basin in which the base had been built; it had no doubt been sited there to shorten the length of the shaft needed to reach the Ganymean ship. The slope above him finished in a long, rounded ridge not fifty feet beyond where he stood. He changed direction slightly to take the steeper incline that led directly to the summit of the ridge. The last tenuous wisps of whiteness fell away.

At the top, the night was clear as crystal. He was standing on a beach of ice that shelved down from his feet into a lake of cotton wool. On the opposite shore of the lake rose the summits of the rock buttresses and ice cliffs that stood beyond the base. For miles around, ghostly white bergs of Ganymedean ice floated on an ocean of cloud, shining against the blackness of the night.

But there was no Sun.

He raised his eyes, and gasped involuntarily. Above him, five times larger than the Moon seen from Earth, was the full disk of Jupiter. No photograph he had ever seen, or any image reproduced on a display screen, could compare with the grandeur of that sight. It filled the sky with its radiance. All the colors of the rainbow were woven into its iridescent bands of light, stacked layer upon layer outwards from its equator. They faded as they approached its edge and merged into a hazy circle of pink that encircled the planet. The pink turned to violet and finally to purple, ending in a clear, sharp outline that traced an enormous circle against the sky. Immutable, immovable, eternal… mightiest of the gods-and tiny, puny, ephemeral man had crawled on a pilgrimage of five hundred million miles to pay homage.

Maybe only seconds passed, maybe hours. Hunt could not tell. For a fraction of eternity he stood unmoving, a speck lost among the silent towers of rock and ice. Charlie too had stood upon the surface of a barren waste and gazed up at a world wreathed in light and color-but the colors had been those of death.

At that moment, the scenes that Charlie had seen came to Hunt more vividly than at any time before. He saw cities consumed by fireballs ten miles high; he saw gaping chasms, seared and blackened ash that had once held oceans, and lakes of fire where mountains had stood. He saw continents buckle and break asunder, and drown beneath a fury of white heat that came exploding outward from below. As clearly as if it were really happening, he saw the huge globe above him swelling and bursting, grotesque with the deceptive slowness of mighty events seen from great distances. Day by day it would rush outward into space, consuming its moons one after the other in an insatiable orgy of gluttony until its force was spent. And then…

Hunt snapped back to reality with a jolt.

Suddenly the answer he had been seeking was there. It had come out of nowhere. He tried to trace its root by backtracking through his thoughts-but there was nothing. The pathways up from the deeper levels of his mind had opened for a second, but now were closed. The illusion was exposed. The paradox had gone. Of course nobody had seen it before. Who would think to question a truth that was self-evident, and older than the human race itself?

“Pithead Control calling Dr. V. Hunt. Dr. Hunt, come in, please.” The sudden voice in his helmet startled him. He pressed a button in the control panel on his chest.

“Hunt answering,” he acknowledged. “I hear you.”

“Routine check. You’re five minutes overdue to report. Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, didn’t notice the time. Yes, everything’s okay… very okay. I’m coming back now.”

“Thank you.” The voice cut off with a click.

Had he been gone that long? He realized that he was cold. The icy fingers of the Ganymedean night were beginning to feel their way inside his suit. He wound his heating control up a turn and flexed his arms. Before he turned, he looked up once more for a final glimpse of the giant planet. For some strange reason it seemed to be smiling.

“Thanks, pal,” he murmured with a wink. “Maybe I’ll be able to do something for you someday.”

With that he began moving down from the ridge, and rapidly faded into the sea of cloud.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A group of about thirty people, mainly scientists, engineers, and UNSA executives, filed into the conference theater in the Navcomms Headquarters building. The room was arranged in ascending tiers of seats that faced a large blank screen at the far end from the double doors. Caldwell was standing on a raised platform in front of the screen, watching as the various groups and individuals found seats. Soon everybody was settled and an usher at the rear signaled that the corridor outside was empty. Caldwell nodded in acknowledgment, raised his hand for silence, and stepped a pace forward to the microphone in front of him.

“Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen… Could we have quiet, please…” The baritone voice boomed out of the loudspeakers around the walls. The murmurs subsided.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he resumed. “All of you have been engaged for some time now in some aspect or other of the Lunarian problem. Ever since this thing first started, there have been more than a few arguments and differences of opinion, as you all know. Taking all things into consideration, however, we haven’t done too badly. We started out with a body and a few scraps of paper, and from them we reconstructed a whole world. But there are still some fundamental questions that have remained unanswered right up to this day. I’m sure there’s no need for me to recap them for the benefit of anyone here.” He paused. “At last, it appears, we may have answers to those questions. The new developments that cause me to say this are so unexpected that I feel it appropriate to call you all together to let you see for yourselves what I saw for the first time only a few hours ago.” He waited again and allowed the mood of the gathering to move from one suited to preliminary remarks to something more in tune with the serious business about to begin.

“As you all know, a group of scientists left us many months ago with the Jupiter Five Mission to investigate the discoveries on Ganymede. Among that group was Vic Hunt. This morning we received his latest report on what’s going on. We are about to replay the recording for you now. I think you will find it interesting.”

Caldwell glanced toward the projection window at the back of the room and raised his hand. The lights began to fade. He stepped down from the platform and took his seat in the front row. Darkness reigned briefly. Then the screen illuminated to show a file header and reference frame in standard UNSA format. The header persisted for a few seconds, then disappeared to be replaced by the image of Hunt, facing the camera across a desktop.

“Navcomms Special Investigation to Ganymede, V. Hunt reporting, 20 November 2029, Earth Standard Time,” he announced. “Subject of transmission: A Hypothesis Concerning Lunarian Origins. What follows is not claimed to be rigorously proven theory at this stage. The object is to present an account of a possible sequence of events which, for the first time, explains adequately the origins of the Lunarians, and is also consistent with all the facts currently in our possession.” Hunt paused to consult some notes on the desk before him. In the conference theater the silence was absolute.

Hunt looked back up and out of the screen. “Up until now I’ve tended not to accept any particular one of the ideas in circulation in preference to the rest, primarily because I haven’t been sufficiently convinced that any of them, as stated, accounted adequately for everything that we had reason to believe was true. That situation has changed. I have now come to believe that one explanation exists which is capable of supporting all the evidence. That explanation is as follows:

“The Solar System was formed originally with nine planets, which included Minerva and extended out as far as Neptune. Akin to the inner planets and located beyond Mars, Minerva resembled Earth in many ways. It was similar in size and density and was composed of a mix of similar elements. It cooled and developed an atmosphere, a hydrosphere, and a surface composition.” Hunt paused for a second. “This has been one source of difficulty-reconciling surface conditions at this distance from the Sun with the existence of life as we know it. For proof that these factors can indeed be reconciled, refer to Professor Fuller’s work at London University during the last few months.” A caption appeared on the lower portion of the screen, giving details of the titles and access codes of Fuller’s papers on the subject.

“Briefly, Fuller has produced a model of the equilibrium states of various atmospheric gases and volcanically introduced water vapor, that is consistent with known data. To sustain the levels of free atmospheric carbon dioxide and water vapor, and the existence of large amounts of water in a liquid state, the model requires a very high level of volcanic activity on the planet, at least in its earlier history. That this requirement was evidently met could suggest that relative to its size, the crust of Minerva was exceptionally thin, and the structure of this crust unstable. This is significant, as becomes clear later. Fuller’s model also ties in with the latest information from the Asteroid surveys. The thin crust could be the result of relatively rapid surface cooling caused by the vast distance from the Sun, but with the internal molten condition being prolonged by heat sources below the surface. The Asteroid missions report many samples being tested that are rich in radioactive heat-producing substances.

“So, Minerva cooled to a mean surface temperature somewhat colder than Earth’s but not as cold as you might think. With cooling came the formation of increasingly more complex molecules, and eventually life emerged. With life came diversification, followed by competition, followed by selection-in other words, evolution. After many millions of years, evolution culminated in a race of intelligent beings who became dominant on the planet These were the beings we have christened the Ganymeans.

“The Ganymeans developed an advanced technological civilization. Then, approximately twenty-five million years ago, they had reached a stage which we estimate to be about a hundred years ahead of our own. This estimate is based on the design of the Ganymean ship we’ve been looking at here, and the equipment found inside it.

“Sometime around this period, a major crisis developed on Minerva. Something upset the delicate mechanism controlling the balance between the amount of carbon dioxide locked up in the rocks and that in the free state; the amount in the atmosphere began to rise. The reasons for this are speculative. One possibility is that something triggered the tendency toward high volcanic activity inherent in Minerva’s structure-maybe natural causes, maybe something the Ganymeans did. Another possibility is that the Ganymeans were attempting an ambitious program of climate control and the whole thing went wrong in a big way. At present we really don’t have a good answer to this part. However, our investigations of the Ganymeans have hardly begun yet. There are still years of work to be done on the contents of the ship alone, and I’m pretty certain that there’s a lot more waiting to be discovered down under the ice here.

“Anyhow, the main point for the present is that something happened. Chris Danchekker has shown…” Another file reference appeared on the bottom of the screen. “… that all the higher, air-breathing Minervan life forms would almost certainly have possessed a very low tolerance to increases in carbon-dioxide concentration. This derives from the fundamental system of microchemistry inherited from the earliest ancestors of the line. This implies, of course, that the changing surface conditions on Minerva posed a threat to the very existence of most forms of land life, including the Ganymeans. If we accept this situation, we also have a plausible reason for supposing that the Ganymeans went through a phase of importing on a vast scale a mixed balance of plant and animal life from Earth. Perhaps, stuck out where it was, Minerva had nothing to compare with the quantity and variety of life teeming on the much warmer planet Earth.

“Evidently, the experiment didn’t work. Although the imported stock found conditions favorable enough to flourish in, they failed to produce the desired result. From various bits of information, we believe the Ganymeans gave the whole thing up as a bad job and moved out to find a new home somewhere outside the Solar System. Whether or not they succeeded we don’t know; maybe further study of what’s in the ship will throw more light on that question.”

Hunt stopped to pick up a case from the desk and went through the motions of lighting a cigarette. The break seemed to be timed to give the viewers a chance to digest this part of his narrative. A subdued chorus of mutterings broke out around the room. Here and there a light flared as individuals succumbed to the suggestion from the screen. Hunt continued:

“The native Minervan land species left on the planet soon died out. But the immigrant types from Earth enjoyed a better adaptability and survived. Not only that, they were free to roam unchecked and unhindered across the length and breadth of Minerva, where any native competition rapidly ceased to exist. The new arrivals were thus free to continue the process of evolutionary development that had begun millions of years before in the oceans of Earth. But at the same time, of course, the same process was also continuing on Earth itself. Two groups of animal species, possessing the same genetic inheritance from common ancestors and equipped with the same evolutionary potential, were developing in isolation on two different worlds.

“Now, for those of you who have not yet had the pleasure, allow me to introduce Cyril.” The picture of Hunt vanished and a view of the man-ape retrieved from the Ganymean ship appeared.

Hunt’s voice carried on with the commentary: “Chris’s team has made a thorough examination of this character in the Jupiter Four laboraties. Chris’s own summary of their results was, quote:

“‘We consider this to be something nearer the direct line of descent toward modern man than anything previously studied. Many fossil finds have been made on Earth of creatures that represented various branches of development from the early progressive apes in the general direction of man. All finds to date, however, have been classed as belonging to offshoots from the main stream; a specimen of a direct link in the chain leading to Homo sapiens has always persistently eluded us. Here, we have such a link.’ Unquote.” The image of Hunt reappeared. “We can be fairly sure, therefore, that among the terrestrial life forms left to develop on Minerva were numbers of primates as far advanced in their evolution as anything back on Earth.

“The faster evolution characteristic of Minerva thus far was repeated, possibly as a result of the harsher environment and climate. Millions of years passed. On Earth a succession of manlike beings came and went, some progressive, some degenerate. The Ice Age came and moved through into its final, glacial phase some fifty thousand years ago. By this time on Earth, primitive humanoids represented the apex of progress-crude cave dwellers, hunters, makers of simple weapons and tools chipped out of stone. But on Minerva, a new technological civilization already existed: the Lunarians-descended from the imported stock and from the same early ancestors as ourselves, human in every detail of anatomy.

“I won’t dwell on the problems that confronted the developing Lunarian civilization-they’re well-known by now. Their history was one long story of war and hardship enacted around a racial quest to escape from their dying world. Their difficulties were compounded by a chronic shortage of minerals, possibly because the planet was naturally deficient, or possibly because it had been thoroughly exploited by the Ganymeans. At any rate, the warring factions polarized into two superpowers, and in the showdown that followed they destroyed themselves and the planet.”

Hunt paused again at this point to allow another period of consolidation for the audience. This time, however, there was complete silence. Nothing he had said so far was new, but he had formed a set selected from the thousand and one theories and speculations that had raged around Navcomms for as long as many could remember. The silent watchers in the theater sensed that the real news was still to come.

“Let’s stop for a moment and examine how well this account fits in with the evidence we have. First, the original problem of Charlie’s human form. Well, that’s answered: He was human-descended from the same ancestors as the rest of us and requiring nothing as unlikely as a parallel line to explain him. Second, the absence of any signs of the Lunarians on Earth. Well, the reason is quite obvious: They never were on Earth. Third, all the attempts to reconcile the surface geography of Charlie’s world with Earth become unnecessary, since by this account they were indeed two different planets.

“So far so good, then. This by itself, however, does not explain all the facts. There are some additional pieces of evidence which must be taken into account by any theory that claims to be comprehensive. They can be summarized in the following questions:

“One: How could Charlie’s voyage from Minerva to our Moon have taken only two days?

“Two: How do we explain a weapons system, consistent with the Lunarian level of technology, that was capable of accurate registration over a range extending from our Moon to Minerva?

“Three: How could the loop feedback delay in the fire-control system have been substantially less than the minimum of twenty-six minutes that could have applied over that distance?

“Four: How could Charlie distinguish surface features of Minerva when he was standing on our Moon?”

Hunt looked out from the screen and allowed plenty of time for the audience to reflect on these questions. He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward toward the camera, his elbows corning to rest on the desk.

“There is, in my submission, only one explanation which is capable of satisfying these apparently nonsensical requirements. And I put it to you now. The moon that orbited Minerva from time immemorial up until the time of these events fifty thousand years ago-and the Moon that shines in the sky above Earth today-are one and the same!”

Nothing happened for about three seconds.

Then gasps of incredulity erupted from around the darkened room. People gesticulated at their neighbors while some turned imploringly for comment from the row behind. Suddenly the whole theater was a turmoil of muttered exchanges.

“Can’t be!”

“By God-he’s right!”

“Of course… of course…

“Has to be…”

“Garbage!”

On the screen Hunt stared out impassively, as if he were watching the scene. His allowance for the probable reaction was well timed. He resumed speaking just as the confusion of voices was dying away.

“We know that the moon Charlie was on was our Moon-because we found him there, because we can identify the areas of terrain he described, because we have ample evidence of a large-scale Lunarian presence there, and because we have proved that it was the scene of a violent exchange of nucleonic and nuclear weapons. But that same place must also have been the satellite of Minerva. It was only a two-day flight from the planet-Charlie says so and we’re confident we can interpret his time scale. Weapons were sited there which could pick off targets on Minerva, and observations of hits were almost instantaneous; and if all that is not enough, Charlie could stand not ten yards from where we found him and distinguish details of Minerva’s surface. These things could only be true if the place in question was within, say, half a million miles of Minerva.

“Logically, the only explanation is that both moons were one and the same. We’ve been asking for a long time whether the Lunarian civilization developed on Earth or whether it developed on Minerva. Well, from the account I’ve given, it’s obvious it was Minerva. We thought we had two contradictory sets of information, one telling us it was Earth and the other telling us it wasn’t. But we had misinterpreted the data. It wasn’t telling us anything to do with Earth or Minerva at all-it was telling us about Earth’s or Minerva’s moon! Some facts told us we were dealing with Earth’s moon while others told us we were dealing with Minerva’s moon. As long as we insisted on introducing, quite unconsciously, the notion that the two moons were different, the conflict between these sets of facts couldn’t be resolved. But if, purely within the logical constraints of the situation, we introduce the postulate that both moons were the same, that conflict disappears before our eyes.”

Shock seemed to have overtaken the audience. At the front somebody was muttering, “Of course… of course…” half to himself and half aloud.

“All that remains is to reconcile these propositions with the situation we observe around us today. Again, only one explanation is possible. Minerva exploded and dispersed to become the Asteroid Belt. The greater part of its mass, we’re fairly sure, was thrown into the outer regions of the Solar System and became Pluto. Its moon, although somewhat shaken, was left intact. During the gravitational upheaval that occurred when its parent planet broke up, the satellite’s orbital momentum around the Sun was reduced and it began to fall inward.

“We can’t tell how long the orphaned moon plunged steadily nearer the Sun. Maybe the trip lasted months, maybe years. Next comes one of those million-to-one chances that sometimes happen in nature. The trajectory followed by the moon brought it close to Earth, which had been pursuing its own solitary path around the Sun ever since the beginning of time!” Hunt paused for a few seconds. “Yes, I repeat, solitary path! You see, if we are to accept what I believe to be the only satisfactory explanation open to us, we must accept also its consequence: that until this point in time, some fifty thousand years ago, planet Earth had no moon! The two bodies drew close enough for their gravitational fields to interact to the point of mutual capture; the new, common orbit turned out to be stable, and Earth adopted a foundling it has kept right up to this day.

“If we accept this account, many of the other things that have been causing problems suddenly make sense. Take, for example, the excess material that covers most of Lunar Farside and has been shown to be of recent origin, and coupled with that, the dating of all Farside craters and some Nearside ones to around the time we’re talking about. Now we have a ready explanation. When Minerva blew up, what is now Luna was sitting there right in the way of all the debris. That’s where the meteorite storm came from. That’s how practically all evidence of the Lunarian presence on Luna was wiped out. There’s probably no end to remains of their bases, installations, and vehicles still there waiting to be uncovered-a thousand feet below the Farside surface. We think that the Annihilator emplacement at Seltar was on Farside. That suggests that what is Farside to Earth today was Nearside to Minerva; hence it makes sense that most of the meteorite storm landed where it did.

“Charlie appears to have referred to compass directions different from ours on the Lunar surface, implying a different north-south axis. Now we see why. Some people have asked why, if Luna suffered such an intense bombardment, there should be no signs of any comparable increase in meteorite activity on Earth at the time. This too now makes sense: When Minerva blew up, Luna was in its immediate vicinity but Earth wasn’t. And a last point on Lunar physics-We’ve known for half a century that Luna is formed from a mix of rocky compounds different from those found on Earth, being low in volatiles and rich in refractories. Scientists have speculated for a long time that possibly the Moon was formed in another part of the Solar System. This indeed turns out to be true if what I’ve said is correct.

“Some explanations have suggested that the Lunarians set up advanced bridgeheads on Luna. This enabled their evident presence there to be reconciled with evolutionary origins on Minerva, but raised an equally problematical question: Why were they struggling to master interplanetary space-flight technology when they must have had it already? In the account I have described, this problem disappears. They had reached their own moon, but were still some ways from being able to move large populations to anyplace as remote as Earth. Also, there is now no need to introduce the unsupported notion of Lunarian colonies on either planet; either way, it would pose the same question.

“And finally, an unsolved riddle of oceanography makes sense in this light, too. Research into tidal motions has shown that catastrophic upheavals on a planetary scale occurred on Earth at about this time, resulting in an abrupt increase in the length of the day and an increase in the rate at which the day is further being lengthened by tidal friction. Well, the arrival of Minerva’s moon would certainly create enormous gravitational and tidal disturbances. Although the exact mechanics aren’t too clear right now, it appears that the kinetic energy acquired by Minerva’s moon as it fell toward the Sun was absorbed in neutralizing part of the Earth’s rotational energy, causing a longer day. Also, increased tidal friction since then is to be expected. Before the Moon appeared, Earth experienced only Solar tides, whereas from that time up until today, there have been both Solar and Lunar tides.”

Hunt showed his empty hand in a gesture of finality and pushed himself back in his chair. He straightened the pile of notes on the desk before going on to conclude:

“That’s it. As I said earlier, at this stage it represents no more than a hypothesis that accounts for all the facts. But there are some things we can do toward testing the truth of it.

“For a start, we have a large chunk of Minerva piled up all over Farside. The recent material is so like the original Lunar material that it was years before anybody realized it had been added only recently. That supports the idea that the Moon and the meteorites originated in the same part of the Solar System. I’d like to suggest that we perform detailed comparisons between data from Farside material and data from the Asteroid surveys. If the results indicate that they are both the same kind of stuff and appear to have come from the same place, the whole idea would be well supported.

“Another thing that needs further work is a mathematical model of the process of mutual capture between Earth and Luna. We know quite a lot about the initial conditions that must have existed before and, of course, a lot more about the conditions that exist now. It would be reassuring to know that for the equations involved there exist solutions that allow one situation to transform into the other within the normal laws of physics. At least, it would be nice to prove that the whole idea isn’t impossible.

“Finally, of course, there is the Ganymean ship here. Without doubt a lot of new information is waiting to be discovered-far more than we’ve had to work on so far. I’m hoping that somewhere in the ship there will be astronomic data to tell us something about the Solar System at the time of the Ganymeans. If, for example, we could determine whether or not the third planet from the Sun of their Solar System had a satellite, or if we could learn enough about their moon to identify it as Luna-perhaps by recognizing Nearside surface features-then the whole theory would be well on the way to being proved.

“This concludes the report.

“Personal addendum for Gregg Caldwell…” The view of Hunt was replaced by a landscape showing a wilderness of ice and rock. “This place you’ve sent us to, Gregg-the mail service isn’t too regular, so I couldn’t send a postcard. It’s over a hundred Celsius degrees below zero; there’s no atmosphere worth talking about and what there is, is poisonous; the only way back is by Vega, and the nearest Vega is seven hundred miles away. I wish you were here to enjoy all the fun with us, Gregg-I really do!

“V. Hunt from Ganymede Pithead Base. End of transmission.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The long-awaited answers to where the Lunarians had come from and how they came to be where they had been found sent waves of excitement around the scientific world and prompted a new frenzy of activity in the news media. Hunt’s explanation seemed complete and consistent. There were few objections or disagreements; the account didn’t leave much to object to or disagree with.

Hunt had therefore met fully the demands of his brief. Although detailed interdisciplinary work would continue all over the world for a long time to come, UNSA’s formal involvement in the affair was more or less over. So Project Charlie was run down. That left Project Ganymeans, which was just starting up. Although he had not yet received any formal directive from Earth to say so, Hunt had the feeling that Caldwell wouldn’t waste the opportunity offered by Hunt’s presence on Ganymede just when the focus of attention was shifting from the Lunarians to the Ganymeans. In other words, it would be some time yet before he would find himself walking aboard an Earth-bound cruiser.

A few weeks after the publication of UNSA’s interim conclusions, the Navcomms scientists on Ganymede held a celebration dinner in the officers’ mess at Pithead to mark the successful end of a major part of their task. The evening had reached the warm and mellow phase that comes with cigars and liqueurs when the last-course dishes have been cleared away. Talkative groups were standing and sitting in a variety of attitudes around the tables and by the bar, and beers, brandies, and vintage ports were beginning to flow freely. Hunt was with a group of physicists near the bar, discussing the latest news on the Ganymean field drive, while behind them another circle was debating the likelihood of a world government being established within twenty years. Danchekker seemed to have been unduly quiet and withdrawn for most of the evening.

“When you think about it, Vic, this could develop into the ultimate weapon in interplanetary warfare,” one of the physicists was saying. “Based on the same principles as the ship’s drive, but a lot more powerful and producing a far more intense and localized effect. It would generate a black hole that would persist, even after the generator that made it had fallen into it. Just think-an artificially produced black hole. All you’d have to do is mount the device in a suitable missile and fire it at any planet you took a dislike to. It would fall to the center and consume the whole planet-and there’d be no way to stop it.”

Hunt looked intrigued. “You mean it could work?”

“The theory says so.”

“Christ, how long would it take-to wipe out a planet?”

“We don’t know yet; we’re still working on that bit. But there’s more to it than that. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to put out a star using the same method. Think about that as a weapon-one black-hole bomb could destroy a whole solar system. It makes nucleonic weapons look like kiddie toys.”

Hunt started to reply, but a voice from the center of the room cut him off, rising to make itself heard above the buzz of conversation. It belonged to the commander of Pithead Base, special guest at the dinner.

“Attention, please, everybody,” he called. “Your attention for a moment, please.” The noise died as all faces turned toward him. He looked around until satisfied that everyone was paying attention. “You have invited me here tonight to join you in celebrating the successful conclusion of what has probably been one of the most challenging, the most astounding, and the most rewarding endeavors that you are ever likely to be involved in. You have had difficulties, contradictions, and disagreements to contend with, but all that is now in the past. The task is done. My congratulations.” He glanced toward the clock above the bar. “It is midnight-a suitable time, I think, to propose a toast to the being that started the whole thing off, wherever he may be.” He raised his glass. “To Charlie.”

“To Charlie,” came back the chorus.

“No!”

A voice boomed from the back of the room. It sounded firm and decisive. Everybody turned to look at Danchekker in surprise.

“No,” the professor repeated. “We can’t drink to that just yet.”

There was no suggestion of hesitation or apology in his manner. Clearly his action was reasoned and calculated.

“What’s the problem, Chris?” Hunt asked, moving forward away from the bar.

“I’m afraid that’s not the end of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“The whole Charlie business-There is more to it-more than I have chosen to mention to anybody, because I have no proof. However, there is a further implication in all that has been deduced-one which is even more difficult to accept than even the revelations of the past few weeks.”

The festive atmosphere had vanished. Suddenly they were in business again. Danchekker walked slowly toward the center of the room and stopped with his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He gazed at the table for a moment, then drew a deep breath and looked up.

“The problem with Charlie, and the rest of the Lunarians, that has not been touched upon is this: quite simply, they were too human.”

Puzzled looks appeared here and there. Somebody turned to his neighbor and shrugged. They all looked back at Danchekker in silence.

“Let us recapitulate for a moment some of the fundamental principles of evolution,” he said. “How do different animal species arise? Well, we know that variations of a given species arise from mutations caused by various agencies. It follows from elementary genetics that in a freely mixing and interbreeding population, any new characteristic will tend to be diluted, and will disappear within relatively few generations. However”-the professor’s tone became deadly serious-“when sections of the population become reproductively isolated from one another-for example, by geegraphical separation, by segregation of behavior patterns, or by seasonal differences, say, in mating times-dilution through interbreeding will be prevented. When a new characteristic appears within an isolated group, it will be confined to and reinforced within that group; thus, generation by generation, the group will diverge from the other group or groups from which it has been isolated. Finally a new species will establish itself. This principle is fundamental to the whole idea of evolution: Given isolation, divergence will occur. The origins of all species on Earth can be traced back to the existence at some time of some mechanism or other of isolation between variations within a single species. The animal life peculiar to Australia and South America, for instance, demonstrates how rapidly divergence takes effect even when isolation has existed only for a short time.

“Now we seem to be satisfied that for the best part of twenty-five million years, two groups of terrestrial animals-one on Earth, the other on Minerva-were left to evolve in complete isolation. As a scientist who accepts fully the validity of the principle I have just outlined, I have no hesitation in saying that divergence between these two groups must have taken place. That, of course, applies equally to the primate lines that were represented on both planets.”

He stopped and stood looking from one to the other of his colleagues, giving them time to think and waiting for a reaction. The reaction came from the far end of the room.

“Yes, now I see what you’re saying,” somebody said. “But why speculate? What’s the point in saying they should have diverged, when it’s clear that they didn’t?”

Danchekker beamed and showed his teeth. “What makes you say they didn’t?” he challenged.

The questioner raised his arms in appeal. “What my two eyes tell me-I can see they didn’t.”

“What do you see?”

“I see humans. I see Lunarians. They’re the same. So, they didn’t diverge.”

“Didn’t they?” Danchekker’s voice cut the air like a whiplash. “Or are you making the same unconscious assumption that everyone else has made? Let me go over the facts once again, purely from an objective point of view. I’ll simply list the things we observe and make no assumptions, conscious or otherwise, about how they fit in with what we think we already know.

“First: The two populations were isolated. Fact.

“Second: Today, twenty-five million years later, we observe two sets of individuals, ourselves and the Lunarians. Fact.

“Third: We and the Lunarians are identical. Fact.

“Now, if we accept the principle that divergence must have occurred, what must we conclude? Ask yourselves-If confronted by those facts and nothing else, what would any scientist deduce?”

Danchekker stood facing them, pursing his lips and rocking back and forth on his heels. Silence enveloped the room, broken after a few seconds by his whistling quietly and tunelessly to himself.

“Christ…!” The exclamation came from Hunt. He stood gaping at the professor in undisguised disbelief. “They couldn’t have been isolated from each other,” he managed at last in a slow, halting voice. “They must both be from the same…” The words trailed away.

Danchekker nodded with evident satisfaction. “Vic’s seen what I am saying,” he informed the group. “You see, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn from the statements I have just enumerated is this: If two identical forms are observed today, they must both come from the same isolated group. In other words, if two lines were isolated and branched apart, both forms must lie on the same branch!”

“How can you say that, Chris?” someone insisted. “We know they came from different branches.”

“What do you know?” Danchekker whispered.

“Well, I know that the Lunarians came from the branch that was isolated on Minerva…”

“Agreed.”

“… And I know that man comes from the branch that was isolated on Earth.”

“How?”

The question echoed sharply around the walls like a pistol shot.

“Well,” The speaker made a gesture of helplessness. “How do I answer a question like that? It… it’s obvious.”

“Precisely!” Danchekker showed his teeth again. “You assume it-just as everybody else does! That’s part of the conditioning you’ve grown up with. It has been assumed all through the history of the human race, and naturally so-there has never been any reason to suppose otherwise.” Danchekker straightened up and regarded the room with an unblinking stare. “Now perhaps you see the point of all this. I am stating that, on the evidence we have just examined, the human race did not evolve on Earth at all. It evolved on Minerva!”

“Oh, Chris, really…”

“This is getting ridiculous..

Danchekker hammered on relentlessly: “Because, if we accept that divergence must have occurred, then both we and the Lunarians must have evolved in the same place, and we already know that they evolved on Minerva!”

A murmur of excitement mixed with protest ran around the room.

“I am stating that Charlie is not just a distantly related cousin of man-he is our direct ancestor!” Danchekker did not wait for comment but pressed on in the same insistent tone: “And I believe that I can give you an explanation of our own origins which is fully consistent with these deductions.” An abrupt silence fell upon the room. Danchekker regarded his colleagues for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice had fallen to a calmer and more objective note.

“From Charlie’s account of his last days, we know that some Lunarians were left alive on the Moon after the fighting died down. Charlie himself was one of them. He did not survive for long, but we can guess that there were others-desperate groups such as the ones he described-scattered across that Lunar surface. Many would have perished in the meteorite storm on Farside, but some, like Charlie’s group, were on Nearside when Minerva exploded and were spared the worst of the bombardment. Even a long time later, when the Moon finally stabilized in orbit around Earth, a handful of survivors remained who gazed up at the new world that hung in their sky. Presumably some of their ships were still usable-perhaps just one, or two, or a few. There was only one way out. Their world had ceased to exist, so they took the only path open to them and set off on a last, desperate attempt to reach the surface of Earth. There could be no way back-there was no place to go back to.

“So we must conclude that their attempt succeeded. Precisely what events followed their emergence out into the savagery of the Ice Age we will probably never know for sure. But we can guess that for generations they hung on the very edge of extinction. Their knowledge and skills would have been lost. Gradually they reverted to barbarism, and for forty thousand years were lost in the midst of the general struggle for survival. But survive they did. Not only did they survive, they consolidated, spread, and flourished. Today their descendants dominate the Earth just as they dominated Minerva-you, I, and the rest of the human race.”

A long silence ensued before anybody spoke. When somebody did, the tone was solemn. “Chris, assuming for now that everything was like you’ve said, a point still bothers me: If we and the Lunarians both came from the Minervan line, what happened to the other line? Where did the branch that was developing on Earth go?”

“Good question.” Danchekker nodded approval. “We know from the fossil record on Earth that during the period that came after the visits of the Ganymeans several developments in the general human direction took place. We can trace this record quite clearly right up to the time in question, fifty thousand years ago. By that time the most advanced stage reached on Earth was that represented by Neanderthal man. Now, the Neanderthals have always been something of a riddle. They were hardy, tough, and superior in intelligence to anything prior to them or coexisting with them. They seemed well adapted to survive the competition of the Ice Age and should, one would think, have attained a dominant position in the era that was to follow. But that did not happen. Strangely, almost mysteriously, they died out abruptly between forty and fifty thousand years ago. Apparently they were unable to compete effectively against a new and far more advanced type of man, whose sudden appearance, as if from nowhere, has always been another of the unsolved riddles of science: Homo sapiens-us!”

Danchekker read the expressions on the faces before him and nodded slowly to confirm their thoughts.

“Now, of course, we see why this was so. He did indeed appear out of nowhere. We see why there is no clear fossil record in the soil of Earth to link Homo sapiens back to the chain of earlier terrestrial man-apes: He did not evolve there. And we see what it was that so ruthlessly and so totally overwhelmed the Neanderthals. How could they hope to compete against an advanced race, weaned on the warrior cult of Minerva?”

Danchekker paused and allowed his gaze to sweep slowly around the circle of faces. Everybody seemed to be suffering from mental punch-drunkenness.

“As I have said, all this follows purely as a chain of reasoning from the observations with which I began. I can offer no evidence to support it. I am convinced, however, that such evidence does exist. Somewhere on Earth the remains of the Lunarian spacecraft that made that last journey from Luna must still exist, possibly buried beneath the mud of a seabed, possibly under the sands of one of the desert regions. There must exist, on Earth, pieces of equipment and artifacts brought by the tiny handful who represented the remnant of the Lunarian civilization. Where on Earth, is anyone’s guess. Personally, I would suggest as the most likely areas the Middle East, the eastern Mediterranean, or the eastern regions of North Africa. But one day proof that what I have said is true will be forthcoming. This I predict with every confidence.”

The professor walked around to the table and poured a glass of Coke. The silence of the room slowly dissolved into a rising tide of voices. One by one, the statues that had been listening returned to life. Danchekker took a long drink and stood in silence for a while, contemplating his glass. Then he turned to face the room again.

“Suddenly lots of things that we have always simply taken for granted start falling into place.” Attention centralized on him once again. “Have you ever stopped to think what it is that makes man so different from all the other animals on Earth? I know that we have larger brains, more-versatile hands, and so forth; what I am referring to is something else. Most animals, when in a hopeless situation will resign themselves to fate and perish in ignominy. Man, on the other hand, does not know how to give in. He is capable of summoning up reserves of stubbornness and resilience that are without parallel on his planet. He is able to attack anything that threatens his survival, with an aggressiveness the like of which the Earth has never seen otherwise. It is this that has enabled him to sweep all before him, made him lord of all the beasts, helped him tame the winds, the rivers, the tides, and even the power of the Sun itself. This stubbornness has conquered the oceans, the skies, and the challenges of space, and at times has resulted in some of the most violent and bloodstained periods in his history. But without this side to his nature, man would be as helpless as the cattle in the field.”

Danchekker scanned the faces challengingly. “Well, where did it come from? It seems out of character with the sedate and easygoing pattern of evolution on Earth. Now we see where it came from: It appeared as a mutation among the evolving primates that were isolated on Minerva. It was transmitted through the population there until it became a racial characteristic. It proved to be such a devastating weapon in the survival struggle there that effective opposition ceased to exist. The inner driving force that it produced was such that the Lunarians were flying spaceships while their contemporaries on Earth were still playing with pieces of stone.

“That same driving force we see in man today. Man has proved invincible in every challenge that the Universe has thrown at him. Perhaps this force has been diluted somewhat in the time that has elapsed since it first appeared on Minerva; we reached the brink of that same precipice of self-destruction but stepped back. The Lunarians hurled themselves in regardless. It could be that this was why they did not seek a solution by cooperation-their in-built tendency to violence made them simply incapable of conceiving such a formula.

“But this is typical of the way in which evolution works. The forces of natural selection will always operate in such a way as to bend and shape a new mutation, and to preserve a variation of it that offers the best prospects of survival for the species as a whole. The raw mutation that made the Lunarians what they were was too extreme and resulted in their downfall. Improvement has taken the form of a dilution, which results in a greater psychological stability of the race. Thus, we survive where they perished.”

Danchekker paused to finish his drink. The statues remained statues.

“What an incredible race they must have been,” he said. “Consider in particular the handful who were destined to become the forefathers of mankind. They had endured a holocaust unlike anything we can even begin to imagine. They had watched their world and everything that was familiar explode in the skies above their heads. After this, abandoned in an airless, waterless, lifeless, radioactive desert, they were slaughtered beneath the billions of tons of Minervan debris that crashed down from the skies to complete the ruin of all their hopes and the total destruction of all they had achieved.

“A few survived to emerge onto the surface after the bombardment. They knew that they could live only for as long as their supplies and their machines lasted. There was nowhere they could go, nothing they could plan for. They did not give in. They did not know how to give in. They must have existed for months before they realized that, by a quirk of fate, a slim chance of survival existed.

“Can you imagine the feelings of that last tiny band of Lunarians as they stood amid the Lunar desolation, gazing up at the new world that shone in the sky above their heads, with nothing else alive around them and, for all they knew, nothing else alive in the Universe? What did it take to attempt that one-way journey into the unknown? We can try to imagine, but we will never know. Whatever it took, they grasped at the straw that was offered and set off on that journey.

“Even this was only the beginning. When they stepped out of their ships onto the alien world, they found themselves in the midst of one of the most ruthless periods of competition and extinction in the history of the Earth. Nature ruled with an uncompromising hand. Savage beasts roamed the planet; the climate was in turmoil following the gravitational upheavals caused by the arrival of the Moon; possibly they were decimated by unknown diseases. It was an environment that none of their experience had prepared them for. Still they refused to yield. They learned the ways of the new world: They learned to feed by hunting and trapping, to fight with spear and club; they learned how to shelter from the elements, to read and interpret the language of the wild. And as they became proficient in these new arts they grew stronger and ventured farther afield. The spark that they had brought with them and which had carried them through on the very edge of extinction began to glow bright once again. Finally that glow erupted into the flame that had swept all before it on Minerva; they emerged as an adversary more fearsome and more formidable than anything the Earth had ever known. The Neanderthals never stood a chance-they were doomed the moment the first Lunarian foot made contact with the soil of Earth.

“The outcome you see all around you today. We stand undisputed masters of the Solar System and poised on the edge of interstellar space itself, just as they did fifty thousand years ago.”

Danchekker placed his glass carefully on the table and moved slowly toward the center of the room. His sober gaze shifted from eye to eye. He concluded: “And so, gentlemen, we inherit the stars.

“Let us go out, then, and claim our inheritance. We belong to a tradition in which the concept of defeat has no meaning. Today the stars and tomorrow the galaxies. No force exists in the Universe that can stop us.”

Epilogue

Professor Hans Jacob Zeiblemann, of the Department of Paleontology of the University of Geneva, finished his entry for the day in his diary, closed the book with a grunt, and returned it to its place in the tin box underneath his bed. He hoisted his two-hundred-pound bulk to its feet and, drawing his pipe from the breast pocket of his bush shirt, moved a pace across the tent to knock out the ash on the metal pole by the door. As he stood packing a new fill of tobacco into the bowl, he gazed out over the arid landscape of northern Sudan.

The Sun had turned into a deep gash just above the horizon, oozing blood-red liquid rays that drenched the naked rock for miles around. The tent was one of three that stood crowded together on a narrow sandy shelf. The shelf was formed near the bottom of a steep-sided rocky valley, dotted with clumps of coarse bush and desert scrub that clustered together along the valley floor and petered out rapidly, without gaining the slopes on either side. On a wider shelf beneath stood the more numerous tents of the native laborers. Obscure odors wafting upward from this direction signaled that preparation of the evening meals had begun. From farther below came the perpetual sound of the stream, rushing and clattering and jostling on its way to join the waters of the distant Nile.

The crunch of boots on gravel sounded nearby. A few seconds later Zeiblemann’s assistant, Jorg Hutfauer, appeared, his shirt dark and streaked with perspiration and grime.

“Phew!” The newcomer halted to mop his brow with something that had once been a handkerchief. “I’m whacked. A beer, a bath, dinner, then bed-that’s my program for tonight.”

Zeiblemann grinned. “Busy day?”

“Haven’t stopped. We’ve extended sector five to the lower terrace. The subsoil isn’t too bad there at all. We’ve made quite a bit of progress.”

“Anything new?”

“I brought these up-thought you might be interested. There’s more below, but it’ll keep till you come down tomorrow.” Hutfauer passed across the objects he had been carrying and continued on into the tent to retrieve a can of beer from the pile of boxes and cartons under the table.

“Mmm…” Zeiblemann turned the bone over in his hand. “Human femur… heavy.” He studied the unusual curve and measured the proportions with his eye. “Neanderthal, I’d say, or very near related.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The professor placed the fossil carefully in a tray, covered it with a cloth, and laid the tray on the chest standing just inside the tent doorway. He picked up a hand-sized blade of flint, simply but effectively worked by the removal of long, thin flakes.

“What did you make of this?” he asked.

Hutfauer moved forward out of the shadow and paused to take a prolonged and grateful drink from the can.

“Well, the bed seems to be late Pleistocene, so I’d expect upper Paleolithic indications-which fits in with the way it’s been worked. Probably a scraper for skinning. There are areas of microliths on the handle and also around the end of the blade. Bearing in mind the location, I’d put it at something related fairly closely to the Capsian culture.” He lowered the can and cocked an inquiring eye at Zeiblemann.

“Not bad,” said the professor, nodding. He laid the flint in a tray beside the first and added the identification sheet that Hutfauer had written out. “We’ll have a closer look tomorrow when the light’s a little better.”

Hutfauer joined him at the door. The sound of jabbering and shouting from the level below told them that another of the natives’ endless minor domestic disputes had broken out over something.

“Tea’s up if anyone’s interested,” a voice called out from behind the next tent.

Zeiblemann raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. “What a splendid idea,” he said. “Come on, Jorg.”

They walked around to the makeshift kitchen, where Ruddi Magendorf was sitting on a rock, shoveling spoonfuls of tea leaves out of a tin by his side and into a large bubbling pot of water.

“Hi, Prof-hi, Jorg,” he greeted as the two joined him. “It’ll be brewed in a minute or two.”

Zeiblemann wiped his palms on the front of his shirt. “Good. Just what I could do with.” He cast his eye about automatically and noted the trays, covered by cloths, laid out on the trestle table by the side of Magendorf’s tent.

“Ah, I see you’ve been busy as well,” he observed. “What do we have there?”

Magendorf followed his gaze.

“Jomatto brought them up about half an hour ago. They’re from the upper terrace of sector two-east end. Take a look.”

Zeiblemann walked over to the table and uncovered one of the trays to inspect the neatly arrayed collection, at the same time mumbling absently to himself.

“More flint scrapers, I see… Mmmm… That could be a hand ax. Yes, I believe it is… Bits of jawbone, human… looks as if they might well match up. Skull cap… Bone spearhead… Mmm…” He lifted the cloth from the second tray and began running his eye casually over the contents. Suddenly the movement of his head stopped abruptly as he stared hard at something at one end. His face contorted into a scowl of disbelief.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” he bellowed. He straightened up and walked back toward the stove, holding the offending object out in front of him.

Magendorf shrugged and pulled a face.

“I thought you’d better see it,” he offered, then added: “Jomatto says it was with the rest of that set.”

“Jomatto says what?” Zeiblemann’s voice rose in pitch as he glowered first at Magendorf and then back at the object in his hand. “Oh, for God’s sake! The man’s supposed to have a bit of sense. This is a serious scientific expedition…” He regarded the object again, his nostrils quivering with indignation. “Obviously one of the boys has been playing a silly joke or something.”

It was about the size of a large cigarette pack, not including the wrist bracelet, and carried on its upper face four windows that could have been meant for miniature electronic displays. It suggested a chronometer or calculating aid, or maybe it was both and other things besides. The back and contents were missing, and all that was left was the metal casing, somewhat battered and dented, but still surprisingly unaffected very much by corrosion.

“There’s a funny inscription on the bracelet,” Magenclorf said, rubbing his nose dubiously. “I’ve never seen characters like it before.”

Zeiblemann sniffed and peered briefly at the lettering.

“Pah! Russian or something.” His face had taken on a pinker shade than even that imparted by the Sudan sun. “Wasting valuable time with-with dime-store trinkets!” He drew back his arm and hurled the wrist set high out over the stream. It flashed momentarily in the sunlight before plummeting down into the mud by the water’s edge. The professor stared after it for a few seconds and then turned back to Magendorf, his breathing once again normal. Magendorf extended a mug full of steaming brown liquid.

“Ah, splendid,” Zeiblemann said in a suddenly agreeable voice. “Just the thing.” He settled himself into a folding canvas chair and accepted the proffered mug eagerly. “I’ll tell you one thing that does look interesting, Ruddi,” he went on, nodding toward the table. “That piece of skull in the first tray-number nineteen. Have you noticed the formation of the brow ridges? Now, it could well be an example of…”

In the mud by the side of the stream below, the wrist unit rocked back and forth to the pulsing ripples that every few seconds rose to disturb the delicate equilibrium of the position into which it had fallen. After a while, a rib of sand beneath it was washed away and it tumbled over into a hollow, where it lodged among the swirling, muddy water. By nightfall, the lower half of the casing was already embedded in silt. By the following morning, the hollow had disappeared. Just one arm of the bracelet remained, standing up out of the sand below the rippling surface. The arm bore an inscription, which, if translated, would have read: KORIEL.

The End

Conclusion

It was a good fun story. Right?

Is it really too difficult to believe that there are intelligence’s older than the human race? Or, that they mastered space travel long, long before our ancestors even considered to climb down from the tree? Are these concepts so alien as to be automatically discounted and considered to be “tin foil hat” conspiracy nonsense?

We need to consider everything when look at the world through the eyeglasses of modern life. No matter how outrageous it appears, the truth is something that should not elude us.

Do you want more?

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The shocking evidence that the United States is a full-on Oligarchy.

If you ever have the misfortune to read the comment sections of the social media on the internet, you will discover that 99% of American do not know what the United States is. Some say that it is a “Republic”. While others say that it is a “Democracy”. There are reasons why people use these terms, but they are all wrong. Today, the United States behaves functionally as an Oligarchy. And this post will prove it.

Now, you the reader might ask, why is this important?

Well, it is very important for the very simple reason that oligarchies do not last. They never last, and when they collapse it is often catastrophically.

Thus to fully appreciate what this post is saying, you need to recognize that no one can live on “borrowed time” for long. Eventually, everyone “must pay the dues” that accrue. This was true back three thousand years ago and it is true right now.

This post was written in January 2020, right before the COVID-19 coronavirus forced China to go into a full military DEFCON ONE lock-down, and right before the economic collapse of the United States in early March 2020.

The following is a reprint of an article titled “Oligarchy in America: How the 0.1% Rob Everyone Else Blind – 31 Shocking Data Points” with a sub-title that says “The rich are getting richer, and everyone else is getting poorer” . It was written by Jon Hellevig on Friday 17JAN20. It was edited to fit this venue, but aside from that, no other changes were made. All credit to the author and original editors.


The rich are getting richer, and everyone else is getting poorer.

There is no hiding anymore, the United States has become an oligarch owned banana republic with nukes, and with a monopoly currency which has allowed it to rig the markets for half a century. But now we are only a couple of hours from curtain – Midnight in America.

With the stock market at all-time highs, virtually no unemployment (or so they say), and brisk GDP growth (supposedly) in the last decade, economic analysts would declare that the US economy is in excellent shape.

This was written just before the United States collapsed economically in March 2020.

But, it isn’t in “excellent shape”.

The stock market is a central bank inflated asset bubble, and what GDP growth there has been, is an illusion brought about by the very same financial bubble and by pumping the economy up with record federal borrowings to finance the deficits that America cannot afford.

Rigged statistics showing artificially low inflation serve to hold together the Trumped-up American economic narrative. (About the rigged inflation statistics, see this report). And the low unemployment figure is nothing but a chimera based on misleading.

The US Economy is failing

Actually, as of 20MAY20, it has failed. And people are now considering just how far it will collapse. Even the most optimistic are thinking in terms of months. When the reality might very well be decades.

In reality, the US economy is failing – and the country with it. At least two-thirds of the population has seen dramatic declines in living standards and half are back to levels of developing nations – without the development.

People are turning into impoverished serfs.

The big story covered up by all the happy macroeconomic figures repeated by rote by the US establishment – everybody from the president to cable television pundits and Trump fanboys – is the gradual impoverishment of the American worker.

In the early 1970's, the wages of workers stopped matching the rise in productivity. Now, the rise in productivity was necessary to meet investor dividends. As inflation was eating away at profits. Thus, the only area where the costs to make things were cut were in employee wages. Thus, for most workers, inflation-adjusted wages were frozen at 1970 levels.
In the early 1970’s, the wages of workers stopped matching the rise in productivity. Now, the rise in productivity was necessary to meet investor dividends. As inflation was eating away at profits. Thus, the only area where the costs to make things were cut were in employee wages. Thus, for most workers, inflation-adjusted wages were frozen at 1970 levels.

That’s an inconvenient truth increasingly difficult to hide as the American dream has turned into a nightmare for huge swathes of the population.

The rich are now obscenely wealthy.

As the figures we present below show, the rich are really getting richer, the middle class has been decimated, and half of Americans are poor and destitute of any financial wealth.

Keep in mind that an Oligarchy is rule by the rich. It is in their best interests to have a dual-tiered government and system. One for them, and one for everyone else. Thus, it makes sense that in an oligarchy, the rich get richer, while the poor get poorer.

The super-rich are gobbling up an ever-increasing slice of the American pie at the cost of all the rest who get nothing but table scraps on one side and leftover crumbs on the other, if anything.

The rich are getting richer. The poor are getting poorer, and gap between both is getting bigger and bigger.
The rich are getting richer. The poor are getting poorer, and gap between both is getting bigger and bigger.

The resulting stratification of society has brought back a medieval servant economy, where the have-nots are doing odd jobs, cleaning houses, fetching groceries, running errands and deliveries for the feudal rich and the remaining shrinking middle class.

Thanks to the Fed (the American oligarch owned central bank) pushing easy money into the hands of the privileged elite…

… now the super-rich Dismal Decimal – the top 0.1% – …

…have by now amassed as much wealth as they had just before the Great Depression. A depression that started with the stock market crash in 1929.

A lesson not learned.

Back to square one. How will it end this time?

Information Data Source
This article is based on an Awara Accounting study titled “Widening Income and Wealth Gap and Stagnating Wages in America.” Links and source references to all the facts presented here can be found in said study.

BTW all the data in this report is derived from official US government sources and American experts analyzing them.

Just how the Oligarchy has rigged the game against the citizens…

During the last decades, the financial rewards from the rigged markets first flew exclusively into the pockets of Top 10%, but later it was increasingly Top 1%, which pocketed most, perfectly illustrated by the charts below.

1. Income for the rich just accelerates upward.

The income of Top 1% has grown five times as fast as that of Bottom 90% income since 1970, who now earn double the amount of income than 160 million poor of the lower 50% stratum.

The income of Top 1% has grown five times as fast as that of  Bottom 90% income since 1970.
The income of Top 1% has grown five times as fast as that of Bottom 90% income since 1970.

The fortunes of Top 1% and Bottom 50% are now reversed.

The fortunes of Top 1% and Bottom 50% are now reversed.
The fortunes of Top 1% and Bottom 50% are now reversed.

2. The rich now own almost all the available money.

Top 1% now holds as much wealth as Bottom 50% combined.

Income inequality obviously leads to wealth inequality, but here the figures are yet more striking in showing the magnitudes of the grab at the top. Since 1989, Top 1% captured $21 trillion in wealth, while Bottom 50% lost $900 billion, actually pushing them down to negative wealth, meaning they have more debt than they have assets. 

On a net analysis, half of Americans own nothing of real value.

On a net analysis, half of Americans own nothing of real value.
On a net analysis, half of Americans own nothing of real value.

The Change began under President Reagan.

Until the creeping coup under Reagan, income equality was improving

It was bad enough in 1995 when Top 1% earned as much as Bottom 50%, but today the richest 1% already take 20% of all income leaving the bottom half with only 12%. As the chart shows, back in 1978 – before the neoliberal creeping coup really got going – the trends were reversed. Below chart compares income growth since 1920 of Top 1% to Bottom 90% (that is, all the rest except Top 10%). We see that right after Ronald Reagan entered the presidency with his Chicago School snake oil influenced backers, the income growth of the 1% started its dizzying growth, which is continuing to this date.

Up until around 1982 the income growth for the top 1% of earners was rather flat. But after President Reagan, it accelerated dramatically.
Up until around 1982 the income growth for the top 1% of earners was rather flat. But after President Reagan, it accelerated dramatically.

4. Rich became super-rich.

Money isn't the only system being used to isolate the oligarchy from the common people.

"Phoenix is the conceptual model for the DHS (US equivalent of RSHA under the NSDAP- my note). Both are based on the principle that governments can manage societies through implicit and explicit terror. The strategic goal is to widen the gap between the elites and the mass of the citizenry, while expunging anyone who cannot be ideologically assimilated."

-Dr. T. P. Wilkinson

Back in 1962, the share of Top 1% of America’s wealth at 33% was equal to that of Bottom 90%, but in the early 1980s the share of Bottom 90% started a steep descent and by 2016 their share had dwindled down to 21%.

Especially after the Federal Reserve shifted its market rigging low-interest-rate money-pumping policy into high gear from the beginning of 2000s, the superrich have experienced a massive rise in their fortunes, as illustrated by below chart.

The Rich became super-rich, while the middle class became poor.
The Rich became super-rich, while the middle class became poor.

But by today Top 1% are losers compared with Top 0.1% – the Dismal Decimal – who are where the music plays.

5. Top 0.1% now holds as much wealth as Bottom 90% combined.

A recent study revealed that the concentration on the top is yet much more pernicious.

It’s not any more a question of Top 10%, and not even Top 1%, as it is the Top 0.1% – the Dismal Decimal – that has now concentrated the wealth of the nation (and half the world) in their greedy hands.

Top 0.1% now holds as much wealth as Bottom 90% combined.

As the below chart shows, we are essentially back to the Roaring Twenties…a lesson not learned.

Actually, in the aftermath of the Great Depression, America entered an unprecedented era of four decades of prosperity with a more equal distribution of wealth as Bottom 90% recovered strongly in distribution of wealth at the expense of Top 0.1% parasites.

We are essentially back to the Roaring  Twenties…a lesson not learned.
We are essentially back to the Roaring Twenties…a lesson not learned.

6. Top 0.1% earnings grew 347% between 1979 and, while Top 1% “only” gained 157% – the rest gained nothing

  • Top 0.1% earnings grew 347%
  • Top 1% earnings grew 157%
  • The rest 98.9% grew 0%.
The advent of opportunity for most Americans has become a zero-sum game.
The advent of opportunity for most Americans has become a zero-sum game.

7. The share of total income is oligarch in nature.

The next chart takes a longer perspective – while widening the sample to Top 10% – and shows their share of the total income since 1910 to 2010.

The Roaring Twenties – the period before the 1929 stock market crash and the ensuing Great Depression – experienced the same level of glaring inequality as today’s America.

With Franklin D. Roosevelt’s reforms the egregious average income inequality was tamed and stayed relatively low until Reagan’s fatal presidency. And it’s been downhill ever since – or uphill, if we look at it from the perspective of the rich.

The percentage share of the total national income for the top 10%.
The percentage share of the total national income for the top 10%.

8. The GDP

The only economic figure that has managed to look good is the GDP, but that is so only until you bother to find out where it comes from – from the Federal Reserved fueled asset bubble and massive federal budget deficits financed by record national debts.

For an excellent exposé of how rigged and debt-ridden the US economy is, I refer to my earlier report published on the Saker blog: “New World Order in Meltdown, But Russia Stronger Than Ever” found at https://thesaker.is/new-world-order-in-meltdown-but-russia-stronger-than-ever/

Shortly: The US economy must be seen as a giant Ponzi scheme, which will implode sooner or later. And we are getting to that sooner part now.

20MAY20. We have arrived.

8a. Stock Market

Trump habitually and regularly brags about the stock market reaching another all-time high. But that’s really being out of touch with the electorate.

Stock market gains exclusively flow to the rich increasing inequality and the cost of living for the rest.

Thing is that, beyond the richest 10% very few Americans have a stake in the stock market.

In 2016, the richest one percent held more than half of all outstanding stock, financial securities, and all other sorts of equity. The remainder of those asset categories were held by the rest of Top 10%, who owned over 93% of all stock and mutual fund ownership.

What wealth the remaining 90% may own is largely residential housing, the homes where they live.

According to Jonathan Tepper, the wealthiest 1% own nearly 50% of stock and the top 10% more than 81%. The so-called middle class owns only 8% of all stock.

This also kills the myth that record highs on the stock market would be good for American retirement savings – with the richest few holding all the shares there’s nothing in it for the overwhelming majority.

8b. Pension plans.

A recent report also showed that only 10% of Americans are invested in pension plans. That is down from 60% in 1980.

And those who are, are traditionally more weighted towards bonds and money-market instruments, which suffer from the rigged markets with the artificially low interest rates.

The pension savers are hence literally paying for the super gains flowing into the pockets of Top 1%.

On the other hand the super low interest rates are out of grasp for the all but Top 1% who gobble up the wealth of the nation with that largesse delivered to them by their Federal Reserve.

At the same time the common household is paying double-digit rates on their credit card debt traps.

9. Household wages have been stagnant.

Below Top 10% wages and total household income have been stagnant, at best.

10. Stagnation of incomes for the bulk of Americans.

Average income of the bottom 50% has stagnated at around $16,000 since 1980, while the income of the top 1% has skyrocketed by 300% to approximately $1,340,000 in 2014

11. Almost half of Americans are impoverished.

45% of Americans earn annually only 18,000 or less. A recent study found that 53 million Americans or 44% of the working age population earn a median average annual salary of only $18,000. Basically then, at least half of the Americans are working-poor.

12. Zero change in income for the middle class.

Middle-class households had in 2015 basically the same income as they had in 1979

13. Only the rich got richer.

In the two decades from 1997 to 2017, only Top 5% of households saw their income increase

14. Most American wages did not change at all.

For most American workers, real wages have barely budged in decades. By end of 2018, the real inflation-adjusted average wage had about the same purchasing power it did 40 years ago.

15. Minimum wages have not changed.

As the below chart illustrates, the real average hourly wage which was $20.27 in 1964 had only inched up to $22.27. David Stockman calculated that the real hourly worker’s wage was in 2019 still at 1972 levels.

Minimum wages have not changed.
Minimum wages have not changed.

16. Men’s wages at all levels have fallen.

For full-time employed men real wages have fallen 4.4% since 1973, according to economist Paul Craig Roberts. The total average income of men at $51,212 in 2015, was lower in real terms than it had been in 1974.

17. Rise is “gig work”.

As of 2014, the average hours worked per week had fallen from around 39 hours in 1970s to under 34 hours. Economist Mike Shedlock calculated that the actual hours worked and the average hourly earnings would deliver a weekly income of $690, well below its $825 peak back in the early 1970s. If we multiply the hypothetical weekly earnings by 50, we get an annual figure of $35,497. That would in 2014 have translated to a 16.4% decline from its peak in October 1972.

18. All productively benefit has gone to the rich.

All labor productivity growth since the 1970s have gone to the robber capitalists. From 1973 to 2013, hourly compensation of a typical (production/nonsupervisory) worker rose just 9% percent while productivity increased 74%.

19. CEO pay has skyrocketed.

Nowhere is income inequality and the egregious worsening trend as manifest as in the case of CEO pay.

In the 1970s, CEOs made 30 times what typical workers made, but by 2017 the CEOs made 361 times the workers’ pay. According to the Economic Policy Institute CEO compensation has grown 940% since 1978, while typical worker compensation has risen only 12% during that time.

The Fed fueled financial market orgy is the main cause for the windfall riches of CEOs as stock options and the accompanying share buybacks make up a huge part of CEO pay packages. This rising pay of executives was the main factor in Top 0.1%’s super grab of household income

20. Americans struggle for the basics

A 2017 study found that 40% of US adults struggle to pay for basic necessities like food, healthcare, housing, and utilities.

21. Most Americans live paycheck to paycheck.

Most Americans have depleted all their spare resources as a staggering 78% of full-time workers are reported to live from paycheck to paycheck.

22. Most American have zero savings.

Nearly 70% of Americans have virtually no savings. Bottom 55% have zero savings, while the following 24% – the core of the former middle class – have only $1,000 stashed away.

Infographic: Most Americans Lack Savings | Statista You will find more infographics at Statista

Of course the Oligarchy doesn’t want this information to be widely disseminated. And so they counter with this…

23. Most Americans own nothing of value.

Correspondingly Bottom 70% of Americans don’t own any real wealth (beyond rapidly depreciating durables).

24. The other side of the (non-existent) coin is that the same 50% of Americans would obviously struggle to come up with $400 for an unexpected expense. By extension, the former middle class – those with the miserly savings of $1,000 – would also have real troubles in coping with any kind of bill for medical treatment without dipping into more debt. Considering the above reported findings (see the chart) only the Top 10% would be financially secure in a medical emergency.

25. According to shocking findings by the American Cancer Society, 137.1 million US residents suffered medical financial hardship in 2018. Americans had to resort to borrow a total of $88 billion in 2018 only to cover for essential medical treatment.

26. A third of young adults, or 24 million of those aged 18 to 34, lived with in their parents’ home because they cannot afford a home of their own.

27. The income and wealth gap pictures get worse yet when we look at the age distribution of wealth. Younger generations are earning less and own next to nothing (that is, if you are not the golden youth of the 10%). Baby Boomers born between the end of the Second World War and 1964 currently hold wealth that is 11 times higher than that of millennials.

Median Income for Younger and Older Families in Inflation-Adjusted Dollars

28. Growth of “real” Jobs is zero.

The number of full-time jobs with life-sustaining wages – what economist David Stockman calls breadwinner jobs – have not been growing since 2000, by 2014 their number was still 3.5 million or 5% lower than it was at the peak in early 2001. In the same period 4 million part-time and gig jobs were created.

While the official unemployment figure is presently near historical lows – and at levels what some economists would like to call full employment – there are some big problems with it.

1. Problems with the official unemployment statistics. The officially touted unemployment figure (so-called U3 unemployment) record only those who have been looking for a job during the last 4 weeks, while discouraged long-term unemployed are cleansed from the statistics and left unrecorded as if they would not be in the workforce at all – makes stats look beautiful for the powers that shouldn’t be.

2. The labor participation rate has been falling.

3. New job creation has amounted to only a third of the annual increase in working age population.

4. Part-time and gig jobs count as full-time employment. Any person who takes a part-time or gig job for just a few hours a month is recorded among the employed, although they would rightly be considered unemployed merely clutching at straws.

5. Connected with the previous point, there is also a more general problem with the quality of jobs created. Most jobs created in the last two decades are low-paid low-skill jobs that do not provide a life-sustaining income considering the cost of living in the United States.

More than one third (36%) of U.S. workers are in the gig economy, doing part-time work or side hustles for companies like Uber, Lyft, Etsy, Amazon Mechanical Turk, Freelancer.com, Ebay or just any odd job they can get from time to time.

29. Debt Peonage.

To make up for the shrinking earnings, the American regime is pushing the American population into 21st century debt peonage.

Ensnared in the debt trap, US households had nearly $14 trillion in outstanding debt at the end of the third quarter 2019. That debt load now equals 73% of GDP. By end of 2019, consumption debt alone (not including asset acquiring mortgages) was up by $2 trillion since 2014.

Since 2004, the weight of the student loan millstone has gone up fivefold from only $250 billion to today’s $1.5 trillion.

That’s due to the huge price inflation in higher education. The cost of both public and private college escalated by 40% over the general consumer price inflation between 2005 and 2015.

30. Huge increase in the cost of living in the USA.

We mistakenly believe that the increase in the cost of living is universal around the world. Nope. It isn’t. Only the cost of living in the United States and Zimbabwe have increased exponentially. The rest of the world, not so much.

Because of the huge rise in the last few decades in cost of living in the US, in Russia, you get the same standard of living for a fraction of the American cost. A Moscow average monthly salary equal to $1,600 (annual $19,200) gives the same purchasing power as a monthly salary of $6,000 in Chicago (annual $72,000). Meaning, you live in Moscow (at least as well for a monthly paycheck of $1,600 as you live in Chicago for a paycheck of $6,000.

31. The “American Dream” is dead.

The present oligarch controlled rigged crony capitalist system has killed the American dream, the belief that anyone, regardless of parents’ social status and incomes can attain success and wealth by hard work and ingenuity.

The gates for upward mobility have been shut for the overwhelming majority.

The monopolization of practically all sectors of the economy, the ever increasing bureaucratic restrictions on doing business, the extreme concentration of ownership, and the rigged financial markets have made it increasingly hard for people outside the top echelon of penetrating the financial membrane protecting the elites.

2017 study by the Federal Reserve Bank of Cleveland found that the probability that a household outside the top 10% made it into the highest tier within 10 years was twice as high during 1984-1994 as it was during 2003-2013.

The United States is an oligarchy

This concentration of the income and wealth on the top, proves that the United States is an oligarchy.

A 2014, study by Princeton University https://www.businessinsider.com/major-study-finds-that-the-us-is-an-oligarchy-2014-4 demonstrated how the US is a political oligarchy.

With this report showing the insanely widening income and wealth inequality, my aim is to show, that the country is an economic oligarchy, too.

In fact, economic super riches are the precondition for their political power, too.

In America, as always, the oligarchy has achieved their uncontested power in a hermeneutical feedback loop, where the initial wealth of the superrich has bought them increased political power, which has given them increased riches, which has bought them more political power, and so on, until today, when they own practically the whole economy and the entire government.

Clearly the source of higher inequality has been Fed policies, which has pushed cheap money into the pockets of the already rich, who have exclusively then benefited from soaring stock and real estate prices.

Fittingly, we got end of 2019 a report revealing that the world’s richest people increased their wealth in the year by $1.2 trillion, a staggering 25%, most of which belong to the oligarchs of the United States.

Intentional or Accidental?

The question – which I have set to explore in my series of Capitalism in America – is whether there has been a game plan, a long-term strategy or whether intermittent achievements have just spurred the oligarchs on to new economic and political power grabs in the course of establishing their totalitarian rule.

I tend to think, there has been a long-term plan ever since the establishment of the Federal Reserve.

Thank you President Wilson.

The economic and political history of the United States provide so much circumstantial evidence, which supports the view that there has been a conspiracy of the Wall Street elite.

I shall return to this hypothesis in further installments to this series of Capitalism in America.

It is however clear – whether through a long-term plan or by a series of ad hoc interventions – the US financial elite has by now completed a creeping coup, which have delivered them absolute economic and political power.

In my investigation of the oligarchization of America – the creeping neoliberal oligarch coop, which set in full force since Reagan – I have so far completed these instalments:

The first installment was a study showing how all corporate ownership has been concentrated in the hands of the oligarchy, titled Extreme concentration of ownership in the United States http://blogengine.hellevig.net/post/2019/05/13/Extreme-concentration-of-ownership-in-the-United-States-.aspx

The second part was a study revealing how the oligarchy has totally taken over US media, titled The Oligarch Takeover of US Media http://blogengine.hellevig.net/post/2019/05/13/The-oligarchy-wields-totalitarian-control-over-the-media-through-just-a-few-corporations.aspx

The third installment was a report published on the Saker blog titled New World Order in Meltdown, But Russia Stronger Than Ever https://thesaker.is/new-world-order-in-meltdown-but-russia-stronger-than-ever/

The fourth installment, The Oligarch Takeover of US Pharma and Healthcare https://thesaker.is/the-oligarch-takeover-of-us-pharma-and-healthcare-and-the-resulting-human-crisis/ was also on the Saker blog.

Next due is a fifth report showing how from point of view of political science the oligarchy has destroyed the social fabric of the US economy and deliberately enacted laws that favor the few over the people. Of particular interest here is how the oligarchy has rigged the political system by institutionally solidifying the mendacious Janus- faced two-party system in order to remove any potential challenge to their rule.



Conclusion

Three points;

Point One

There are two classes in the United States; the rich and the poor.

Actually there are nine classes. But for this discussion it's the 0.1% against the 99.9%.

The 9 classes are...

The Oligarchy
The wealthy
The Per Diem
The upper class
The middle class
The Gig class
The low class
The Felon Class
The Sex Offender Class.

The door has slammed shut for most Americans. It is already decided. You are part of one group or the other. The days of being able to leave the “impoverished” and join the ranks of the wealthy are over. It is a fine childhood fantasy, but it will never happen. They best you can do is be slightly better than your peers. That’s all that you can possibly hope for.

Point Two

The United States is stratified by finances. There are two main class groupings of people; the rich and the poor. The government is controlled by the rich, which is a textbook definition of an oligarchy.

oligarchy

noun, plural ol·i·gar·chies.
a form of government in which all power is vested in a few persons or in a dominant class or clique; government by the few.
a state or organization so ruled.
the persons or class so ruling.

America, the United States, is an Oligarchy.

Part Three

The oligarchy, and the PTB (The Powers That Be) are one and the same. Nothing that is written here is unknown to them. They know about all of this, and they do expect everything to crash, or go through a “big reset”.

They plan on this, and have predicted it. They expect it to happen, and fully expect to survive through it. In their viewpoint, they will end up better placed afterwards.

Though, to the vast bulk of Americans, it is new information. Often dismissed as “conspiracy rubbish”.

It isn’t.

So what does all this mean?

  • The United States is neither a Republic or a Democracy. It is an Oligarchy.
  • Those that are in the Oligarchy realize that all Oligarchies collapse, and they have been trying to manage this collapse for the last decade.
  • In fact, they want this collapse to happen, for they believe that not only will they survive it, but that their position, and the world, and society would be better afterwards.
  • Those not part of the PTB Oligarchy will suffer.
  • However, those that are resilient, able to discern, and adaptable will be able to “ride the waves of discord” and survive just as well as the oligarchy can.

You just need to change your ideas and attitudes about who you are and what your role is.

Last minute note…

https://www.yicaiglobal.com/news/american-families-only-half-as-rich--as-those-in-chinese-cities

Some food for thought (and controversy): Is the median net worth of American families really only HALF the net worth of Chinese families? 

When looking at median net worth (rather than average!) this seems to be the case and points to significantly higher inequality in the US compared with China, which has its fair share of inequality nonetheless. 

In addition, Chinese families are sitting on very valuable self-owned properties (often more than one actually), are less indebted and have higher savings. 

What conclusions shall we draw from these perplexing numbers? 

-Dr. Shirley Yu

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Starship Troopers (full text) by Robert Heinlein.

This is the full text, for free, of the Robert Heinlein novel titled “Starship Troopers”. You can read it here directly. You do not have to “register for free” with your credit card, click through a dozen affiliate links, join a “membership”, or download some kind of “pass”. This website is not monetized, and that means that “free” actually means “free”.

Not like the “other” websites on the internet that promise you “free” with a catch…

It's all "free" just go ahead and give the website your credit card number, and agree to pay some "minor" fees and give them your email address and answer some "minor" questions.
It’s all “free” just go ahead and give the website your credit card number, and agree to pay some “minor” fees and give them your email address and answer some “minor” questions.

Yeah. It’s all “free” right? Yeah like fucking Hell, it’s free. Most everything in the United States is tied to making money. And you, my dear reader as just a pawn, a debt sheep to serve your greedy masters. But not here.

Sounds legit, eh? Safe and Secure, eh?
Sounds legit, eh? Safe and Secure, eh?

Here it is really free. Here I don’t want your fucking credit card, or God-damn banking information. I do not expect you to make a “future purchase. I don’t want anything from ya. Just enjoy a great read. It’s my way, a little one, of making the world a better place, step by step.

Here it is in all it’s glory.

Brief Introduction

If you think that the Hollywood movie version of this novel was accurate, let me dispel that misconception. The movie does not, in any way, resemble the novel. This novel is great, and something worthy of posting on my blog.

I first read this book years ago as a child, and in many ways it shaped my entire world view; it quite literally changed my life.

I recently retired after 27 years of Naval service, and as silly as it may seem to some, this book was the foundation of my success; in military service, in the lives of countless young Sailors, and in my new role as a civilian.

It shaped the character of who I was as a leader of men and women at war.

Heinlein may have authored "better" books (according to the critics) but having read virtually all of them, none of the others ever quite so captured the essence of what it means to be both in military service and what those of us fortunate enough to have served all know in our hearts: the true value and moral responsibility of citizenship.

-Amazon Customer

I’ve read this novel three or four times over the last fifty years. It’s a wonderful adventure, but far far more than that.

This is a book about morality: what does the individual ‘owe’ to society (as represented by the state), if anything? Heinlein was a libertarian, so you might think that his answer would, effectively, be …. nothing. His The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress, another classic, is closer to that view.

This is a classic SF futuristic warfare novel that was (may be still) on the reading list at the USAF Command and Staff College where it first got my attention. 

Written in or around 1959, Heinlein's views on duty, honor, selfless service, dignity, combat unit cohesiveness, future infantry tactics and weaponry, society, women in combat, politics, and even parenting are magnificently woven into a fast read novel written at the high school level (at least the 1959 high school level). 

A must read for any junior officer or NCO. Great for a military professional development discussion or class. Heinlein was a prolific SF writer. And, I have read a number of his books. But, Starship Troopers is by far the best. 

If you saw the movie.... I provide you my regrets, although it had a number of budding stars. About the only thing the novel and the movie share besides title is that the protagonist is named Johnnie and the antagonists are bugs.

-EIA!

But in my opinion this book has a sounder view. It’s also brilliantly written — okay, it’s not Updike, but it’s very good juvenile fiction. Two things will interest readers with a sense of history: first, this was written BEFORE the ‘Sixties Revolution’ — and Heinlein was NEVER Politically Correct.

But this book, like almost all his novels written from the 1950s onward, includes very effective, if subtle, arguments against what nowadays are called ‘racism’ and ‘sexism’.

Secondly, it’s interesting to see how far-seeing science fiction authors almost completely missed the revolution in micro-miniaturisation and digital electronics, which makes some of their predictions about the evolution of technology way off the mark. But no one reading the book should feel superior — it just shows that the future is not predictable.

A great book for teenage boys — I don’t know if girls will appreciate it. Lots of bang-bang, but underlying the adventure, and the identifiable-with central character, are deep lessons in how to be a good person.

Best WAR story ever written, past, present or future. It is NOT what you saw in the movie, it is SOOOOO much better!!! 

Heinlein lays out his vision for inter-galactic warfare, but it is really a book about how a boy becomes a man and a person becomes a worthy citizen. 

Accused by the Hippies of its era for being "Too Fascist" this libertarian fantasy portrays a future where society really is a liberal-globalist paradise run on a capitalist economy, but with the right to vote limited to those who volunteer for military service. 

It is a future society with total freedom and total responsibility. 

All wars are in outer space where human colonies run into hostile societies, especially the "Bugs." We get to follow Johnny Rico, a very typical recent high school graduate, as he goes through basic training and enters combat in a wild tech-warrior mech-suit (first imagined in this book) as a member of the Mobile Infantry. if you like HALO, this is where the game world and tech came from. 

But, it is really a story about a new a better society and how to find meaning for your life through service to humanity. The best scenes are short, but all take place in a classroom, where "Moral Ethics and History" are taught by a veteran with a missing arm. 

So, ignore the movie, ignore the controversy; just buy this space adventure and ponder why we don't live in Heinlein's perfect society . . . . yet!!

"Do you apes want to live forever!!"

-Erik S Rurikson

The story follows the career of Johnnie Rico as a Trooper for the federation in a far off fascist future. Despite being a military sci-fi novel it has a surprising amount of political commentary running throughout adding an interesting layer of depth that a lot of modern military sci-fi novels really lack. In the future the only people that can vote have to have worked for the federation to earn citizenship, they have to have earned the right and put the good of the whole above the individual but it’s not that simple as Johnnie finds out.

Can't believe I waited this long to read it. I have been a Sci-Fi fan for many years. My die-hard friends always recommended "Starship Troopers" and the Forever War as two classics that all Sci-Fi fans have to have read.Well.... I saw the abysmal movie years ago so was not interested. What a dolt. Robert Heinlein's book is, I now agree, a must read classic for all Sci-Fi fans. I can now see the influence he had with current writers of the genre. Between him and Asimov their influence is seen everywhere. Really glad I finally read it. Not as much action as I had hoped for but the other areas where he explores human nature, government and society and an individuals role in all of that was enjoyable and well worth the read. You have to answer those same questions for yourself as you read Rico's experiences and journey from late teen into adulthood.

-Squall Line

Though Rico’s reason for joining started as a political choice it soon turns into the look at the life of a mobile infantry trooper, over half the book is about his training alone, about what really makes a soldier in the future. Most of the cadets don’t make it through training, nevermind to serve their term to be citizens.

Starship Troopers

By Robert Heinlein

Come on, you apes! You wanta live forever?

Unknown platoon sergeant, 1918

I always get the shakes before a drop. I’ve had the injections, of course, and hypnotic preparation, and it stands to reason that I can’t really be afraid. The ship’s psychiatrist has checked my brain waves and asked me silly questions while I was asleep and he tells me that it isn’t fear, it isn’t anything important—it’s just like the trembling of an eager race horse in the starting gate.

I couldn’t say about that; I’ve never been a race horse. But the fact is: I’m scared silly, every time.

At D-minus-thirty, after we had mustered in the drop room of the Rodger Young, our platoon leader inspected us. He wasn’t our regular platoon leader, because Lieutenant Rasczak had bought it on our last drop; he was really the platoon sergeant, Career Ship’s Sergeant Jelal. Jelly was a Finno-Turk from Iskander around Proxima—a swarthy little man who looked like a clerk, but I’ve seen him tackle two berserk privates so big he had to reach up to grab them, crack their heads together like coconuts, step back out of the way while they fell.

Off duty he wasn’t bad—for a sergeant. You could even call him “Jelly” to his face. Not recruits, of course, but anybody who had made at least one combat drop.

But right now he was on duty. We had all each inspected our combat equipment (look, it’s your own neck—see?), the acting platoon sergeant

had gone over us carefully after he mustered us, and now Jelly went over us again, his face mean, his eyes missing nothing. He stopped by the man in front of me, pressed the button on his belt that gave readings on his physicals. “Fall out!”

“But, Sarge, it’s just a cold. The Surgeon said—”

Jelly interrupted. “‘But Sarge!’” he snapped. “The Surgeon ain’t making no drop—and neither are you, with a degree and a half of fever. You think

I got time to chat with you, just before a drop? Fall out!

Jenkins left us, looking sad and mad—and I felt bad, too. Because of the Lieutenant buying it, last drop, and people moving up, I was assistant

section leader, second section, this drop, and now I was going to have a hole in my section and no way to fill it. That’s not good; it means a man can run into something sticky, call for help and have nobody to help him.

Jelly didn’t downcheck anybody else. Presently he stepped out in front of us, looked us over and shook his head sadly. “What a gang of apes!” he growled. “Maybe if you’d all buy it this drop, they could start over and build the kind of outfit the Lieutenant expected you to be. But probably not— with the sort of recruits we get these days.” He suddenly straightened up, shouted, “I just want to remind you apes that each and every one of you   has cost the gov’ment, counting weapons, armor, ammo, instrumentation, and training, everything, including the way you overeat—has cost, on the hoof, better’n half a million. Add in the thirty cents you are actually worth and that runs to quite a sum.” He glared at us. “So bring it back! We can spare you, but we can’t spare that fancy suit you’re wearing. I don’t want any heroes in this outfit; the Lieutenant wouldn’t like it. You got a job to do, you go down, you do it, you keep your ears open for recall, you show up for retrieval on the bounce and by the numbers. Get me?”

He glared again. “You’re supposed to know the plan. But some of you ain’t got any minds to hypnotize so I’ll sketch it out. You’ll be dropped in two skirmish lines, calculated two-thousand-yard intervals. Get your bearing on me as soon as you hit, get your bearing and distance on your squad mates, both sides, while you take cover. You’ve wasted ten seconds already, so you smash-and-destroy whatever’s at hand until the flankers hit   dirt.” (He was talking about me—as assistant section leader I was going to be left flanker, with nobody at my elbow. I began to tremble.)

“Once they hit—straighten out those lines!—equalize those intervals! Drop what you’re doing and do it! Twelve seconds. Then advance by leapfrog, odd and even, assistant section leaders minding the count and guiding the envelopment.” He looked at me. “If you’ve done this properly— which I doubt—the flanks will make contact as recall sounds . . . at which time, home you go. Any questions?”

There weren’t any; there never were. He went on, “One more word—This is just a raid, not a battle. It’s a demonstration of firepower and frightfulness. Our mission is to let the enemy know that we could have destroyed their city—but didn’t—but that they aren’t safe even though we refrain from total bombing. You’ll take no prisoners. You’ll kill only when you can’t help it. But the entire area we hit is to be smashed. I don’t want to see any of you loafers back aboard here with unexpended bombs. Get me?” He glanced at the time. “Rasczak’s Roughnecks have got a reputation

to uphold. The Lieutenant told me before he bought it to tell you that he will always have his eye on you every minute . . . and that he expects your names to shine!”

Jelly glanced over at Sergeant Migliaccio, first section leader. “Five minutes for the Padre,” he stated. Some of the boys dropped out of ranks,

went over and knelt in front of Migliaccio, and not necessarily those of his creed, either—Moslems, Christians, Gnostics, Jews, whoever wanted a word with him before a drop, he was there. I’ve heard tell that there used to be military outfits whose chaplains did not fight alongside the others, but I’ve never been able to see how that could work. I mean, how can a chaplain bless anything he’s not willing to do himself? In any case, in the Mobile

Infantry, everybody drops and everybody fights—chaplain and cook and the Old Man’s writer. Once we went down the tube there wouldn’t be a Roughneck left aboard—except Jenkins, of course, and that not his fault.

I didn’t go over. I was always afraid somebody would see me shake if I did, and, anyhow, the Padre could bless me just as handily from where he was. But he came over to me as the last stragglers stood up and pressed his helmet against mine to speak privately. “Johnnie,” he said quietly,  “this is your first drop as a non-com.”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t really a non-com, any more than Jelly was really an officer.

“Just this, Johnnie. Don’t buy a farm. You know your job; do it. Just do it. Don’t try to win a medal.” “Uh, thanks, Padre. I shan’t.”

He added something gently in a language I don’t know, patted me on the shoulder, and hurried back to his section. Jelly called out, “Tenn . . .

shut!” and we all snapped to. “Platoon!”

“Section!” Migliaccio and Johnson echoed.

“By sections—port and starboard—prepare for drop!”

“Section! Man your capsules! Move!

“Squad!”—I had to wait while squads four and five manned their capsules and moved on down the firing tube before my capsule showed up on

the port track and I could climb into it. I wondered if those old-timers got the shakes as they climbed into the Trojan Horse? Or was it just me? Jelly checked each man as he was sealed in and he sealed me in himself. As he did so, he leaned toward me and said, “Don’t goof off, Johnnie. This is just like a drill.”

The top closed on me and I was alone. “Just like a drill,” he says! I began to shake uncontrollably.

Then, in my earphones, I heard Jelly from the center-line tube: “Bridge! Rasczak’s Roughnecks . . . ready for drop!”

“Seventeen seconds, Lieutenant!” I heard the ship captain’s cheerful contralto replying—and resented her calling Jelly “Lieutenant.” To be sure, our lieutenant was dead and maybe Jelly would get his commission . . . but we were still “Rasczak’s Roughnecks.”

She added, “Good luck, boys!” “Thanks, Captain.”

“Brace yourselves! Five seconds.”

I was strapped all over—belly, forehead, shins. But I shook worse than ever.

It’s better after you unload. Until you do, you sit there in total darkness, wrapped like a mummy against the acceleration, barely able to breathe—  and knowing that there is just nitrogen around you in the capsule even if you could get your helmet open, which you can’t—and knowing that the capsule is surrounded by the firing tube anyhow and if the ship gets hit before they fire you, you haven’t got a prayer, you’ll just die there, unable to move, helpless. It’s that endless wait in the dark that causes the shakes—thinking that they’ve forgotten you . . . the ship has been hulled and stayed in orbit, dead, and soon you’ll buy it, too, unable to move, choking. Or it’s a crash orbit and you’ll buy it that way, if you don’t roast on the way down.

Then the ship’s braking program hit us and I stopped shaking. Eight gees, I would say, or maybe ten. When a female pilot handles a ship there is nothing comfortable about it; you’re going to have bruises every place you’re strapped. Yes, yes, I know they make better pilots than men do; their

reactions are faster, and they can tolerate more gee. They can get in faster, get out faster, and thereby improve everybody’s chances, yours as well

as theirs. But that still doesn’t make it fun to be slammed against your spine at ten times your proper weight.

But I must admit that Captain Deladrier knows her trade. There was no fiddling around once the Rodger Young stopped braking. At once I heard her snap, “Center-line tube … fire!” and there were two recoil bumps as Jelly and his acting platoon sergeant unloaded—and immediately: “Port and starboard tubes—automatic fire! ” and the rest of us started to unload.

Bump! and your capsule jerks ahead one place—bump! and it jerks again, precisely like cartridges feeding into the chamber of an old-style automatic weapon. Well, that’s just what we were . . . only the barrels of the gun were twin launching tubes built into a spaceship troop carrier and each cartridge was a capsule big enough (just barely) to hold an infantryman with all field equipment.

Bump!—I was used to number three spot, out early; now I was Tail-End Charlie, last out after three squads. It makes a tedious wait, even with a capsule being fired every second; I tried to count the bumps—bump! (twelve) bump! (thirteen) bump! (fourteen—with an odd sound to it, the empty one Jenkins should have been in) bump!

And clang!—it’s my turn as my capsule slams into the firing chamber—then WHAMBO! the explosion hits with a force that makes the Captain’s braking maneuver feel like a love tap.

Then suddenly nothing.

Nothing at all. No sound, no pressure, no weight. Floating in darkness . . . free fall, maybe thirty miles up, above the effective atmosphere, falling weightlessly toward the surface of a planet you’ve never seen. But I’m not shaking now; it’s the wait beforehand that wears. Once you unload, you can’t get hurt—because if anything goes wrong it will happen so fast that you’ll buy it without noticing that you’re dead, hardly.

Almost at once I felt the capsule twist and sway, then steady down so that my weight was on my back . . . weight that built up quickly until I was at my full weight (0.87 gee, we had been told) for that planet as the capsule reached terminal velocity for the thin upper atmosphere. A pilot who is a  real artist (and the Captain was) will approach and brake so that your launching speed as you shoot out of the tube places you just dead in space relative to the rotational speed of the planet at that latitude. The loaded capsules are heavy; they punch through the high, thin winds of the upper atmosphere without being blown too far out of position—but just the same a platoon is bound to disperse on the way down, lose some of the perfect formation in which it unloads. A sloppy pilot can make this still worse, scatter a strike group over so much terrain that it can’t make rendezvous for retrieval, much less carry out its mission. An infantryman can fight only if somebody else delivers him to his zone; in a way I suppose pilots are just   as essential as we are.

I could tell from the gentle way my capsule entered the atmosphere that the Captain had laid us down with as near zero lateral vector as you could ask for. I felt happy—not only a tight formation when we hit and no time wasted, but also a pilot who puts you down properly is a pilot who is smart and precise on retrieval.

The outer shell burned away and sloughed off—unevenly, for I tumbled. Then the rest of it went and I straightened out. The turbulence brakes of  the second shell bit in and the ride got rough . . . and still rougher as they burned off one at a time and the second shell began to go to pieces. One of the things that helps a capsule trooper to live long enough to draw a pension is that the skins peeling off his capsule not only slow him down, they also fill the sky over the target area with so much junk that radar picks up reflections from dozens of targets for each man in the drop, any one of which could be a man, or a bomb, or anything. It’s enough to give a ballistic computer nervous breakdowns—and does.

To add to the fun your ship lays a series of dummy eggs in the seconds immediately following your drop, dummies that will fall faster because they don’t slough. They get under you, explode, throw out “window,” even operate as transponders, rocket sideways, and do other things to add to the confusion of your reception committee on the ground.

In the meantime your ship is locked firmly on the directional beacon of your platoon leader, ignoring the radar “noise” it has created and following you in, computing your impact for future use.

When the second shell was gone, the third shell automatically opened my first ribbon chute. It didn’t last long but it wasn’t expected to; one good, hard jerk at several gee and it went its way and I went mine. The second chute lasted a little bit longer and the third chute lasted quite a while; it began to be rather too warm inside the capsule and I started thinking about landing.

The third shell peeled off when its last chute was gone and now I had nothing around me but my suit armor and a plastic egg. I was still strapped inside it, unable to move; it was time to decide how and where I was going to ground. Without moving my arms (I couldn’t) I thumbed the switch for a proximity reading and read it when it flashed on in the instrument reflector inside my helmet in front of my forehead.

A mile and eight-tenths—A little closer than I liked, especially without company. The inner egg had reached steady speed, no more help to be gained by staying inside it, and its skin temperature indicated that it would not open automatically for a while yet—so I flipped a switch with my other thumb and got rid of it.

The first charge cut all the straps; the second charge exploded the plastic egg away from me in eight separate pieces—and I was outdoors,

sitting on air, and could see! Better still, the eight discarded pieces were metal-coated (except for the small bit I had taken proximity reading through) and would give back the same reflection as an armored man. Any radar viewer, alive or cybernetic, would now have a sad time sorting me out from the junk nearest me, not to mention the thousands of other bits and pieces for miles on each side, above, and below me. Part of a mobile infantryman’s training is to let him see, from the ground and both by eye and by radar, just how confusing a drop is to the forces on the ground— because you feel awful naked up there. It is easy to panic and either open a chute too soon and become a sitting duck (do ducks really sit?—if so, why?) or fail to open it and break your ankles, likewise backbone and skull.

So I stretched, getting the kinks out, and looked around . . . then doubled up again and straightened out in a swan dive face down and took a good look. It was night down there, as planned, but infrared snoopers let you size up terrain quite well after you are used to them. The river that cut diagonally through the city was almost below me and coming up fast, shining out clearly with a higher temperature than the land. I didn’t care which side of it I landed on but I didn’t want to land in it; it would slow me down.

I noticed a flash off to the right at about my altitude; some unfriendly native down below had burned what was probably a piece of my egg. So I fired my first chute at once, intending if possible to jerk myself right off his screen as he followed the targets down in closing range. I braced for the shock, rode it, then floated down for about twenty seconds before unloading the chute—not wishing to call attention to myself in still another way by not falling at the speed of the other stuff around me.

It must have worked; I wasn’t burned.

About six hundred feet up I shot the second chute . . . saw very quickly that I was being carried over into the river, found that I was going to pass about a hundred feet up over a flat-roofed warehouse or some such by the river . . . blew the chute free and came in for a good enough if rather bouncy landing on the roof by means of the suit’s jump jets. I was scanning for Sergeant Jelal’s beacon as I hit.

And found that I was on the wrong side of the river; Jelly’s star showed up on the compass ring inside my helmet far south of where it should have been—I was too far north. I trotted toward the river side of the roof as I took a range and bearing on the squad leader next to me, found that he was over a mile out of position, called, “Ace! Dress your line,” tossed a bomb behind me as I stepped off the building and across the river. Ace  answered as I could have expected—Ace should have had my spot but he didn’t want to give up his squad; nevertheless he didn’t fancy taking orders from me.

The warehouse went up behind me and the blast hit me while I was still over the river, instead of being shielded by the buildings on the far side as  I should have been. It darn near tumbled my gyros and I came close to tumbling myself. I had set that bomb for fifteen seconds . . . or had I? I  suddenly realized that I had let myself get excited, the worst thing you can do once you’re on the ground. “Just like a drill,” that was the way, just as Jelly had warned me. Take your time and do it right, even if it takes another half second.

As I hit I took another reading on Ace and told him again to realign his squad. He didn’t answer but he was already doing it. I let it ride. As long as Ace did his job, I could afford to swallow his surliness—for now. But back aboard ship (if Jelly kept me on as assistant section leader) we would eventually have to pick a quiet spot and find out who was boss. He was a career corporal and I was just a term lance acting as corporal, but he was under me and you can’t afford to take any lip under those circumstances. Not permanently.

But I didn’t have time then to think about it; while I was jumping the river I had spotted a juicy target and I wanted to get it before somebody else noticed it—a lovely big group of what looked like public buildings on a hill. Temples, maybe . . . or a palace. They were miles outside the area we were sweeping, but one rule of a smash & run is to expend at least half your ammo outside your sweep area; that way the enemy is kept confused as to where you actually are—that and keep moving, do everything fast. You’re always heavily outnumbered; surprise and speed are what saves you.

I was already loading my rocket launcher while I was checking on Ace and telling him for the second time to straighten up. Jelly’s voice reached

me right on top of that on the all-hands circuit: “Platoon! By leapfrog! For ward! ” My boss, Sergeant Johnson, echoed, “By leapfrog! Odd numbers! Advance!

That left me with nothing to worry about for twenty seconds, so I jumped up on the building nearest me, raised the launcher to my shoulder, found

the target and pulled the first trigger to let the rocket have a look at its target—pulled the second trigger and kissed it on its way, jumped back to the

ground. “Second section, even numbers!” I called out . . . waited for the count in my mind and ordered, “Advance!

And did so myself, hopping over the next row of buildings, and, while I was in the air, fanning the first row by the river front with a hand flamer.

They seemed to be wood construction and it looked like time to start a good fire—with luck, some of those warehouses would house oil products, or even explosives. As I hit, the Y-rack on my shoulders launched two small H.E. bombs a couple of hundred yards each way to my right and left flanks but I never saw what they did as just then my first rocket hit—that unmistakable (if you’ve ever seen one) brilliance of an atomic explosion. It was just a peewee, of course, less than two kilotons nominal yield, with tamper and implosion squeeze to produce results from a less-than-critical mass—but then who wants to be bunk mates with a cosmic catastrophe? It was enough to clean off that hilltop and make everybody in the city take shelter against fallout. Better still, any of the local yokels who happened to be outdoors and looking that way wouldn’t be seeing anything else for a

couple of hours—meaning me. The flash hadn’t dazzled me, nor would it dazzle any of us; our face bowls are heavily leaded, we wear snoopers over our eyes—and we’re trained to duck and take it on the armor if we do happen to be looking the wrong way.

So I merely blinked hard—opened my eyes and stared straight at a local citizen just coming out of an opening in the building ahead of me. He

looked at me, I looked at him, and he started to raise something—a weapon, I suppose—as Jelly called out, “Odd numbers! Advance!

I didn’t have time to fool with him: I was a good five hundred yards short of where I should have been by then. I still had the hand flamer in my left

hand; I toasted him and jumped over the building he had been coming out of, as I started to count. A hand flamer is primarily for incendiary work but it is a good defensive anti-personnel weapon in tight quarters; you don’t have to aim it much.

Between excitement and anxiety to catch up I jumped too high and too wide. It’s always a temptation to get the most out of your jump gear—but

dont do it! It leaves you hanging in the air for seconds, a big fat target. The way to advance is to skim over each building as you come to it, barely clearing it, and taking full advantage of cover while you’re down—and never stay in one place more than a second or two, never give them time to target in on you. Be somewhere else, anywhere. Keep moving.

This one I goofed—too much for one row of buildings, too little for the row beyond it; I found myself coming down on a roof. But not a nice flat one where I might have tarried three seconds to launch another peewee A-rocket; this roof was a jungle of pipes and stanchions and assorted ironmongery—a factory maybe, or some sort of chemical works. No place to land. Worse still, half a dozen natives were up there. These geezers are humanoid, eight or nine feet tall, much skinnier than we are and with a higher body temperature; they don’t wear any clothes and they stand out in a set of snoopers like a neon sign. They look still funnier in daylight with your bare eyes but I would rather fight them than the arachnids—those Bugs make me queazy.

If these laddies were up there thirty seconds earlier when my rocket hit, then they couldn’t see me, or anything. But I couldn’t be certain and didn’t want to tangle with them in any case; it wasn’t that kind of a raid. So I jumped again while I was still in the air, scattering a handful of ten-second fire pills to keep them busy, grounded, jumped again at once, and called out, “Second section! Even numbers! . . . Advance!” and kept right on going to close the gap, while trying to spot, every time I jumped, something worth expending a rocket on. I had three more of the little A-rockets and I

certainly didn’t intend to take any back with me. But I had had pounded into me that you must get your money’s worth with atomic weapons—it was only the second time that I had been allowed to carry them.

Right now I was trying to spot their waterworks; a direct hit on it could make the whole city uninhabitable, force them to evacuate it without directly killing anyone—just the sort of nuisance we had been sent down to commit. It should—according to the map we had studied under hypnosis—be about three miles upstream from where I was.

But I couldn’t see it; my jumps didn’t take me high enough, maybe. I was tempted to go higher but I remembered what Migliaccio had said about not trying for a medal, and stuck to doctrine. I set the Y-rack launcher on automatic and let it lob a couple of little bombs every time I hit. I set fire to things more or less at random in between, and tried to find the waterworks, or some other worth-while target.

Well, there was something up there at the proper range—waterworks or whatever, it was big. So I hopped on top of the tallest building near me, took a bead on it, and let fly. As I bounced down I heard Jelly: “Johnnie! Red! Start bending in the flanks.”

I acknowledged and heard Red acknowledge and switched my beacon to blinker so that Red could pick me out for certain, took a range and bearing on his blinker while I called out, “Second Section! Curve in and envelop! Squad leaders acknowledge!”

Fourth and fifth squads answered, “Wilco”; Ace said, “We’re already doin’ it—pick up your feet.”

Red’s beacon showed the right flank to be almost ahead of me and a good fifteen miles away. Golly! Ace was right; I would have to pick up my feet or I would never close the gap in time—and me with a couple of hundred-weight of ammo and sundry nastiness still on me that I just had to find time to use up. We had landed in a V formation, with Jelly at the bottom of the V and Red and myself at the ends of the two arms; now we had to close it into a circle around the retrieval rendezvous . . . which meant that Red and I each had to cover more ground than the others and still do our full share of damage.

At least the leapfrog advance was over with once we started to encircle; I could quit counting and concentrate on speed. It was getting to be less healthy to be anywhere, even moving fast. We had started with the enormous advantage of surprise, reached the ground without being hit (at least I hoped nobody had been hit coming in), and had been rampaging in among them in a fashion that let us fire at will without fear of hitting each other while they stood a big chance of hitting their own people in shooting at us—if they could find us to shoot at, at all. (I’m no games-theory expert but I doubt if any computer could have analyzed what we were doing in time to predict where we would be next.)

Nevertheless the home defenses were beginning to fight back, co-ordinated or not. I took a couple of near misses with explosives, close enough to rattle my teeth even inside armor, and once I was brushed by some sort of beam that made my hair stand on end and half paralyzed me for a moment—as if I had hit my funny bone, but all over. If the suit hadn’t already been told to jump, I guess I wouldn’t have got out of there.

Things like that make you pause to wonder why you ever took up soldiering—only I was too busy to pause for anything. Twice, jumping blind over buildings, I landed right in the middle of a group of them—jumped at once while fanning wildly around me with the hand flamer.

Spurred on this way, I closed about half of my share of the gap, maybe four miles, in minimum time but without doing much more than casual damage. My Y-rack had gone empty two jumps back; finding myself alone in sort of a courtyard I stopped to put my reserve H.E. bombs into it while  I took a bearing on Ace—found that I was far enough out in front of the flank squad to think about expending my last two A-rockets. I jumped to the top of the tallest building in the neighborhood.

It was getting light enough to see; I flipped the snoopers up onto my forehead and made a fast scan with bare eyes, looking for anything behind us worth shooting at, anything at all; I had no time to be choosy.

There was something on the horizon in the direction of their spaceport—administration & control, maybe, or possibly even a starship. Almost in line and about half as far away was an enormous structure which I couldn’t identify even that loosely. The range to the spaceport was extreme but I let the rocket see it, said, “Go find it, baby!” and twisted its tail—slapped the last one in, sent it toward the nearer target, and jumped.

That building took a direct hit just as I left it. Either a skinny had judged (correctly) that it was worth one of their buildings to try for one of us, or one of my own mates was getting mighty careless with fireworks. Either way, I didn’t want to jump from that spot, even a skimmer; I decided to go   through the next couple of buildings instead of over. So I grabbed the heavy flamer off my back as I hit and flipped the snoopers down over my eyes, tackled a wall in front of me with a knife beam at full power. A section of wall fell away and I charged in.

And backed out even faster.

I didn’t know what it was I had cracked open. A congregation in church—a skinny flophouse—maybe even their defense headquarters. All I knew was that it was a very big room filled with more skinnies than I wanted to see in my whole life.

Probably not a church, for somebody took a shot at me as I popped back out—just a slug that bounced off my armor, made my ears ring, and staggered me without hurting me. But it reminded me that I wasn’t supposed to leave without giving them a souvenir of my visit. I grabbed the first thing on my belt and lobbed it in—and heard it start to squawk. As they keep telling you in Basic, doing something constructive at once is better than figuring out the best thing to do hours later.

By sheer chance I had done the right thing. This was a special bomb, one each issued to us for this mission with instructions to use them if we found ways to make them effective. The squawking I heard as I threw it was the bomb shouting in skinny talk (free translation): “I’m a thirty-second bomb! I’m a thirty-second bomb! Twenty-nine! . . . twenty-eight! . . . twenty-seven!—”

It was supposed to frazzle their nerves. Maybe it did; it certainly frazzled mine. Kinder to shoot a man. I didn’t wait for the countdown; I jumped,

while I wondered whether they would find enough doors and windows to swarm out in time.

I got a bearing on Red’s blinker at the top of the jump and one on Ace as I grounded. I was falling behind again—time to hurry.

But three minutes later we had closed the gap; I had Red on my left flank a half mile away. He reported it to Jelly. We heard Jelly’s relaxed growl to the entire platoon: “Circle is closed, but the beacon is not down yet. Move forward slowly and mill around, make a little more trouble—but mind

the lad on each side of you; don’t make trouble for him. Good job, so far—don’t spoil it. Platoon! By sections . . . Muster!

It looked like a good job to me, too; much of the city was burning and, although it was almost full light now, it was hard to tell whether bare eyes

were better than snoopers, the smoke was so thick.

Johnson, our section leader, sounded off: “Second section, call off!”

I echoed, “Squads four, five, and six—call off and report!” The assortment of safe circuits we had available in the new model comm units certainly speeded things up; Jelly could talk to anybody or to his section leaders; a section leader could call his whole section, or his non-coms; and the platoon could muster twice as fast, when seconds matter. I listened to the fourth squad call off while I inventoried my remaining firepower and

lobbed one bomb toward a skinny who poked his head around a corner. He left and so did I—“Mill around,” the boss man had said.

The fourth squad bumbled the call off until the squad leader remembered to fill in with Jenkins’ number; the fifth squad clicked off like an abacus and I began to feel good . . . when the call off stopped after number four in Ace’s squad. I called out, “Ace, where’s Dizzy?”

“Shut up,” he said. “Number six! Call off!” “Six!” Smith answered.

“Seven!”

“Sixth squad, Flores missing,” Ace completed it. “Squad leader out for pickup.” “One man absent,” I reported to Johnson. “Flores, squad six.”

“Missing or dead?”

“I don’t know. Squad leader and assistant section leader dropping out for pickup.” “Johnnie, you let Ace take it.”

But I didn’t hear him, so I didn’t answer. I heard him report to Jelly and I heard Jelly cuss. Now look, I wasn’t bucking for a medal—it’s the

assistant section leader’s business to make pickup; he’s the chaser, the last man in, expendable. The squad leaders have other work to do. As you’ve no doubt gathered by now the assistant section leader isn’t necessary as long as the section leader is alive.

Right that moment I was feeling unusually expendable, almost expended, because I was hearing the sweetest sound in the universe, the beacon the retrieval boat would land on, sounding our recall. The beacon is a robot rocket, fired ahead of the retrieval boat, just a spike that buries itself in the ground and starts broadcasting that welcome, welcome music. The retrieval boat homes in on it automatically three minutes later and you had better be on hand, because the bus can’t wait and there won’t be another one along.

But you don’t walk away on another cap trooper, not while there’s a chance he’s still alive—not in Rasczak’s Roughnecks. Not in any outfit of the Mobile Infantry. You try to make pickup.

I heard Jelly order: “Heads up, lads! Close to retrieval circle and interdict! On the bounce!”

And I heard the beacon’s sweet voice: “—to the everlasting glory of the infantry, shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young!” and I wanted to head for it so bad I could taste it.

Instead I was headed the other way, closing on Ace’s beacon and expending what I had left of bombs and fire pills and anything else that would weigh me down. “Ace! You got his beacon?”

“Yes. Go back, Useless!”

“I’ve got you by eye now. Where is he?”

“Right ahead of me, maybe quarter mile. Scram! He’s my man.”

I didn’t answer; I simply cut left oblique to reach Ace about where he said Dizzy was.

And found Ace standing over him, a couple of skinnies flamed down and more running away. I lit beside him. “Let’s get him out of his armor—the boat’ll be down any second!”

“He’s too bad hurt!”

I looked and saw that it was true—there was actually a hole in his armor and blood coming out. And I was stumped. To make a wounded pickup you get him out of his armor . . . then you simply pick him up in your arms—no trouble in a powered suit—and bounce away from there. A bare man

weighs less than the ammo and stuff you’ve expended. “What’ll we do?”

“We carry him,” Ace said grimly. “Grab ahold the left side of his belt.” He grabbed the right side, we manhandled Flores to his feet. “Lock on! Now

. . . by the numbers, stand by to jump—one—two!

We jumped. Not far, not well. One man alone couldn’t have gotten him off the ground; an armored suit is too heavy. But split it between two men

and it can be done.

We jumped—and we jumped—and again, and again, with Ace calling it and both of us steadying and catching Dizzy on each grounding. His gyros seemed to be out.

We heard the beacon cut off as the retrieval boat landed on it—I saw it land . . . and it was too far away. We heard the acting platoon sergeant call out: “In succession, prepare to embark!”

And Jelly called out, “Belay that order!”

We broke at last into the open and saw the boat standing on its tail, heard the ululation of its take-off warning—saw the platoon still on the ground around it, in interdiction circle, crouching behind the shield they had formed.

Heard Jelly shout, “In succession, man the boat—move!

And we were still too far away! I could see them peel off from the first squad, swarm into the boat as the interdiction circle tightened. And a single figure broke out of the circle, came toward us at a speed possible only to a command suit.

Jelly caught us while we were in the air, grabbed Flores by his Y-rack and helped us lift.

Three jumps got us to the boat. Everybody else was inside but the door was still open. We got him in and closed it while the boat pilot screamed

that we had made her miss rendezvous and now we had all bought it! Jelly paid no attention to her; we laid Flores down and lay down beside him. As the blast hit us Jelly was saying to himself, “All present, Lieutenant. Three men hurt—but all present!”

I’ll say this for Captain Deladrier: they don’t make any better pilots. A rendezvous, boat to ship in orbit, is precisely calculated. I don’t know how,

but it is, and you don’t change it. You cant.

Only she did. She saw in her scope that the boat had failed to blast on time; she braked back, picked up speed again—and matched and took

us in, just by eye and touch, no time to compute it. If the Almighty ever needs an assistant to keep the stars in their courses, I know where he can look.

Flores died on the way up.

CH:02

It scared me so, I hooked it off, Nor stopped as I remember,off, Nor stopped as I remember, Nor turned about till I got home, Locked up in mother’s chamber. Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle dandy the step, Mind the music and the step, And with the girls be handy.

I never really intended to join up.

And certainly not the infantry! Why, I would rather have taken ten lashes in the public square and have my father tell me that I was a disgrace to a proud name.

Oh, I had mentioned to my father, late in my senior year in high school, that I was thinking over the idea of volunteering for Federal Service. I suppose every kid does, when his eighteenth birthday heaves into sight—and mine was due the week I graduated. Of course most of them just think about it, toy with the idea a little, then go do something else—go to college, or get a job, or something. I suppose it would have been that way with me . . . if my best chum had not, with dead seriousness, planned to join up.

Carl and I had done everything together in high school—eyed the girls together, double-dated together, been on the debate team together, pushed electrons together in his home lab. I wasn’t much on electronic theory myself, but I’m a neat hand with a soldering gun; Carl supplied the skull sweat and I carried out his instructions. It was fun; anything we did together was fun. Carl’s folks didn’t have anything like the money that my father had, but it didn’t matter between us. When my father bought me a Rolls copter for my fourteenth birthday, it was Carl’s as much as it was mine; contrariwise, his basement lab was mine.

So when Carl told me that he was not going straight on with school, but would serve a term first, it gave me to pause. He really meant it; he seemed to think that it was natural and right and obvious.

So I told him I was joining up, too.

He gave me an odd look. “Your old man won’t let you.”

“Huh? How can he stop me?” And of course he couldn’t, not legally. It’s the first completely free choice anybody gets (and maybe his last); when a boy, or a girl, reaches his or her eighteenth birthday, he or she can volunteer and nobody else has any say in the matter.

“You’ll find out.” Carl changed the subject.

So I took it up with my father, tentatively, edging into it sideways.

He put down his newspaper and cigar and stared at me. “Son, are you out of your mind?” I muttered that I didn’t think so.

“Well, it certainly sounds like it.” He sighed. “Still . . . I should have been expecting it; it’s a predictable stage in a boy’s growing up. I remember when you learned to walk and weren’t a baby any longer—frankly you were a little hellion for quite a while. You broke one of your mother’s Ming vases—on purpose, I’m quite sure . . . but you were too young to know that it was valuable, so all you got was having your hand spatted. I recall the day you swiped one of my cigars, and how sick it made you. Your mother and I carefully avoided noticing that you couldn’t eat dinner that night and I’ve never mentioned it to you until now—boys have to try such things and discover for themselves that men’s vices are not for them. We watched when you turned the corner on adolescence and started noticing that girls were different—and wonderful.”

He sighed again. “All normal stages. And the last one, right at the end of adolescence, is when a boy decides to join up and wear a pretty uniform. Or decides that he is in love, love such as no man ever experienced before, and that he just has to get married right away. Or both.” He smiled grimly. “With me it was both. But I got over each of them in time not to make a fool of myself and ruin my life.”

“But, Father, I wouldn’t ruin my life. Just a term of service—not career.”

“Let’s table that, shall we? Listen, and let me tell you what you are going to do—because you want to. In the first place this family has stayed out of politics and cultivated its own garden for over a hundred years—I see no reason for you to break that fine record. I suppose it’s the influence of that fellow at your high school—what’s his name? You know the one I mean.”

He meant our instructor in History and Moral Philosophy—a veteran, naturally. “Mr. Dubois.”

“Hmmph, a silly name—it suits him. Foreigner, no doubt. It ought to be against the law to use the schools as undercover recruiting stations. I think

I’m going to write a pretty sharp letter about it—a taxpayer has some rights!”

“But, Father, he doesn’t do that at all! He—” I stopped, not knowing how to describe it. Mr. Dubois had a snotty, superior manner; he acted as if

none of us was really good enough to volunteer for service. I didn’t like him. “Uh, if anything, he discourages it.”

“Hmmph! Do you know how to lead a pig? Never mind. When you graduate, you’re going to study business at Harvard; you know that. After that,

you will go on to the Sorbonne and you’ll travel a bit along with it, meet some of our distributors, find out how business is done elsewhere. Then you’ll come home and go to work. You’ll start with the usual menial job, stock clerk or something, just for form’s sake—but you’ll be an executive before you can catch your breath, because I’m not getting any younger and the quicker you can pick up the load, the better. As soon as you’re able and willing, you’ll be boss. There! How does that strike you as a program? As compared with wasting two years of your life?”

I didn’t say anything. None of it was news to me; I’d thought about it. Father stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “Son, don’t think I don’t sympathize with you; I do. But look at the real facts. If there were a war, I’d be the first to cheer you on—and to put the business on a war footing. But there isn’t, and praise God there never will be again. We’ve outgrown wars. This planet is now peaceful and happy and we enjoy good enough relations with other planets. So what is this so-called ‘Federal Service’? Parasitism, pure and simple. A functionless organ, utterly obsolete, living   on the taxpayers. A decidedly expensive way for inferior people who otherwise would be unemployed to live at public expense for a term of years,

then give themselves airs for the rest of their lives. Is that what you want to do?” “Carl isn’t inferior!”

“Sorry. No, he’s a fine boy . . . but misguided.” He frowned, and then smiled. “Son, I had intended to keep something as a surprise for you—a graduation present. But I’m going to tell you now so that you can put this nonsense out of your mind more easily. Not that I am afraid of what you might do; I have confidence in your basic good sense, even at your tender years. But you are troubled, I know—and this will clear it away. Can you guess what it is?”

“Uh, no.”

He grinned. “A vacation trip to Mars.”

I must have looked stunned. “Golly, Father, I had no idea—”

“I meant to surprise you and I see I did. I know how you kids feel about travel, though it beats me what anyone sees in it after the first time out. But this is a good time for you to do it—by yourself; did I mention that?—and get it out of your system . . . because you’ll be hard-pressed to get in even  a week on Luna once you take up your responsibilities.” He picked up his paper. “No, don’t thank me. Just run along and let me finish my paper— I’ve got some gentlemen coming in this evening, shortly. Business.”

I ran along. I guess he thought that settled it . . . and I suppose I did, too. Mars! And on my own! But I didn’t tell Carl about it; I had a sneaking suspicion that he would regard it as a bribe. Well, maybe it was. Instead I simply told him that my father and I seemed to have different ideas about it.

“Yeah,” he answered, “so does mine. But it’s my life.” I thought about it during the last session of our class in History and Moral Philosophy. H. &

M. P. was different from other courses in that everybody had to take it but nobody had to pass it—and Mr. Dubois never seemed to care whether he

got through to us or not. He would just point at you with the stump of his left arm (he never bothered with names) and snap a question. Then the argument would start.

But on the last day he seemed to be trying to find out what we had learned. One girl told him bluntly: “My mother says that violence never settles

anything.”

“So?” Mr. Dubois looked at her bleakly. “I’m sure the city fathers of Carthage would be glad to know that. Why doesn’t your mother tell them so?

Or why don’t you?”

They had tangled before—since you couldn’t flunk the course, it wasn’t necessary to keep Mr. Dubois buttered up. She said shrilly, “You’re

making fun of me! Everybody knows that Carthage was destroyed!”

“You seemed to be unaware of it,” he said grimly. “Since you do know it, wouldn’t you say that violence had settled their destinies rather thoroughly? However, I was not making fun of you personally; I was heaping scorn on an inexcusably silly idea—a practice I shall always follow. Anyone who clings to the historically untrue—and thoroughly immoral—doctrine that ‘violence never settles anything’ I would advise to conjure up the ghosts of Napoleon Bonaparte and of the Duke of Wellington and let them debate it. The ghost of Hitler could referee, and the jury might well be the Dodo, the Great Auk, and the Passenger Pigeon. Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor, and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and freedoms.”

He sighed. “Another year, another class—and, for me, another failure. One can lead a child to knowledge but one cannot make him think.” Suddenly he pointed his stump at me. “You. What is the moral difference, if any, between the soldier and the civilian?”

“The difference,” I answered carefully, “lies in the field of civic virtue. A soldier accepts personal responsibility for the safety of the body politic of which he is a member, defending it, if need be, with his life. The civilian does not.”

“The exact words of the book,” he said scornfully. “But do you understand it? Do you believe it?” “Uh, I don’t know, sir.”

“Of course you don’t! I doubt if any of you here would recognize ‘civic virtue’ if it came up and barked in your face!” He glanced at his watch. “And that is all, a final all. Perhaps we shall meet again under happier circumstances. Dismissed.”

Graduation right after that and three days later my birthday, followed in less than a week by Carl’s birthday—and I still hadn’t told Carl that I wasn’t joining up. I’m sure he assumed that I would not, but we didn’t discuss it out loud—embarrassing. I simply arranged to meet him the day after his birthday and we went down to the recruiting office together.

On the steps of the Federal Building we ran into Carmencita Ibañez, a classmate of ours and one of the nice things about being a member of a race with two sexes. Carmen wasn’t my girl—she wasn’t anybody’s girl; she never made two dates in a row with the same boy and treated all of us with equal sweetness and rather impersonally. But I knew her pretty well, as she often came over and used our swimming pool, because it was Olympic length—sometimes with one boy, sometimes with another. Or alone, as Mother urged her to—Mother considered her “a good influence.” For once she was right.

She saw us and waited, dimpling. “Hi, fellows!”

“Hello, Ochee Chyornya,” I answered. “What brings you here?” “Can’t you guess? Today is my birthday.”

“Huh? Happy returns!” “So I’m joining up.”

“Oh . . .” I think Carl was as surprised as I was. But Carmencita was like that. She never gossiped and she kept her own affairs to herself. “No foolin’?” I added, brilliantly.

“Why should I be fooling? I’m going to be a spaceship pilot—at least I’m going to try for it.”

“No reason why you shouldn’t make it,” Carl said quickly. He was right—I know now just how right he was. Carmen was small and neat, perfect health and perfect reflexes—she could make competitive diving routine look easy and she was quick at mathematics. Me, I tapered off with a “C” in algebra and a “B” in business arithmetic; she took all the math our school offered and a tutored advance course on the side. But it had never occurred to me to wonder why. Fact was, little Carmen was so ornamental that you just never thought about her being useful.

“We—uh, I,” said Carl, “am here to join up, too.”

“And me,” I agreed. “Both of us.” No, I hadn’t made any decision; my mouth was leading its own life. “Oh, wonderful!”

“And I’m going to buck for space pilot, too,” I added firmly.

She didn’t laugh. She answered very seriously, “Oh, how grand! Perhaps in training we’ll run into each other. I hope so.” “Collision courses?” asked Carl. “That’s a no-good way to pilot.”

“Don’t be silly, Carl. On the ground, of course. Are you going to be a pilot, too?”

Me? ” Carl answered. “I’m no truck driver. You know me—Starside R&D, if they’ll have me. Electronics.”

“‘Truck driver’ indeed! I hope they stick you out on Pluto and let you freeze. No, I don’t—good luck! Let’s go in, shall we?”

The recruiting station was inside a railing in the rotunda. A fleet sergeant sat at a desk there, in dress uniform, gaudy as a circus. His chest was loaded with ribbons I couldn’t read. But his right arm was off so short that his tunic had been tailored without any sleeve at all . . . and, when you came up to the rail, you could see that he had no legs.

It didn’t seem to bother him. Carl said, “Good morning. I want to join up.” “Me, too,” I added.

He ignored us. He managed to bow while sitting down and said, “Good morning, young lady. What can I do for you?” “I want to join up, too.”

He smiled. “Good girl! If you’ll just scoot up to room 201 and ask for Major Rojas, she’ll take care of you.” He looked her up and down. “Pilot?” “If possible.”

“You look like one. Well, see Miss Rojas.”

She left, with thanks to him and a see-you-later to us; he turned his attention to us, sized us up with a total absence of the pleasure he had shown in little Carmen. “So?” he said. “For what? Labor battalions?”

“Oh, no!” I said. “I’m going to be a pilot.”

He stared at me and simply turned his eyes away. “You?”

“I’m interested in the Research and Development Corps,” Carl said soberly, “especially electronics. I understand the chances are pretty good.” “They are if you can cut it,” the Fleet Sergeant said grimly, “and not if you don’t have what it takes, both in preparation and ability. Look, boys,

have you any idea why they have me out here in front?” I didn’t understand him. Carl said, “Why?”

“Because the government doesn’t care one bucket of swill whether you join or not! Because it has become stylish, with some people—too many people—to serve a term and earn a franchise and be able to wear a ribbon in your lapel which says that you’re a vet’ran . . . whether you’ve ever

seen combat or not. But if you want to serve and I can’t talk you out of it, then we have to take you, because that’s your constitutional right. It says  that everybody, male or female, shall have his born right to pay his service and assume full citizenship—but the facts are that we are getting hard pushed to find things for all the volunteers to do that aren’t just glorified K.P. You can’t all be real military men; we don’t need that many and most of the volunteers aren’t number-one soldier material anyhow. Got any idea what it takes to make a soldier?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Most people think that all it takes is two hands and two feet and a stupid mind. Maybe so, for cannon fodder. Possibly that was all that Julius Caesar required. But a private soldier today is a specialist so highly skilled that he would rate ‘master’ in any other trade; we can’t afford stupid ones. So for those who insist on serving their term—but haven’t got what we want and must have—we’ve had to think up a whole list of dirty, nasty, dangerous jobs that will either run ’em home with their tails between their legs and their terms uncompleted . . . or at the very least make them remember for the rest of their lives that their citizenship is valuable to them because they’ve paid a high price for it. Take that young lady who was here—wants to be a pilot. I hope she makes it; we always need good pilots, not enough of ’em. Maybe she will. But if she misses, she may wind up in Antarctica, her pretty eyes red from never seeing anything but artificial light and her knuckles callused from hard, dirty work.”

I wanted to tell him that the least Carmencita could get was computer programmer for the sky watch; she really was a whiz at math. But he was talking.

“So they put me out here to discourage you boys. Look at this.” He shoved his chair around to make sure that we could see that he was legless.

“Let’s assume that you don’t wind up digging tunnels on Luna or playing human guinea pig for new diseases through sheer lack of talent; suppose

we do make a fighting man out of you. Take a look at me—this is what you may buy . . . if you don’t buy the whole farm and cause your folks to receive a ‘deeply regret’ telegram. Which is more likely, because these days, in training or in combat, there aren’t many wounded. If you buy at all, they likely throw in a coffin—I’m the rare exception; I was lucky . . . though maybe you wouldn’t call it luck.”

He paused, then added, “So why don’t you boys go home, go to college, and then go be chemists or insurance brokers or whatever? A term of service isn’t a kiddie camp; it’s either real military service, rough and dangerous even in peacetime . . . or a most unreasonable facsimile thereof. Not a vacation. Not a romantic adventure. Well?”

Carl said, “I’m here to join up.” “Me, too.”

“You realize that you aren’t allowed to pick your service?” Carl said, “I thought we could state our preferences?”

“Certainly. And that’s the last choice you’ll make until the end of your term. The placement officer pays attention to your choice, too. First thing he does is to check whether there’s any demand for left-handed glass blowers this week—that being what you think would make you happy. Having reluctantly conceded that there is a need for your choice—probably at the bottom of the Pacific—he then tests you for innate ability and preparation.

About once in twenty times he is forced to admit that everything matches and you get the job . . . until some practical joker gives you dispatch  orders to do something very different. But the other nineteen times he turns you down and decides that you are just what they have been needing to field-test survival equipment on Titan.” He added meditatively, “It’s chilly on Titan. And it’s amazing how often experimental equipment fails to work. Have to have real field tests, though—laboratories just never get all the answers.”

“I can qualify for electronics,” Carl said firmly, “if there are jobs open in it.” “So? And how about you, bub?”

I hesitated—and suddenly realized that, if I didn’t take a swing at it, I would wonder all my life whether I was anything but the boss’s son. “I’m going to chance it.”

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t try. Got your birth certificates with you? And let’s see your IDs.”

Ten minutes later, still not sworn in, we were on the top floor being prodded and poked and fluoroscoped. I decided that the idea of a physical

examination is that, if you arent ill, then they do their darnedest to make you ill. If the attempt fails, you’re in.

I asked one of the doctors what percentage of the victims flunked the physical. He looked startled. “Why, we never fail anyone. The law doesn’t permit us to.”

“Huh? I mean, excuse me, Doctor? Then what’s the point of this goose-flesh parade?”

“Why, the purpose is,” he answered, hauling off and hitting me in the knee with a hammer (I kicked him, but not hard), “to find out what duties you are physically able to perform. But if you came in here in a wheel chair and blind in both eyes and were silly enough to insist on enrolling, they would find something silly enough to match. Counting the fuzz on a caterpillar by touch, maybe. The only way you can fail is by having the psychiatrists decide that you are not able to understand the oath.”

“Oh. Uh . . . Doctor, were you already a doctor when you joined up? Or did they decide you ought to be a doctor and send you to school?”

Me? ” He seemed shocked. “Youngster, do I look that silly? I’m a civilian employee.” “Oh. Sorry, sir.”

“No offense. But military service is for ants. Believe me. I see ’em go, I see ’em come back—when they do come back. I see what it’s done to them. And for what? A purely nominal political privilege that pays not one centavo and that most of them aren’t competent to use wisely anyhow.  Now if they would let medical men run things—but never mind that; you might think I was talking treason, free speech or not. But, youngster, if you’ve got savvy enough to count ten, you’ll back out while you still can. Here, take these papers back to the recruiting sergeant—and remember what I said.”

I went back to the rotunda. Carl was already there. The Fleet Sergeant looked over my papers and said glumly, “Apparently you both are almost insufferably healthy—except for holes in the head. One moment, while I get some witnesses.” He punched a button and two female clerks came out, one old battle-ax, one kind of cute.

He pointed to our physical examination forms, our birth certificates, and our IDs, said formally: “I invite and require you, each and severally, to examine these exhibits, determine what they are and to determine, each independently, what relation, if any, each document bears to these two men standing here in your presence.”

They treated it as a dull routine, which I’m sure it was; nevertheless they scrutinized every document, they took our fingerprints—again!—and the cute one put a jeweler’s loupe in her eye and compared prints from birth to now. She did the same with signatures. I began to doubt if I was myself.

The Fleet Sergeant added, “Did you find exhibits relating to their present competence to take the oath of enrollment? If so, what?”

“We found,” the older one said, “appended to each record of physical examination a duly certified conclusion by an authorized and delegated board of psychiatrists stating that each of them is mentally competent to take the oath and that neither one is under the influence of alcohol, narcotics, other disabling drugs, nor of hypnosis.”

“Very good.” He turned to us. “Repeat after me— “I, being of legal age, of my own free will—”

“‘I,’” we each echoed, “‘being of legal age, of my own free will—’”

“—without coercion, promise, or inducement of any sort, after having been duly advised and warned of the meaning and consequences of this oath—

“—do now enroll in the Federal Service of the Terran Federation for a term of not less than two years and as much longer as may be required by the needs of the Service—”

(I gulped a little over that part. I had always thought of a “term” as two years, even though I knew better, because that’s the way people talk about

it. Why, we were signing up for life.)

“I swear to uphold and defend the Constitution of the Federation against all its enemies on or off Terra, to protect and defend the Constitutional

liberties and privileges of all citizens and lawful residents of the Federation, its associated states and territories, to perform, on or off Terra, such duties of any lawful nature as may be assigned to me by lawful direct or delegated authority—

“—and to obey all lawful orders of the Commander-in-Chief of the Terran Service and of all officers or delegated persons placed over me— “—and to require such obedience from all members of the Service or other persons or non-human beings lawfully placed under my orders— “—and, on being honorably discharged at the completion of my full term of active service or upon being placed on inactive retired status after

having completed such full term, to carry out all duties and obligations and to enjoy all privileges of Federation citizenship including but not limited to the duty, obligation and privilege of exercising sovereign franchise for the rest of my natural life unless stripped of honor by verdict, finally sustained, of court of my sovereign peers.”

(Whew!) Mr. Dubois had analyzed the Service oath for us in History and Moral Philosophy and had made us study it phrase by phrase—but you don’t really feel the size of the thing until it comes rolling over you, all in one ungainly piece, as heavy and unstoppable as Juggernaut’s carriage.

At least it made me realize that I was no longer a civilian, with my shirttail out and nothing on my mind. I didn’t know yet what I was, but I knew what

I wasn’t.

“So help me God!” we both ended and Carl crossed himself and so did the cute one.

After that there were more signatures and fingerprints, all five of us, and flat colorgraphs of Carl and me were snapped then and there and embossed into our papers. The Fleet Sergeant finally looked up. “Why, it’s’way past the break for lunch. Time for chow, lads.”

I swallowed hard. “Uh . . . Sergeant?” “Eh? Speak up.”

“Could I flash my folks from here? Tell them what I—Tell them how it came out?” “We can do better than that.”

“Sir?”

“You go on forty-eight hours leave now.” He grinned coldly. “Do you know what happens if you don’t come back?” “Uh . . . court-martial?”

“Not a thing. Not a blessed thing. Except that your papers get marked, Term not completed satisfactorily, and you never, never, never get a second chance. This is our cooling-off period, during which we shake out the overgrown babies who didn’t really mean it and should never have taken the oath. It saves the government money and it saves a power of grief for such kids and their parents—the neighbors needn’t guess. You don’t even have to tell your parents.” He shoved his chair away from his desk. “So I’ll see you at noon day after tomorrow. If I see you. Fetch your personal effects.”

It was a crumbly leave. Father stormed at me, then quit speaking to me; Mother took to her bed. When I finally left, an hour earlier than I had to, nobody saw me off but the morning cook and the houseboys.

I stopped in front of the recruiting sergeant’s desk, thought about saluting and decided I didn’t know how. He looked up. “Oh. Here are your papers. Take them up to room 201; they’ll start you through the mill. Knock and walk in.”

Two days later I knew I was not going to be a pilot. Some of the things the examiners wrote about me were:—insufficient intuitive grasp of spatial relationships . . . insufficient mathematical talent . . . deficient mathematical preparation . . . reaction time adequate . . . eyesight good.

I’m glad they put in those last two; I was beginning to feel that counting on my fingers was my speed.

The placement officer let me list my lesser preferences, in order, and I caught four more days of the wildest aptitude tests I’ve ever heard of. I mean to say, what do they find out when a stenographer jumps on her chair and screams, “Snakes!” There was no snake, just a harmless piece of plastic hose.

The written and oral tests were mostly just as silly, but they seemed happy with them, so I took them. The thing I did most carefully was to list my preferences. Naturally I listed all of the Space Navy jobs (other than pilot) at the top; whether I went as power-room technician or as cook, I knew that  I preferred any Navy job to any Army job—I wanted to travel.

Next I listed Intelligence—a spy gets around, too, and I figured that it couldn’t possibly be dull. (I was wrong, but never mind.) After that came a long list; psychological warfare, chemical warfare, biological warfare, combat ecology (I didn’t know what it was, but it sounded interesting), logistics corps (a simple mistake; I had studied logic for the debate team and “logistics” turns out to have two entirely separate meanings), and a dozen others. Clear at the bottom, with some hesitation, I put K-9 Corps, and Infantry.

I didn’t bother to list the various non-combatant auxiliary corps because, if I wasn’t picked for a combat corps, I didn’t care whether they used me as an experimental animal or sent me as a laborer in the Terranizing of Venus—either one was a booby prize.

Mr. Weiss, the placement officer, sent for me a week after I was sworn in. He was actually a retired psychological-warfare major, on active duty for procurement, but he wore mufti and insisted on being called just “Mister” and you could relax and take it easy with him. He had my list of preferences and the reports on all my tests and I saw that he was holding my high school transcript—which pleased me, for I had done all right in school; I had stood high enough without standing so high as to be marked as a greasy grind, having never flunked any courses and dropped only one, and I had been rather a big man around school otherwise; swimming team, debate team, track squad, class treasurer, silver medal in the annual literary contest, chairman of the homecoming committee, stuff like that. A well-rounded record and it’s all down in the transcript.

He looked up as I came in, said, “Sit down, Johnnie,” and looked back at the transcript, then put it down. “You like dogs?” “Huh? Yes, sir.”

“How well do you like them? Did your dog sleep on your bed? By the way, where is your dog now?”

“Why, I don’t happen to have a dog just at present. But when I did—well, no, he didn’t sleep on my bed. You see, Mother didn’t allow dogs in the house.”

“But didn’t you sneak him in?”

“Uh—” I thought of trying to explain Mother’s not-angry-but-terribly-terribly-hurt routine when you tried to buck her on something she had her mind made up about. But I gave up. “No, sir.”

“Mmm . . . have you ever seen a neodog?”

“Uh, once, sir. They exhibited one at the Macarthur Theater two years ago. But the S.P.C.A. made trouble for them.” “Let me tell you how it is with a K-9 team. A neodog is not just a dog that talks.”

“I couldn’t understand that neo at the Macarthur. Do they really talk?”

“They talk. You simply have to train your ear to their accent. Their mouths can’t shape ‘b,’ ‘m,’ ‘p,’ or ‘v’ and you have to get used to their equivalents—something like the handicap of a split palate but with different letters. No matter, their speech is as clear as any human speech. But a neodog is not a talking dog; he is not a dog at all, he is an artificially mutated symbiote derived from dog stock. A neo, a trained Caleb, is about six times as bright as a dog, say about as intelligent as a human moron—except that the comparison is not fair to the neo; a moron is a defective, whereas a neo is a stable genius in his own line of work.”

Mr. Weiss scowled. “Provided, that is, that he has his symbiote. That’s the rub. Mmm . . . you’re too young ever to have been married but you’ve seen marriage, your own parents at least. Can you imagine being married to a Caleb?”

“Huh? No. No, I can’t.”

“The emotional relationship between the dog-man and the man-dog in the K-9 team is a great deal closer and much more important than is the emotional relationship in most marriages. If the master is killed, we kill the neodog—at once! It is all that we can do for the poor thing. A mercy  killing. If the neodog is killed . . . well, we can’t kill the man even though it would be the simplest solution. Instead we restrain him and hospitalize him and slowly put him back together.” He picked up a pen, made a mark. “I don’t think we can risk assigning a boy to K-9 who didn’t outwit his mother  to have his dog sleep with him. So let’s consider something else.”

It was not until then that I realized that I must have already flunked every choice on my list above K-9 Corps—and now I had just flunked it, too. I was so startled that I almost missed his next remark. Major Weiss said meditatively, with no expression and as if he were talking about someone else, long dead and far away: “I was once half of a K-9 team. When my Caleb became a casualty, they kept me under sedation for six weeks, then rehabilitated me for other work. Johnnie, these courses you’ve taken—why didn’t you study something useful?”

“Sir?”

“Too late now. Forget it. Mmm . . . your instructor in History and Moral Philosophy seems to think well of you.” “He does?” I was surprised. “What did he say?”

Weiss smiled. “He says that you are not stupid, merely ignorant and prejudiced by your environment. From him that is high praise—I know him.” It didn’t sound like praise to me! That stuck-up stiff-necked old—

“And,” Weiss went on, “a boy who gets a ‘C-minus’ in Appreciation of Television can’t be all bad. I think we’ll accept Mr. Dubois’ recommendation. How would you like to be an infantryman?”

I came out of the Federal Building feeling subdued yet not really unhappy. At least I was a soldier; I had papers in my pocket to prove it. I hadn’t been classed as too dumb and useless for anything but make-work.

It was a few minutes after the end of the working day and the building was empty save for a skeleton night staff and a few stragglers. I ran into a man in the rotunda who was just leaving; his face looked familiar but I couldn’t place him.

But he caught my eye and recognized me. “Evening!” he said briskly. “You haven’t shipped out yet?”

And then I recognized him—the Fleet Sergeant who had sworn us in. I guess my chin dropped; this man was in civilian clothes, was walking around on two legs and had two arms. “Uh, good evening, Sergeant,” I mumbled.

He understood my expression perfectly, glanced down at himself and smiled easily. “Relax, lad. I don’t have to put on my horror show after working hours—and I don’t. You haven’t been placed yet?”

“I just got my orders.” “For what?”

“Mobile Infantry.”

His face broke in a big grin of delight and he shoved out his hand. “My outfit! Shake, son! We’ll make a man of you—or kill you trying. Maybe both.”

“It’s a good choice?” I said doubtfully.

“‘A good choice’? Son, it’s the only choice. The Mobile Infantry is the Army. All the others are either button pushers or professors, along merely to hand us the saw; we do the work.” He shook hands again and added, “Drop me a card—‘Fleet Sergeant Ho, Federal Building,’ that’ll reach me. Good luck!” And he was off, shoulders back, heels clicking, head up.

I looked at my hand. The hand he had offered me was the one that wasn’t there—his right hand. Yet it had felt like flesh and had shaken mine firmly. I had read about these powered prosthetics, but it is startling when you first run across them.

I went back to the hotel where recruits were temporarily billeted during placement—we didn’t even have uniforms yet, just plain coveralls we wore during the day and our own clothes after hours. I went to my room and started packing, as I was shipping out early in the morning—packing to send stuff home, I mean; Weiss had cautioned me not to take along anything but family photographs and possibly a musical instrument if I played one (which I didn’t). Carl had shipped out three days earlier, having gotten the R&D assignment he wanted. I was just as glad, as he would have been just too confounded understanding about the billet I had drawn. Little Carmen had shipped out, too, with the rank of cadet midshipman (probationary)—she was going to be a pilot, all right, if she could cut it . . . and I suspected that she could.

My temporary roomie came in while I was packing. “Got your orders?” he asked. “Yup.”

“What?”

“Mobile Infantry.”

“The Infantry? Oh, you poor stupid clown! I feel sorry for you, I really do.”

I straightened up and said angrily, “Shut up! The Mobile Infantry is the best outfit in the Army—it is the Army! The rest of you jerks are just along to hand us the saw—we do the work.”

He laughed. “You’ll find out!”

“You want a mouthful of knuckles?”

CH:03

He shall rule them with a rod of iron.

Revelations II:25

I did Basic at Camp Arthur Currie on the northern prairies, along with a couple of thousand other victims—and I do mean “Camp,” as the only permanent buildings there were to shelter equipment. We slept and ate in tents; we lived outdoors—if you call that “living,” which I didn’t, at the time.  I was used to a warm climate; it seemed to me that the North Pole was just five miles north of camp and getting closer. Ice Age returning, no doubt.

But exercise will keep you warm and they saw to it that we got plenty of that.

The first morning we were there they woke us up before daybreak. I had had trouble adjusting to the change in time zones and it seemed to me that I had just got to sleep; I couldn’t believe that anyone seriously intended that I should get up in the middle of the night.

But they did mean it. A speaker somewhere was blaring out a military march, fit to wake the dead, and a hairy nuisance who had come charging

down the company street yelling, “Everybody out! Showa leg! On the bounce!” came marauding back again just as I had pulled the covers over my head, tipped over my cot and dumped me on the cold hard ground.

It was an impersonal attention; he didn’t even wait to see if I hit.

Ten minutes later, dressed in trousers, undershirt, and shoes, I was lined up with the others in ragged ranks for setting-up exercises just as the Sun looked over the eastern horizon. Facing us was a big broad-shouldered, mean-looking man, dressed just as we were—except that while I looked and felt like a poor job of embalming, his chin was shaved blue, his trousers were sharply creased, you could have used his shoes for mirrors, and his manner was alert, wide-awake, relaxed, and rested. You got the impression that he never needed to sleep—just ten-thousand-mile checkups and dust him off occasionally.

He bellowed, “C’pnee! Atten . . . shut! I am Career Ship’s Sergeant Zim, your company commander. When you speak to me, you will salute and say, ‘Sir’—you will salute and ‘sir’ anyone who carries an instructor’s baton—” He was carrying a swagger cane and now made a quick reverse moulinet with it to show what he meant by an instructor’s baton; I had noticed men carrying them when we had arrived the night before and had intended to get one myself—they looked smart. Now I changed my mind. “—because we don’t have enough officers around here for you to practice on. You’ll practice on us. Who sneezed?”

No answer—

“WHO SNEEZED?”

“I did,” a voice answered.

“‘I did’ what?” “I sneezed.”

“‘I sneezed,’ SIR!”

“I sneezed, sir. I’m cold, sir.”

“Oho!” Zim strode up to the man who had sneezed, shoved the ferrule of the swagger cane an inch under his nose and demanded, “Name?” “Jenkins . . . sir.”

“Jenkins . . .” Zim repeated as if the word were somehow distasteful, even shameful. “I suppose some night on patrol you’re going to sneeze just because you’ve got a runny nose. Eh?”

“I hope not, sir.”

“So do I. But you’re cold. Hmm . . . we’ll fix that.” He pointed with his stick. “See that armory over there?” I looked and could see nothing but prairie except for one building that seemed to be almost on the skyline.

“Fall out. Run around it. Run, I said. Fast! Bronski! Pace him.”

“Right, Sarge.” One of the five or six other baton carriers took out after Jenkins, caught up with him easily, cracked him across the tight of his

pants with the baton. Zim turned back to the rest of us, still shivering at attention. He walked up and down, looked us over, and seemed awfully unhappy. At last he stepped out in front of us, shook his head, and said, apparently to himself but he had a voice that carried: “To think that this had

to happen to me!”

He looked at us. “You apes—No, not ‘apes’; you don’t rate that much. You pitiful mob of sickly monkeys . . . you sunken-chested, slack-bellied,

drooling refugees from apron strings. In my whole life I never saw such a disgraceful huddle of momma’s spoiled little darlings in—you, there! Suck

up the gut! Eyes front! I’m talking to you !”

I pulled in my belly, even though I was not sure he had addressed me. He went on and on and I began to forget my goose flesh in hearing him

storm. He never once repeated himself and he never used either profanity or obscenity. (I learned later that he saved those for very special occasions, which this wasn’t.) But he described our shortcomings, physical, mental, moral, and genetic, in great and insulting detail.

But somehow I was not insulted; I became greatly interested in studying his command of language. I wished that we had had him on our debate team.

At last he stopped and seemed about to cry. “I can’t stand it,” he said bitterly. “I’ve just got to work some of it off—I had a better set of wooden soldiers when I was six. ALL RIGHT! Is there any one of you jungle lice who thinks he can whip me? Is there a man in the crowd? Speak up!”

There was a short silence to which I contributed. I didn’t have any doubt at all that he could whip me; I was convinced.

I heard a voice far down the line, the tall end. “Ah reckon ah can . . . suh.”

Zim looked happy. “Good! Step out here where I can see you.” The recruit did so and he was impressive, at least three inches taller than Sergeant Zim and broader across the shoulders. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Breckinridge, suh—and ah weigh two hundred and ten pounds an’ theah ain’t any of it ‘slack-bellied.’” “Any particular way you’d like to fight?”

“Suh, you jus’ pick youah own method of dyin’. Ah’m not fussy.”

“Okay, no rules. Start whenever you like.” Zim tossed his baton aside.

It started—and it was over. The big recruit was sitting on the ground, holding his left wrist in his right hand. He didn’t say anything. Zim bent over him. “Broken?”

“Reckon it might be . . . suh.”

“I’m sorry. You hurried me a little. Do you know where the dispensary is? Never mind—Jones! Take Breckinridge over to the dispensary.” As they left Zim slapped him on the right shoulder and said quietly, “Let’s try it again in a month or so. I’ll show you what happened.” I think it was meant to

be a private remark but they were standing about six feet in front of where I was slowly freezing solid.

Zim stepped back and called out, “Okay, we’ve got one man in this company, at least. I feel better. Do we have another one? Do we have two more? Any two of you scrofulous toads think you can stand up to me?” He looked back and forth along our ranks. “Chickenlivered, spineless—oh, oh! Yes? Step out.”

Two men who had been side by side in ranks stepped out together; I suppose they had arranged it in whispers right there, but they also were far down the tall end, so I didn’t hear. Zim smiled at them. “Names, for your next of kin, please.”

“Heinrich.”

“Heinrich what?”

“Heinrich, sir. Bitte.” He spoke rapidly to the other recruit and added politely, “He doesn’t speak much Standard English yet, sir.”

“Meyer, mein Herr,” the second man supplied.

“That’s okay, lots of ’em don’t speak much of it when they get here—I didn’t myself. Tell Meyer not to worry, he’ll pick it up. But he understands what we are going to do?”

“Jawohl,” agreed Meyer.

“Certainly, sir. He understands Standard, he just can’t speak it fluently.” “All right. Where did you two pick up those face scars? Heidelberg?”

“Nein—no, sir. Königsberg.”

“Same thing.” Zim had picked up his baton after fighting Breckinridge; he twirled it and asked, “Perhaps you would each like to borrow one of these?”

“It would not be fair to you, sir,” Heinrich answered carefully. “Bare hands, if you please.” “Suit yourself. Though I might fool you. Königsberg, eh? Rules?”

“How can there be rules, sir, with three?”

“An interesting point. Well, let’s agree that if eyes are gouged out they must be handed back when it’s over. And tell your Korpsbruder that I’m ready now. Start when you like.” Zim tossed his baton away; someone caught it.

“You joke, sir. We will not gouge eyes.”

“No eye gouging, agreed. ‘Fire when ready, Gridley.’” “Please?”

“Come on and fight! Or get back into ranks!”

Now I am not sure that I saw it happen this way; I may have learned part of it later, in training. But here is what I think happened: The two moved  out on each side of our company commander until they had him completely flanked but well out of contact. From this position there is a choice of four basic moves for the man working alone, moves that take advantage of his own mobility and of the superior co-ordination of one man as compared with two—Sergeant Zim says (correctly) that any group is weaker than a man alone unless they are perfectly trained to work together.  For example, Zim could have feinted at one of them, bounced fast to the other with a disabler, such as a broken kneecap—then finished off the first at his leisure.

Instead he let them attack. Meyer came at him fast, intending to body check and knock him to the ground, I think, while Heinrich would follow through from above, maybe with his boots. That’s the way it appeared to start.

And here’s what I think I saw. Meyer never reached him with that body check. Sergeant Zim whirled to face him, while kicking out and getting Heinrich in the belly—and then Meyer was sailing through the air, his lunge helped along with a hearty assist from Zim.

But all I am sure of is that the fight started and then there were two German boys sleeping peacefully, almost end to end, one face down and one face up, and Zim was standing over them, not even breathing hard. “Jones,” he said. “No, Jones left, didn’t he? Mahmud! Let’s have the water bucket, then stick them back into their sockets. Who’s got my toothpick?”

A few moments later the two were conscious, wet, and back in ranks. Zim looked at us and inquired gently, “Anybody else? Or shall we get on with setting-up exercises?”

I didn’t expect anybody else and I doubt if he did. But from down on the left flank, where the shorties hung out, a boy stepped out of ranks, came front and center. Zim looked down at him. “Just you? Or do you want to pick a partner?”

“Just myself, sir.”

“As you say. Name?” “Shujumi, sir.”

Zim’s eyes widened. “Any relation to Colonel Shujumi?” “I have the honor to be his son, sir.”

“Ah so! Well! Black Belt?” “No, sir. Not yet.”

“I’m glad you qualified that. Well, Shujumi, are we going to use contest rules, or shall I send for the ambulance?” “As you wish, sir. But I think, if I may be permitted an opinion, that contest rules would be more prudent.”

“I don’t know just how you mean that, but I agree.” Zim tossed his badge of authority aside, then, so help me, they backed off, faced each other, and bowed.

After that they circled around each other in a half crouch, making tentative passes with their hands, and looking like a couple of roosters.

Suddenly they touched—and the little chap was down on the ground and Sergeant Zim was flying through the air over his head. But he didn’t land with the dull, breath-paralyzing thud that Meyer had; he lit rolling and was on his feet as fast as Shujumi was and facing him. “Banzai!” Zim yelled   and grinned.

“Arigato,” Shujumi answered and grinned back.

They touched again almost without a pause and I thought the Sergeant was going to fly again. He didn’t; he slithered straight in, there was a confusion of arms and legs and when the motion slowed down you could see that Zim was tucking Shujumi’s left foot in his right ear—a poor fit.

Shujumi slapped the ground with a free hand; Zim let him up at once. They again bowed to each other. “Another fall, sir?”

“Sorry. We’ve got work to do. Some other time, eh? For fun . . . and honor. Perhaps I should have told you; your honorable father trained me.” “So I had already surmised, sir. Another time it is.”

Zim slapped him hard on the shoulder. “Back in ranks, soldier. Cpnee!

Then, for twenty minutes, we went through calisthenics that left me as dripping hot as I had been shivering cold. Zim led it himself, doing it all with

us and shouting the count. He hadn’t been mussed that I could see; he wasn’t breathing hard as we finished. He never led the exercises after that morning (we never saw him again before breakfast; rank hath its privileges), but he did that morning, and when it was over and we were all bushed, he led us at a trot to the mess tent, shouting at us the whole way to “Step it up! On the bounce! You’re dragging your tails!”

We always trotted everywhere at Camp Arthur Currie. I never did find out who Currie was, but he must have been a trackman.

Breckinridge was already in the mess tent, with a cast on his wrist but thumb and fingers showing. I heard him say, “Naw, just a greenstick

fractchuh—ah’ve played a whole quahtuh with wuss. But you wait—ah’ll fix him.”

I had my doubts. Shujumi, maybe—but not that big ape. He simply didn’t know when he was outclassed. I disliked Zim from the first moment I laid eyes on him. But he had style.

Breakfast was all right—all the meals were all right; there was none of that nonsense some boarding schools have of making your life miserable   at the table. If you wanted to slump down and shovel it in with both hands, nobody bothered you—which was good, as meals were practically the   only time somebody wasn’t riding you. The menu for breakfast wasn’t anything like what I had been used to at home and the civilians that waited on us slapped the food around in a fashion that would have made Mother grow pale and leave for her room—but it was hot and it was plentiful and the cooking was okay if plain. I ate about four times what I normally do and washed it down with mug after mug of coffee with cream and lots of sugar—I would have eaten a shark without stopping to skin him.

Jenkins showed up with Corporal Bronski behind him as I was starting on seconds. They stopped for a moment at a table where Zim was eating alone, then Jenkins slumped onto a vacant stool by mine. He looked mighty seedy—pale, exhausted, and his breath rasping. I said, “Here, let me pour you some coffee.”

He shook his head.

“You better eat,” I insisted. “Some scrambled eggs—they’ll go down easily.”

“Can’t eat. Oh, that dirty, dirty so-and-so.” He began cussing out Zim in a low, almost expressionless monotone. “All I asked him was to let me go

lie down and skip breakfast. Bronski wouldn’t let me—said I had to see the company commander. So I did and I told him I was sick, I told him. He just felt my cheek and counted my pulse and told me sick call was nine o’clock. Wouldn’t let me go back to my tent. Oh, that rat! I’ll catch him on a dark night, I will.”

I spooned out some eggs for him anyway and poured coffee. Presently he began to eat. Sergeant Zim got up to leave while most of us were still eating, and stopped by our table. “Jenkins.”

“Uh? Yes, sir.”

“At oh-nine-hundred muster for sick call and see the doctor.”

Jenkins’ jaw muscles twitched. He answered slowly, “I don’t need any pills—sir. I’ll get by.” “Oh-nine-hundred. That’s an order.” He left.

Jenkins started his monotonous chant again. Finally he slowed down, took a bite of eggs and said somewhat more loudly, “I can’t help wondering

what kind of a mother produced that. I’d just like to have a look at her, that’s all. Did he ever have a mother?”

It was a rhetorical question but it got answered. At the head of our table, several stools away, was one of the instructor-corporals. He had finished

eating and was smoking and picking his teeth, simultaneously; he had evidently been listening. “Jenkins—”

“Uh—sir?”

“Don’t you know about sergeants?” “Well . . . I’m learning.”

“They don’t have mothers. Just ask any trained private.” He blew smoke toward us. “They reproduce by fission . . . like all bacteria.”

And the LORD said unto Gideon, The people that are with thee are too many . . . Nowtherefore go to, proclaim in the ears of the people, saying, Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return . . . And there returned of the people twenty and two thousand; and there remained ten thousand. And the LORD said unto Gideon, The people are yet too many; bring them down unto the water, and I will try them for thee there . . . so he brought down the people unto the water: and the LORD said unto Gideon, Every one that lappeth of the water with his tongue, as a dog lappeth, him shalt thou set by himself; likewise everyone that boweth down upon his knees to drink. And the number of them that drank, putting their hand to their mouth, were three hundred men . . .

And the LORD said unto Gideon, By the three hundred . . . will I save you . . . let all the other people go . . .

Judges VII:2-7

Two weeks after we got there they took our cots away from us. That is to say that we had the dubious pleasure of folding them, carrying them four miles, and stowing them in a warehouse. By then it didn’t matter; the ground seemed much warmer and quite soft—especially when the alert sounded in the middle of the night and we had to scramble out and play soldier. Which it did about three times a week. But I could get back to sleep after one of those mock exercises at once; I had learned to sleep any place, any time—sitting up, standing up, even marching in ranks. Why, I could even sleep through evening parade standing at attention, enjoy the music without being waked by it—and wake instantly at the command to pass in review.

I made a very important discovery at Camp Currie. Happiness consists in getting enough sleep. Just that, nothing more. All the wealthy, unhappy people you’ve ever met take sleeping pills; Mobile Infantrymen don’t need them. Give a cap trooper a bunk and time to sack out in it and he’s as happy as a worm in an apple—asleep.

Theoretically you were given eight full hours of sack time every night and about an hour and a half after evening chow for your own use. But in fact your night sack time was subject to alerts, to night duty, to field marches, and to acts of God and the whims of those over you, and your evenings, if not ruined by awkward squad or extra duty for minor offenses, were likely to be taken up by shining shoes, doing laundry, swapping haircuts (some of us got to be pretty fair barbers but a clean sweep like a billiard ball was acceptable and anybody can do that)—not to mention a thousand other chores having to do with equipment, person, and the demands of sergeants. For example we learned to answer morning roll call with: “Bathed!” meaning you had taken at least one bath since last reveille. A man might lie about it and get away with it (I did, a couple of times) but at least one in our company who pulled that dodge in the face of convincing evidence that he was not recently bathed got scrubbed with stiff brushes and floor  soap by his squad mates while a corporal-instructor chaperoned and made helpful suggestions.

But if you didn’t have more urgent things to do after supper, you could write a letter, loaf, gossip, discuss the myriad mental and moral shortcomings of sergeants and, dearest of all, talk about the female of the species (we became convinced that there were no such creatures, just mythology created by inflamed imaginations—one boy in our company claimed to have seen a girl, over at regimental headquarters; he was unanimously judged a liar and a braggart). Or you could play cards. I learned, the hard way, not to draw to an inside straight and I’ve never done it since. In fact I haven’t played cards since.

Or, if you actually did have twenty minutes of your very own, you could sleep. This was a choice very highly thought of; we were always several weeks minus on sleep.

I may have given the impression that boot camp was made harder than necessary. This is not correct.

It was made as hard as possible and on purpose.

It was the firm opinion of every recruit that this was sheer meanness, calculated sadism, fiendish delight of witless morons in making other

people suffer.

It was not. It was too scheduled, too intellectual, too efficiently and impersonally organized to be cruelty for the sick pleasure of cruelty; it was planned like surgery for purposes as unimpassioned as those of a surgeon. Oh, I admit that some of the instructors may have enjoyed it but I don’t

knowthat they did—and I do know (now) that the psych officers tried to weed out any bullies in selecting instructors. They looked for skilled and dedicated craftsmen to follow the art of making things as tough as possible for a recruit; a bully is too stupid, himself too emotionally involved and too likely to grow tired of his fun and slack off, to be efficient.

Still, there may have been bullies among them. But I’ve heard that some surgeons (and not necessarily bad ones) enjoy the cutting and the blood which accompanies the humane art of surgery.

That’s what it was: surgery. Its immediate purpose was to get rid of, run right out of the outfit, those recruits who were too soft or too babyish ever

to make Mobile Infantrymen. It accomplished that, in droves. (They darn near ran me out.) Our company shrank to platoon size in the first six weeks. Some of them were dropped without prejudice and allowed, if they wished, to sweat out their terms in the non-combatant services; others got Bad Conduct Discharges, or Unsatisfactory Performance Discharges, or Medical Discharges.

Usually you didn’t know why a man left unless you saw him leave and he volunteered the information. But some of them got fed up, said so loudly, and resigned, forfeiting forever their chances of franchise. Some, especially the older men, simply couldn’t stand the pace physically no matter how hard they tried. I remember one, a nice old geezer named Carruthers, must have been thirty-five; they carried him away in a stretcher while he was still shouting feebly that it wasn’t fair!—and that he would be back.

It was sort of sad, because we liked Carruthers and he did try—so we looked the other way and figured we would never see him again, that he was a cinch for a medical discharge and civilian clothes. Only I did see him again, long after. He had refused discharge (you don’t have to accept a

medical) and wound up as third cook in a troop transport. He remembered me and wanted to talk old times, as proud of being an alumnus of Camp

Currie as Father is of his Harvard accent—he felt that he was a little bit better than the ordinary Navy man. Well, maybe he was.

But, much more important than the purpose of carving away the fat quickly and saving the government the training costs of those who would never cut it, was the prime purpose of making as sure as was humanly possible that no cap trooper ever climbed into a capsule for a combat drop unless he was prepared for it—fit, resolute, disciplined and skilled. If he is not, it’s not fair to the Federation, it’s certainly not fair to his teammates, and

worst of all it’s not fair to him.

But was boot camp more cruelly hard than was necessary?

All I can say to that is this: The next time I have to make a combat drop, I want the men on my flanks to be graduates of Camp Currie or its Siberian equivalent. Otherwise I’ll refuse to enter the capsule.

But I certainly thought it was a bunch of crumby, vicious nonsense at the time. Little things—When we were there a week, we were issued undress maroons for parade to supplement the fatigues we had been wearing. (Dress and full-dress uniforms came much later.) I took my tunic back to the issue shed and complained to the supply sergeant. Since he was only a supply sergeant and rather fatherly in manner I thought of him as a semi- civilian—I didn’t know how, as of then, to read the ribbons on his chest or I wouldn’t have dared speak to him. “Sergeant, this tunic is too large. My company commander says it fits like a tent.”

He looked at the garment, didn’t touch it. “Really?” “Yeah. I want one that fits.”

He still didn’t stir. “Let me wise you up, sonny boy. There are just two sizes in this army—too large and too small.” “But my company commander—”

“No doubt.”

“But what am I going to do?”

“Oh, it’s advice you want! Well, I’ve got that in stock—new issue, just today. Mmm . . . tell you what I’ll do. Here’s a needle and I’ll even give you a

spool of thread. You won’t need a pair of scissors; a razor blade is better. Now you tight ’em plenty across the hips but leave cloth to loose ’em

again across the shoulders; you’ll need it later.”

Sergeant Zim’s only comment on my tailoring was: “You can do better than that. Two hours extra duty.” So I did better than that by next parade.

Those first six weeks were all hardening up and hazing, with lots of parade drill and lots of route march. Eventually, as files dropped out and went home or elsewhere, we reached the point where we could do fifty miles in ten hours on the level—which is good mileage for a good horse in case you’ve never used your legs. We rested, not by stopping, but by changing pace, slow march, quick march, and trot. Sometimes we went out the full distance, bivouacked and ate field rations, slept in sleeping bags and marched back the next day.

One day we started out on an ordinary day’s march, no bed bags on our shoulders, no rations. When we didn’t stop for lunch, I wasn’t surprised, as I had already learned to sneak sugar and hard bread and such out of the mess tent and conceal it about my person, but when we kept on marching away from camp in the afternoon I began to wonder. But I had learned not to ask silly questions.

We halted shortly before dark, three companies, now somewhat abbreviated. We formed a battalion parade and marched through it, without music, guards were mounted, and we were dismissed. I immediately looked up Corporal-Instructor Bronski because he was a little easier to deal with than the others . . . and because I felt a certain amount of responsibility; I happened to be, at the time, a recruit-corporal myself. These boot chevrons didn’t mean much—mostly the privilege of being chewed out for whatever your squad did as well as for what you did yourself—and they could vanish as quickly as they appeared. Zim had tried out all of the older men as temporary non-coms first and I had inherited a brassard with chevrons on it a couple of days before when our squad leader had folded up and gone to hospital.

I said, “Corporal Bronski, what’s the straight word? When is chow call?”

He grinned at me. “I’ve got a couple of crackers on me. Want me to split ’em with you?”

“Huh? Oh, no, sir. Thank you.” (I had considerably more than a couple of crackers; I was learning.) “No chow call?”

“They didn’t tell me either, sonny. But I don’t see any copters approaching. Now if I was you, I’d round up my squad and figure things out. Maybe one of you can hit a jack rabbit with a rock.”

“Yes, sir. But—Well, are we staying here all night? We don’t have our bedrolls.”

His eyebrows shot up. “No bedrolls? Well, I do declare!” He seemed to think it over. “Mmm . . . ever see sheep huddle together in a snowstorm?” “Oh, no, sir.”

“Try it. They don’t freeze, maybe you won’t. Or if you don’t care for company, you might walk around all night. Nobody’ll bother you, as long as you stay inside the posted guards. You won’t freeze if you keep moving. Of course you may be a little tired tomorrow.” He grinned again.

I saluted and went back to my squad. We divvied up, share and share alike—and I came out with less food than I had started with; some of those idiots either hadn’t sneaked out anything to eat, or had eaten all they had while we marched. But a few crackers and a couple of prunes will do a lot to quiet your stomach’s sounding alert.

The sheep trick works, too; our whole section, three squads, did it together. I don’t recommend it as a way to sleep; you are either in the outer layer, frozen on one side and trying to worm your way inside, or you are inside, fairly warm but with everybody else trying to shove his elbows, feet, and halitosis on you. You migrate from one condition to the other all night long in a sort of a Brownian movement, never quite waking up and never really sound asleep. All this makes a night about a hundred years long.

We turned out at dawn to the familiar shout of: “Up you come! On the bounce!” encouraged by instructors’ batons applied smartly on fundaments sticking out of the piles . . . and then we did setting-up exercises. I felt like a corpse and didn’t see how I could touch my toes. But I did, though it  hurt, and twenty minutes later when we hit the trail I merely felt elderly. Sergeant Zim wasn’t even mussed and somehow the scoundrel had  managed to shave.

The Sun warmed our backs as we marched and Zim started us singing, oldies at first, like “Le Regiment de Sambre et Meuse” and “Caissons” and “Halls of Montezuma” and then our own “Cap Trooper’s Polka” which moves you into quickstep and pulls you on into a trot. Sergeant Zim couldn’t carry a tune in a sack; all he had was a loud voice. But Breckinridge had a sure, strong lead and could hold the rest of us in the teeth of Zim’s terrible false notes. We all felt cocky and covered with spines.

But we didn’t feel cocky fifty miles later. It had been a long night; it was an endless day—and Zim chewed us out for the way we looked on parade and several boots got gigged for failing to shave in the nine whole minutes between the time we fell out after the march and fell back in again for parade. Several recruits resigned that evening and I thought about it but didn’t because I had those silly boot chevrons and hadn’t been busted yet.

That night there was a two-hour alert.

But eventually I learned to appreciate the homey luxury of two or three dozen warm bodies to snuggle up to, because twelve weeks later they dumped me down raw naked in a primitive area of the Canadian Rockies and I had to make my way forty miles through mountains. I made it—and hated the Army every inch of the way.

I wasn’t in too bad shape when I checked in, though. A couple of rabbits had failed to stay as alert as I was, so I didn’t go entirely hungry . . . nor entirely naked; I had a nice warm thick coat of rabbit fat and dirt on my body and moccasins on my feet—the rabbits having no further use for their skins. It’s amazing what you can do with a flake of rock if you have to—I guess our cave-man ancestors weren’t such dummies as we usually think.

The others made it, too, those who were still around to try and didn’t resign rather than take the test—all except two boys who died trying. Then we all went back into the mountains and spent thirteen days finding them, working with copters overhead to direct us and all the best communication gear to help us and our instructors in powered command suits to supervise and to check rumors—because the Mobile Infantry doesn’t abandon its own while there is any thin shred of hope.

Then we buried them with full honors to the strains of “This Land Is Ours” and with the posthumous rank of PFC, the first of our boot regiment to

go that high—because a cap trooper isn’t necessarily expected to stay alive (dying is part of his trade) . . . but they care a lot about howyou die. It has to be heads up, on the bounce, and still trying.

Breckinridge was one of them; the other was an Aussie boy I didn’t know. They weren’t the first to die in training; they weren’t the last.

Starboard gun . . . FIRE!

Hes bound to be guilty r he wouldn’t be here!

Shootings too good for ’im, kick the louse out!

Port gun . . . FIRE!

Ancient chanty used to time saluting guns

But that was after we had left Camp Currie and a lot had happened in between. Combat training, mostly—combat drill and combat exercises and combat maneuvers, using everything from bare hands to simulated nuclear weapons. I hadn’t known there were so many different ways to fight. Hands and feet to start with—and if you think those aren’t weapons you haven’t seen Sergeant Zim and Captain Frankel, our battalion commander, demonstrate la savate, or had little Shujumi work you over with just his hands and a toothy grin—Zim made Shujumi an instructor for that purpose at once and required us to take his orders, although we didn’t have to salute him and say “sir.”

As our ranks thinned down Zim quit bothering with formations himself, except parade, and spent more and more time in personal instruction, supplementing the corporal-instructors. He was sudden death with anything but he loved knives, and made and balanced his own, instead of using the perfectly good general-issue ones. He mellowed quite a bit as a personal teacher, too, becoming merely unbearable instead of downright disgusting—he could be quite patient with silly questions.

Once, during one of the two-minute rest periods that were scattered sparsely through each day’s work, one of the boys—a kid named Ted Hendrick—asked, “Sergeant? I guess this knife throwing is fun . . . but why do we have to learn it? What possible use is it?”

“Well,” answered Zim, “suppose all you have is a knife? Or maybe not even a knife? What do you do? Just say your prayers and die? Or wade in

and make him buy it anyhow? Son, this is real—it’s not a checker game you can concede if you find yourself too far behind.”

“But that’s just what I mean, sir. Suppose you aren’t armed at all? Or just one of these toadstickers, say? And the man you’re up against has all

sorts of dangerous weapons? There’s nothing you can do about it; he’s got you licked on showdown.” Zim said almost gently, “You’ve got it all wrong, son. There’s no such thing as a ‘dangerous weapon.’” “Huh? Sir?”

“There are no dangerous weapons; there are only dangerous men. We’re trying to teach you to be dangerous—to the enemy. Dangerous even without a knife. Deadly as long as you still have one hand or one foot and are still alive. If you don’t know what I mean, go read ‘Horatius at the Bridge’ or ‘The Death of the Bon Homme Richard’; they’re both in the Camp library. But take the case you first mentioned; I’m you and all you have  is a knife. That target behind me—the one you’ve been missing, number three—is a sentry, armed with everything but an H-bomb. You’ve got to get

him . . . quietly, at once, and without letting him call for help.” Zim turned slightly—thunk!—a knife he hadn’t even had in his hand was quivering in the center of target number three. “You see? Best to carry two knives—but get him you must, even barehanded.”

“Uh—”

“Something still troubling you? Speak up. That’s what I’m here for, to answer your questions.”

“Uh, yes, sir. You said the sentry didn’t have any H-bomb. But he does have an H-bomb; that’s just the point. Well, at least we have, if we’re the sentry . . . and any sentry we’re up against is likely to have them, too. I don’t mean the sentry, I mean the side he’s on.”

“I understood you.”

“Well . . . you see, sir? If we can use an H-bomb—and, as you said, it’s no checker game; it’s real, it’s war and nobody is fooling around—isn’t it sort of ridiculous to go crawling around in the weeds, throwing knives and maybe getting yourself killed . . . and even losing the war . . . when you’ve got a real weapon you can use to win? What’s the point in a whole lot of men risking their lives with obsolete weapons when one professor type can do so much more just by pushing a button?”

Zim didn’t answer at once, which wasn’t like him at all. Then he said softly, “Are you happy in the Infantry, Hendrick? You can resign, you know.” Hendrick muttered something; Zim said, “Speak up!”

“I’m not itching to resign, sir. I’m going to sweat out my term.”

“I see. Well, the question you asked is one that a sergeant isn’t really qualified to answer . . . and one that you shouldn’t ask me. You’re supposed

to knowthe answer before you join up. Or you should. Did your school have a course in History and Moral Philosophy?” “What? Sure—yes, sir.”

“Then you’ve heard the answer. But I’ll give you my own—unofficial—views on it. If you wanted to teach a baby a lesson, would you cut its head off?”

“Why . . . no, sir!”

“Of course not. You’d paddle it. There can be circumstances when it’s just as foolish to hit an enemy city with an H-bomb as it would be to spank

a baby with an ax. War is not violence and killing, pure and simple; war is controlled violence, for a purpose. The purpose of war is to support your government’s decisions by force. The purpose is never to kill the enemy just to be killing him . . . but to make him do what you want him to do. Not killing . . . but controlled and purposeful violence. But it’s not your business or mine to decide the purpose of the control. It’s never a soldier’s

business to decide when or where or how—or why—he fights; that belongs to the statesmen and the generals. The statesmen decide why and how much; the generals take it from there and tell us where and when and how. We supply the violence; other people—‘older and wiser heads,’ as they

say—supply the control. Which is as it should be. That’s the best answer I can give you. If it doesn’t satisfy you, I’ll get you a chit to go talk to the

regimental commander. If he can’t convince you—then go home and be a civilian! Because in that case you will certainly never make a soldier.” Zim bounced to his feet. “I think you’ve kept me talking just to goldbrick. Up you come, soldiers! On the bounce! Man stations, on target—

Hendrick, you first. This time I want you to throw that knife south of you. South, get it? Not north. The target is due south of you and I want that knife to go in a general southerly direction, at least. I know you won’t hit the target but see if you can’t scare it a little. Don’t slice your ear off, don’t let go of it

and cut somebody behind you—just keep what tiny mind you have fixed on the idea of ‘south’! Ready—on target! Let fly!” Hendrick missed it again.

We trained with sticks and we trained with wire (lots of nasty things you can improvise with a piece of wire) and we learned what can be done   with really modern weapons and how to do it and how to service and maintain the equipment—simulated nuclear weapons and infantry rockets and various sorts of gas and poison and incendiary and demolition. As well as other things maybe best not discussed. But we learned a lot of

“obsolete” weapons, too. Bayonets on dummy guns for example, and guns that weren’t dummies, too, but were almost identical with the infantry rifle of the XXth century—much like the sporting rifles used in hunting game, except that we fired nothing but solid slugs, alloy-jacketed lead bullets, both at targets on measured ranges and at surprise targets on booby-trapped skirmish runs. This was supposed to prepare us to learn to use any

armed weapon and to train us to be on the bounce, alert, ready for anything. Well, I suppose it did. I’m pretty sure it did.

We used these rifles in field exercises to simulate a lot of deadlier and nastier aimed weapons, too. We used a lot of simulation; we had to. An “explosive” bomb or grenade, against matériel or personnel, would explode just enough to put out a lot of black smoke; another sort of gave off a gas that would make you sneeze and weep—that told you that you were dead or paralyzed . . . and was nasty enough to make you careful about anti-gas precautions, to say nothing of the chewing-out you got if you were caught by it.

We got still less sleep; more than half the exercises were held at night, with snoopers and radar and audio gear and such.

The rifles used to simulate aimed weapons were loaded with blanks except one in five hundred rounds at random, which was a real bullet. Dangerous? Yes and no. It’s dangerous just to be alive . . . and a nonexplosive bullet probably won’t kill you unless it hits you in the head or the heart and maybe not then. What that one-in-five-hundred “for real” did was to give us a deep interest in taking cover, especially as we knew that some of

the rifles were being fired by instructors who were crack shots and actually trying their best to hit you—if the round happened not to be a blank. They

assured us that they would not intentionally shoot a man in the head . . . but accidents do happen.

This friendly assurance wasn’t very reassuring. That 500th bullet turned tedious exercises into large-scale Russian roulette; you stop being bored

the very first time you hear a slug go wheet! past your ear before you hear the crack of the rifle.

But we did slack down anyhow and word came down from the top that if we didn’t get on the bounce, the incidence of real ones would be

changed to one in a hundred . . . and if that didn’t work, to one in fifty. I don’t know whether a change was made or not—no way to tell—but I do know we tightened up again, because a boy in the next company got creased across his buttocks with a live one, producing an amazing scar and a lot of half-witty comments and a renewed interest by all hands in taking cover. We laughed at this kid for getting shot where he did . . . but we all knew it

could have been his head—or our own heads.

The instructors who were not firing rifles did not take cover. They put on white shirts and walked around upright with their silly canes, apparently

calmly certain that even a recruit would not intentionally shoot an instructor—which may have been overconfidence on the part of some of them. Still, the chances were five hundred to one that even a shot aimed with murderous intent would not be live and the safety factor increased still higher because the recruit probably couldn’t shoot that well anyhow. A rifle is not an easy weapon; it’s got no target-seeking qualities at all—I understand that even back in the days when wars were fought and decided with just such rifles it used to take several thousand fired shots to average killing

one man. This seems impossible but the military histories agree that it is true—apparently most shots weren’t really aimed but simply acted to force

the enemy to keep his head down and interfere with his shooting.

In any case we had no instructors wounded or killed by rifle fire. No trainees were killed, either, by rifle bullets; the deaths were all from other

weapons or things—some of which could turn around and bite you if you didn’t do things by the book. Well, one boy did manage to break his neck taking cover too enthusiastically when they first started shooting at him—but no bullet touched him.

However, by a chain reaction, this matter of rifle bullets and taking cover brought me to my lowest ebb at Camp Currie. In the first place I had   been busted out of my boot chevrons, not over what I did but over something one of my squad did when I wasn’t even around . . . which I pointed out. Bronski told me to button my lip. So I went to see Zim about it. He told me coldly that I was responsible for what my men did, regardless . . . and tacked on six hours of extra duty besides busting me for having spoken to him about it without Bronski’s permission. Then I got a letter that upset   me a lot; my mother finally wrote to me. Then I sprained a shoulder in my first drill with powered armor (they’ve got those practice suits rigged so

that the instructor can cause casualties in the suit at will, by radio control; I got dumped and hurt my shoulder) and this put me on light duty with too much time to think at a time when I had many reasons, it seemed to me, to feel sorry for myself.

Because of “light duty” I was orderly that day in the battalion commander’s office. I was eager at first, for I had never been there before and wanted to make a good impression. I discovered that Captain Frankel didn’t want zeal; he wanted me to sit still, say nothing, and not bother him. This left me time to sympathize with myself, for I didn’t dare go to sleep.

Then suddenly, shortly after lunch, I wasn’t a bit sleepy; Sergeant Zim came in, followed by three men. Zim was smart and neat as usual but the expression on his face made him look like Death on a pale horse and he had a mark on his right eye that looked as if it might be shaping up into a shiner—which was impossible, of course. Of the other three, the one in the middle was Ted Hendrick. He was dirty—well, the company had been   on a field exercise; they don’t scrub those prairies and you spend a lot of your time snuggling up to the dirt. But his lip was split and there was blood on his chin and on his shirt and his cap was missing. He looked wild-eyed.

The men on each side of him were boots. They each had rifles; Hendrick did not. One of them was from my squad, a kid named Leivy. He seemed excited and pleased, and slipped me a wink when nobody was looking.

Captain Frankel looked surprised. “What is this, Sergeant?”

Zim stood frozen straight and spoke as if he were reciting something by rote. “Sir, H Company Commander reports to the Battalion Commander. Discipline. Article nine-one-oh-seven. Disregard of tactical command and doctrine, the team being in simulated combat. Article nine-one-two-oh. Disobedience of orders, same conditions.”

Captain Frankel looked puzzled. “You are bringing this to me, Sergeant? Officially?”

I don’t see how a man can manage to look as embarrassed as Zim looked and still have no expression of any sort in his face or voice. “Sir. If the

Captain pleases. The man refused administrative discipline. He insisted on seeing the Battalion Commander.”

“I see. A bedroll lawyer. Well, I still don’t understand it, Sergeant, but technically that’s his privilege. What was the tactical command and doctrine?”

“A ‘freeze,’ sir.” I glanced at Hendrick, thinking: Oh, oh, he’s going to catch it. In a “freeze” you hit dirt, taking any cover you can, fast, and then

freeze—don’t move at all, not even twitch an eyebrow, until released. Or you can freeze when you’re already in cover. They tell stories about men who had been hit while in freeze . . . and had died slowly but without ever making a sound or a move.

Frankel’s brows shot up. “Second part?”

“Same thing, sir. After breaking freeze, failing to return to it on being so ordered.” Captain Frankel looked grim. “Name?”

Zim answered. “Hendrick, T.C., sir. Recruit Private R-P-seven-nine-six-oh-nine-two-four.”

“Very well. Hendrick, you are deprived of all privileges for thirty days and restricted to your tent when not on duty or at meals, subject only to sanitary necessities. You will serve three hours extra duty each day under the Corporal of the Guard, one hour to be served just before taps, one hour just before reveille, one hour at the time of the noonday meal and in place of it. Your evening meal will be bread and water—as much bread as you can eat. You will serve ten hours extra duty each Sunday, the time to be adjusted to permit you to attend divine services if you so elect.”

(I thought: Oh my! He threw the book.)

Captain Frankel went on: “Hendrick, the only reason you are getting off so lightly is that I am not permitted to give you any more than that without convening a court-martial . . . and I don’t want to spoil your company’s record. Dismissed.” He dropped his eyes back to the papers on his desk, the incident already forgotten—

—and Hendrick yelled, “You didn’t hear my side of it!” The Captain looked up. “Oh. Sorry. You have a side?”

“You’re darn right I do! Sergeant Zim’s got it in for me! He’s been riding me, riding me, riding me, all day long from the time I got here! He—” “That’s his job,” the Captain said coldly. “Do you deny the two charges against you?”

“No, but—He didn’t tell you I was lying on an anthill.”

Frankel looked disgusted. “Oh. So you would get yourself killed and perhaps your teammates as well because of a few little ants?”

“Not ‘just a few’—there were hundreds of ’em. Stingers.”

“So? Young man, let me put you straight. Had it been a nest of rattlesnakes you would still have been expected—and required—to freeze.” Frankel paused. “Have you anything at all to say in your own defense?”

Hendrick’s mouth was open. “I certainly do! He hit me! He laid hands on me! The whole bunch of ’em are always strutting around with those silly batons, whackin’ you across the fanny, punchin’ you between the shoulders and tellin’ you to brace up—and I put up with it. But he hit me with his

hands—he knocked me down to the ground and yelled, ‘Freeze! you stupid jackass!’ How about that?”

Captain Frankel looked down at his hands, looked up again at Hendrick. “Young man, you are under a misapprehension very common among

civilians. You think that your superior officers are not permitted to ‘lay hands on you,’ as you put it. Under purely social conditions, that is true—say if we happened to run across each other in a theater or a shop, I would have no more right, as long as you treated me with the respect due my rank, to slap your face than you have to slap mine. But in line of duty the rule is entirely different—”

The Captain swung around in his chair and pointed at some loose-leaf books. “There are the laws under which you live. You can search every

article in those books, every court-martial case which has arisen under them, and you will not find one word which says, or implies, that your superior officer may not ‘lay hands on you’ or strike you in any other manner in line of duty. Hendrick, I could break your jaw . . . and I simply would

be responsible to my own superior officers as to the appropriate necessity of the act. But I would not be responsible to you. I could do more than that. There are circumstances under which a superior officer, commissioned or not, is not only permitted but required to kill an officer or a man

under him, without delay and perhaps without warning—and, far from being punished, be commended. To put a stop to pusillanimous conduct in the

face of the enemy, for example.”

The Captain tapped on his desk. “Now about those batons—They have two uses. First, they mark the men in authority. Second, we expect them to be used on you, to touch you up and keep you on the bounce. You can’t possibly be hurt with one, not the way they are used; at most they sting a

little. But they save thousands of words. Say you don’t turn out on the bounce at reveille. No doubt the duty corporal could wheedle you, say ‘pretty please with sugar on it,’ inquire if you’d like breakfast in bed this morning—if we could spare one career corporal just to nursemaid you. We can’t,  so he gives your bedroll a whack and trots on down the line, applying the spur where needed. Of course he could simply kick you, which would be  just as legal and nearly as effective. But the general in charge of training and discipline thinks that it is more dignified, both for the duty corporal and for you, to snap a late sleeper out of his fog with the impersonal rod of authority. And so do I. Not that it matters what you or I think about it; this is the way we do it.”

Captain Frankel sighed. “Hendrick, I have explained these matters to you because it is useless to punish a man unless he knows why he is being

punished. You’ve been a bad boy—I say ‘boy’ because you quite evidently aren’t a man yet, although we’ll keep trying—a surprisingly bad boy in view of the stage of your training. Nothing you have said is any defense, nor even any mitigation; you don’t seem to know the score nor have any idea of your duty as a soldier. So tell me in your own words why you feel mistreated; I want to get you straightened out. There might even be something in your favor, though I confess that I cannot imagine what it could be.”

I had sneaked a look or two at Hendrick’s face while the Captain was chewing him out—somehow his quiet, mild words were a worse chewing- out than any Zim had ever given us. Hendrick’s expression had gone from indignation to blank astonishment to sullenness.

“Speak up!” Frankel added sharply.

“Uh . . . well, we were ordered to freeze and I hit the dirt and I found I was on this anthill. So I got to my knees, to move over a couple of feet, and I was hit from behind and knocked flat and he yelled at me—and I bounced up and popped him one and he—”

“STOP!” Captain Frankel was out of his chair and standing ten feet tall, though he’s hardly taller than I am. He stared at Hendrick.

“You . . . struck . . . your . . . company commander?”

“Huh? I said so. But he hit me first. From behind, I didn’t even see him. I don’t take that off of anybody. I popped him and then he hit me again and

then—”

“Silence!”

Hendrick stopped. Then he added, “I just want out of this lousy outfit.”

“I think we can accommodate you,” Frankel said icily. “And quickly, too.” “Just gimme a piece of paper, I’m resigning.”

“One moment. Sergeant Zim.”

“Yes, sir.” Zim hadn’t said a word for a long time. He just stood, eyes front and rigid as a statue, nothing moving but his twitching jaw muscles. I looked at him now and saw that it certainly was a shiner—a beaut. Hendrick must have caught him just right. But he hadn’t said anything about it and Captain Frankel hadn’t asked—maybe he had just assumed Zim had run into a door and would explain it if he felt like it, later.

“Have the pertinent articles been published to your company, as required?” “Yes, sir. Published and logged, every Sunday morning.”

“I know they have. I asked simply for the record.”

Just before church call every Sunday they lined us up and read aloud the disciplinary articles out of the Laws and Regulations of the Military Forces. They were posted on the bulletin board, too, outside the orderly tent. Nobody paid them much mind—it was just another drill; you could stand still and sleep through it. About the only thing we noticed, if we noticed anything, was what we called “the thirty-one ways to crash land.” After all, the instructors see to it that you soak up all the regulations you need to know, through your skin. The “crash landings” were a worn-out joke, like “reveille oil” and “tent jacks” . . . they were the thirty-one capital offenses. Now and then somebody boasted, or accused somebody else, of having found a thirty-second way—always something preposterous and usually obscene.

“Striking a superior officer—! ”

It suddenly wasn’t amusing any longer. Popping Zim? Hang a man for that? Why, almost everybody in the company had taken a swing at  Sergeant Zim and some of us had even landed . . . when he was instructing us in hand-to-hand combat. He would take us on after the other instructors had worked us over and we were beginning to feel cocky and pretty good at it—then he would put the polish on. Why, shucks, I once saw Shujumi knock him unconscious. Bronski threw water on him and Zim got up and grinned and shook hands—and threw Shujumi right over the horizon.

Captain Frankel looked around, motioned at me. “You. Flash regimental headquarters.”

I did it, all thumbs, stepped back when an officer’s face came on and let the Captain take the call. “Adjutant,” the face said.

Frankel said crisply, “Second Battalion Commander’s respects to the Regimental Commander. I request and require an officer to sit as a court.” The face said, “When do you need him, Ian?”

“As quickly as you can get him here.”

“Right away. I’m pretty sure Jake is in his HQ. Article and name?”

Captain Frankel identified Hendrick and quoted an article number. The face in the screen whistled and looked grim. “On the bounce, Ian. If I can’t get Jake, I’ll be over myself—just as soon as I tell the Old Man.”

Captain Frankel turned to Zim. “This escort—are they witnesses?” “Yes, sir.”

“Did his section leader see it?”

Zim barely hesitated. “I think so, sir.”

“Get him. Anybody out that way in a powered suit?” “Yes, sir.”

Zim used the phone while Frankel said to Hendrick, “What witnesses do you wish to call in your defense?”

“Huh? I don’t need any witnesses, he knows what he did! Just hand me a piece of paper—I’m getting out of here.” “All in good time.”

In very fast time, it seemed to me. Less than five minutes later Corporal Jones came bouncing up in a command suit, carrying Corporal Mahmud in his arms. He dropped Mahmud and bounced away just as Lieutenant Spieksma came in. He said, “Afternoon, Cap’n. Accused and witnesses here?”

“All set. Take it, Jake.” “Recorder on?”

“It is now.”

“Very well. Hendrick, step forward.” Hendrick did so, looking puzzled and as if his nerve was beginning to crack. Lieutenant Spieksma said  briskly: “Field Court-Martial, convened by order of Major F.X. Malloy, commanding Third Training Regiment, Camp Arthur Currie, under General Order Number Four, issued by the Commanding General, Training and Discipline Command, pursuant to the Laws and Regulations of the Military Forces, Terran Federation. Remanding officer: Captain Ian Frankel, M.I., assigned to and commanding Second Battalion, Third Regiment. The Court: Lieutenant Jacques Spieksma, M.I., assigned to and commanding First Battalion, Third Regiment. Accused: Hendrick, Theodore C., Recruit Private RP7960924. Article 9080. Charge: Striking his superior officer, the Terran Federation then being in a state of emergency.”

The thing that got me was how fast it went. I found myself suddenly appointed an “officer of the court” and directed to “remove” the witnesses and have them ready. I didn’t know how I would “remove” Sergeant Zim if he didn’t feel like it, but he gathered Mahmud and the two boots up by eye and they all went outside, out of earshot. Zim separated himself from the others and simply waited; Mahmud sat down on the ground and rolled a cigarette—which he had to put out; he was the first one called. In less than twenty minutes all three of them had testified, all telling much the same story Hendrick had. Zim wasn’t called at all.

Lieutenant Spieksma said to Hendrick, “Do you wish to cross-examine the witnesses? The Court will assist you, if you so wish.” “No.”

“Stand at attention and say ‘sir’ when you address the Court.” “No, sir.” He added, “I want a lawyer.”

“The Law does not permit counsel in field courts-martial. Do you wish to testify in your own defense? You are not required to do so and, in view of the evidence thus far, the Court will take no judicial notice if you choose not to do so. But you are warned that any testimony that you give may be used against you and that you will be subject to cross-examination.”

Hendrick shrugged. “I haven’t anything to say. What good would it do me?”

“The Court repeats: Will you testify in your own defense?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

“The Court must demand of you one technical question. Was the article under which you are charged published to you before the time of the alleged offense of which you stand accused? You may answer yes, or no, or stand mute—but you are responsible for your answer under Article 9167 which relates to perjury.”

The accused stood mute.

“Very well, the Court will reread the article of the charge aloud to you and again ask you that question. ‘Article 9080: Any person in the Military Forces who strikes or assaults, or attempts to strike or assault—’ ”

“Oh, I suppose they did. They read a lot of stuff, every Sunday morning—a whole long list of things you couldn’t do.” “Was or was not that particular article read to you?”

“Uh . . . yes, sir. It was.”

“Very well. Having declined to testify, do you have any statement to make in mitigation or extenuation?” “Sir?”

“Do you want to tell the Court anything about it? Any circumstance which you think might possibly affect the evidence already given? Or anything which might lessen the alleged offense? Such things as being ill, or under drugs or medication. You are not under oath at this point; you may say anything at all which you think may help you. What the Court is trying to find out is this: Does anything about this matter strike you as being unfair? If so, why?”

“Huh? Of course it is! Everything about it is unfair! He hit me first! You heard ’em!—he hit me first!” “Anything more?”

“Huh? No, sir. Isn’t that enough?”

“The trial is completed. Recruit Private Theodore C. Hendrick, stand forth!” Lieutenant Spieksma had been standing at attention the whole time; now Captain Frankel stood up. The place suddenly felt chilly.

“Private Hendrick, you are found guilty as charged.”

My stomach did a flip-flop. They were going to do it to him . . . they were going to do the “Danny Deever” to Ted Hendrick. And I had eaten breakfast beside him just this morning.

“The Court sentences you,” he went on, while I felt sick, “to ten lashes and Bad Conduct Discharge.” Hendrick gulped. “I want to resign!”

“The Court does not permit you to resign. The Court wishes to add that your punishment is light simply because this Court possesses no jurisdiction to assign greater punishment. The authority which remanded you specified a field court-martial—why it so chose, this Court will not speculate. But had you been remanded for general court-martial, it seems certain that the evidence before this Court would have caused a general court to sentence you to hang by the neck until dead. You are very lucky—and the remanding authority has been most merciful.” Lieutenant Spieksma paused, then went on, “The sentence will be carried out at the earliest hour after the convening authority has reviewed and approved the record, if it does so approve. Court is adjourned. Remove and confine him.”

The last was addressed to me, but I didn’t actually have to do anything about it, other than phone the guard tent and then get a receipt for him when they took him away.

At afternoon sick call Captain Frankel took me off orderly and sent me to see the doctor, who sent me back to duty. I got back to my company just in time to dress and fall in for parade—and to get gigged by Zim for “spots on uniform.” Well, he had a bigger spot over one eye but I didn’t mention it.

Somebody had set up a big post in the parade ground just back of where the adjutant stood. When it came time to publish the orders, instead of “routine order of the day” or other trivia, they published Hendrick’s court-martial.

Then they marched him out, between two armed guards, with his hands cuffed together in front of him.

I had never seen a flogging. Back home, while they do it in public of course, they do it back of the Federal Building—and Father had given me strict orders to stay away from there. I tried disobeying him on it once . . . but it was postponed and I never tried to see one again.

Once is too many.

The guards lifted his arms and hooked the manacles over a big hook high up on the post. Then they took his shirt off and it turned out that it was fixed so that it could come off and he didn’t have an undershirt. The adjutant said crisply, “Carry out the sentence of the Court.”

A corporal-instructor from some other battalion stepped forward with the whip. The Sergeant of the Guard made the count.

It’s a slow count, five seconds between each one and it seems much longer. Ted didn’t let out a peep until the third, then he sobbed.

The next thing I knew I was staring up at Corporal Bronski. He was slapping me and looking intently at me. He stopped and asked, “Okay now?

All right, back in ranks. On the bounce; we’re about to pass in review.” We did so and marched back to our company areas. I didn’t eat much dinner but neither did a lot of them.

Nobody said a word to me about fainting. I found out later that I wasn’t the only one—a couple of dozen of us had passed out.

CH:06

What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly . . . it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.

Thomas Paine

It was the night after Hendrick was kicked out that I reached my lowest slump at Camp Currie. I couldn’t sleep—and you have to have been through boot camp to understand just how far down a recruit has to sink before that can happen. But I hadn’t had any real exercise all day so I wasn’t physically tired, and my shoulder still hurt even though I had been marked “duty,” and I had that letter from my mother preying on my mind, and every time I closed my eyes I would hear that crack! and see Ted slump against the whipping post.

I wasn’t fretted about losing my boot chevrons. That no longer mattered at all because I was ready to resign, determined to. If it hadn’t been the middle of the night and no pen and paper handy, I would have done so right then.

Ted had made a bad mistake, one that lasted all of half a second. And it really had been just a mistake, too, because, while he hated the outfit (who liked it?), he had been trying to sweat it out and win his franchise; he meant to go into politics—he talked a lot about how, when he got his citizenship, “There will be some changes made—you wait and see.”

Well, he would never be in public office now; he had taken his finger off his number for a single instant and he was through.

If it could happen to him, it could happen to me. Suppose I slipped? Next day or next week? Not even allowed to resign . . . but drummed out with my back striped.

Time to admit that I was wrong and Father was right, time to put in that little piece of paper and slink home and tell Father that I was ready to go to Harvard and then go to work in the business—if he would still let me. Time to see Sergeant Zim, first thing in the morning, and tell him that I had had

it. But not until morning, because you don’t wake Sergeant Zim except for something you’re certain that he will class as an emergency—believe me, you don’t! Not Sergeant Zim.

Sergeant Zim—

He worried me as much as Ted’s case did. After the court-martial was over and Ted had been taken away, he stayed behind and said to Captain Frankel, “May I speak with the Battalion Commander, sir?”

“Certainly. I was intending to ask you to stay behind for a word. Sit down.”

Zim flicked his eyes my way and the Captain looked at me and I didn’t have to be told to get out; I faded. There was nobody in the outer office, just a couple of civilian clerks. I didn’t dare go outside because the Captain might want me; I found a chair back of a row of files and sat down.

I could hear them talking, through the partition I had my head against. BHQ was a building rather than a tent, since it housed permanent communication and recording equipment, but it was a “minimum field building,” a shack; the inner partitions weren’t much. I doubt if the civilians could hear as they each were wearing transcriber phones and were bent over typers—besides, they didn’t matter. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Uh, well, maybe I did.

Zim said: “Sir, I request transfer to a combat team.”

Frankel answered: “I can’t hear you, Charlie. My tin ear is bothering me again.” Zim: “I’m quite serious, sir. This isn’t my sort of duty.”

Frankel said testily, “Quit bellyaching your troubles to me, Sergeant. At least wait until we’ve disposed of duty matters. What in the world happened?”

Zim said stiffly, “Captain, that boy doesn’t rate ten lashes.”

Frankel answered, “Of course he doesn’t. You know who goofed—and so do I.” “Yes, sir. I know.”

“Well? You know even better than I do that these kids are wild animals at this stage. You know when it’s safe to turn your back on them and when

it isn’t. You know the doctrine and the standing orders about article nine-oh-eight-oh—you must never give them a chance to violate it. Of course some of them are going to try it—if they weren’t aggressive they wouldn’t be material for the M.I. They’re docile in ranks; it’s safe enough to turn your back when they’re eating, or sleeping, or sitting on their tails and being lectured. But get them out in the field in a combat exercise, or anything that gets them keyed up and full of adrenaline, and they’re as explosive as a hatful of mercury fulminate. You know that, all you instructors know that;  you’re trained—trained to watch for it, trained to snuff it out before it happens. Explain to me how it was possible for an untrained recruit to hang a mouse on your eye? He should never have laid a hand on you; you should have knocked him cold when you saw what he was up to. So why weren’t you on the bounce? Are you slowing down?”

“I don’t know,” Zim answered slowly. “I guess I must be.”

“Hmm! If true, a combat team is the last place for you. But it’s not true. Or wasn’t true the last time you and I worked out together, three days ago. So what slipped?”

Zim was slow in answering. “I think I had him tagged in my mind as one of the safe ones.” “There are no such.”

“Yes, sir. But he was so earnest, so doggedly determined to sweat it out—he didn’t have any aptitude but he kept on trying—that I must have done that, subconsciously.” Zim was silent, then added, “I guess it was because I liked him.”

Frankel snorted. “An instructor can’t afford to like a man.”

“I know it, sir. But I do. They’re a nice bunch of kids. We’ve dumped all the real twerps by now—Hendrick’s only shortcoming, aside from being clumsy, was that he thought he knew all the answers. I didn’t mind that; I knew it all at that age myself. The twerps have gone home and those that are left are eager, anxious to please, and on the bounce—as cute as a litter of collie pups. A lot of them will make soldiers.”

“So that was the soft spot. You liked him . . . so you failed to clip him in time. So he winds up with a court and the whip and a B.C.D. Sweet.” Zim said earnestly, “I wish to heaven there were some way for me to take that flogging myself, sir.”

“You’d have to take your turn, I outrank you. What do you think I’ve been wishing the past hour? What do you think I was afraid of from the moment  I saw you come in here sporting a shiner? I did my best to brush it off with administrative punishment and the young fool wouldn’t let well enough

alone. But I never thought he would be crazy enough to blurt it out that he’d hung one on you—he’s stupid; you should have eased him out of the outfit weeks ago . . . instead of nursing him along until he got into trouble. But blurt it out he did, to me, in front of witnesses, forcing me to take

official notice of it—and that licked us. No way to get it off the record, no way to avoid a court . . . just go through the whole dreary mess and take our

medicine, and wind up with one more civilian who’ll be against us the rest of his days. Because he has to be flogged; neither you nor I can take it for him, even though the fault was ours. Because the regiment has to see what happens when nine-oh-eight-oh is violated. Our fault . . . but his lumps.”

My fault, Captain. That’s why I want to be transferred. Uh, sir, I think it’s best for the outfit.”

“You do, eh? But I decide what’s best for my battalion, not you, Sergeant. Charlie, who do you think pulled your name out of the hat? And why?

Think back twelve years. You were a corporal, remember? Where were you?”

“Here, as you know quite well, Captain. Right here on this same godforsaken prairie—and I wish I had never come back to it!”

“Don’t we all. But it happens to be the most important and the most delicate work in the Army—turning unspanked young cubs into soldiers. Who was the worst unspanked young cub in your section?”

“Mmm . . .” Zim answered slowly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say you were the worst, Captain.”

“You wouldn’t, eh? But you’d have to think hard to name another candidate. I hated your guts, ‘Corporal’ Zim.” Zim sounded surprised, and a little hurt. “You did, Captain? I didn’t hate you—I rather liked you.”

“So? Well, ‘hate’ is the other luxury an instructor can never afford. We must not hate them, we must not like them; we must teach them. But if you liked me then—mmm, it seemed to me that you had very strange ways of showing it. Do you still like me? Don’t answer that; I don’t care whether   you do or not—or, rather, I don’t want to know, whichever it is. Never mind; I despised you then and I used to dream about ways to get you. But you were always on the bounce and never gave me a chance to buy a nine-oh-eight-oh court of my own. So here I am, thanks to you. Now to handle your request: You used to have one order that you gave to me over and over again when I was a boot. I got so I loathed it almost more than anything else

you did or said. Do you remember it? I do and now I’ll give it back to you: ‘Soldier, shut up and soldier!’” “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t go yet. This weary mess isn’t all loss; any regiment of boots needs a stern lesson in the meaning of nine-oh-eight-oh, as we both know.

They haven’t yet learned to think, they won’t read, and they rarely listen—but they can see . . . and young Hendrick’s misfortune may save one of his mates, someday, from swinging by the neck until he’s dead, dead, dead. But I’m sorry the object lesson had to come from my battalion and I certainly don’t intend to let this battalion supply another one. You get your instructors together and warn them. For about twenty-four hours those kids will be in a state of shock. Then they’ll turn sullen and the tension will build. Along about Thursday or Friday some boy who is about to flunk out anyhow will start thinking over the fact that Hendrick didn’t get so very much, not even the number of lashes for drunken driving . . . and he’s going to

start brooding that it might be worth it, to take a swing at the instructor he hates worst. Sergeant—that blowmust never land! Understand me?” “Yes, sir.”

“I want them to be eight times as cautious as they have been. I want them to keep their distance, I want them to have eyes in the backs of their heads. I want them to be as alert as a mouse at a cat show. Bronski—you have a special word with Bronski; he has a tendency to fraternize.”

“I’ll straighten Bronski out, sir.”

“See that you do. Because when the next kid starts swinging, it’s got to be stop-punched—not muffed, like today. The boy has got to be knocked cold and the instructor must do so without ever being touched himself—or I’ll damned well break him for incompetence. Let them know that. They’ve

got to teach those kids that it’s not merely expensive but impossible to violate nine-oh-eight-oh . . . that even trying it wins a short nap, a bucket of water in the face, and a very sore jaw—and nothing else.”

“Yes, sir. It’ll be done.”

“It had better be done. I will not only break the instructor who slips, I will personally take him ’way out on the prairie and give him lumps . . .

because I will not have another one of my boys strung up to that whipping post through sloppiness on the part of his teachers. Dismissed.” “Yes, sir. Good afternoon, Captain.”

“What’s good about it? Charlie—” “Yes, sir.”

“If you’re not too busy this evening, why don’t you bring your soft shoes and your pads over to officers’ row and we’ll go waltzing Matilda? Say about eight o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s not an order, that’s an invitation. If you really are slowing down, maybe I’ll be able to kick your shoulder blades off.” “Uh, would the Captain care to put a small bet on it?”

“Huh? With me sitting here at this desk getting swivel-chair spread? I will not! Not unless you agree to fight with one foot in a bucket of cement. Seriously, Charlie, we’ve had a miserable day and it’s going to be worse before it gets better. If you and I work up a good sweat and swap a few lumps, maybe we’ll be able to sleep tonight despite all of mother’s little darlings.”

“I’ll be there, Captain. Don’t eat too much dinner—I need to work off a couple of matters myself.”

“I’m not going to dinner; I’m going to sit right here and sweat out this quarterly report . . . which the Regimental Commander is graciously pleased

to see right after his dinner . . . and which somebody whose name I won’t mention has put me two hours behind on. So I may be a few minutes late for our waltz. Go ’way now, Charlie, and don’t bother me. See you later.”

Sergeant Zim left so abruptly that I barely had time to lean over and tie my shoe and thereby be out of sight behind the file case as he passed

through the outer office. Captain Frankel was already shouting, “Orderly! Orderly! ORDERLY!—do I have to call you three times? What’s your name? Put yourself down for an hour’s extra duty, full kit. Find the company commanders of E, F, and G, my compliments and I’ll be pleased to see them before parade. Then bounce over to my tent and fetch me a clean dress uniform, cap, side arms, shoes, ribbons—no medals. Lay it out for  me here. Then make afternoon sick call—if you can scratch with that arm, as I’ve seen you doing, your shoulder can’t be too sore. You’ve got thirteen minutes until sick call—on the bounce, soldier!”

I made it . . . by catching two of them in the senior instructors’ shower (an orderly can go anywhere) and the third at his desk; the orders you get aren’t impossible, they merely seem so because they nearly are. I was laying out Captain Frankel’s uniform for parade as sick call sounded. Without looking up he growled, “Belay that extra duty. Dismissed.” So I got home just in time to catch extra duty for “Uniform, Untidy in, Two Particulars” and see the sickening end of Ted Hendrick’s time in the M.I.

So I had plenty to think about as I lay awake that night. I had known that Sergeant Zim worked hard, but it had never occurred to me that he could

possibly be other than completely and smugly self-satisfied with what he did. He looked so smug, so self-assured, so at peace with the world and with himself.

The idea that this invincible robot could feel that he had failed, could feel so deeply and personally disgraced that he wanted to run away, hide his face among strangers, and offer the excuse that his leaving would be “best for the outfit,” shook me up as much, and in a way even more, than seeing Ted flogged.

To have Captain Frankel agree with him—as to the seriousness of the failure, I mean—and then rub his nose in it, chew him out. Well! I mean really. Sergeants don’t get chewed out; sergeants do the chewing. A law of nature.

But I had to admit that what Sergeant Zim had taken, and swallowed, was so completely humiliating and withering as to make the worst I had ever heard or overheard from a sergeant sound like a love song. And yet the Captain hadn’t even raised his voice.

The whole incident was so preposterously unlikely that I was never even tempted to mention it to anyone else.

And Captain Frankel himself—Officers we didn’t see very often. They showed up for evening parade, sauntering over at the last moment and doing nothing that would work up a sweat; they inspected once a week, making private comments to sergeants, comments that invariably meant grief for somebody else, not them; and they decided each week what company had won the honor of guarding the regimental colors. Aside from that, they popped up occasionally on surprise inspections, creased, immaculate, remote, and smelling faintly of cologne—and went away again.

Oh, one or more of them did always accompany us on route marches and twice Captain Frankel had demonstrated his virtuosity at la savate. But officers didn’t work, not real work, and they had no worries because sergeants were under them, not over them.

But it appeared that Captain Frankel worked so hard that he skipped meals, was kept so busy with something or other that he complained of

lack of exercise and would waste his own free time just to work up a sweat.

As for worries, he had honestly seemed to be even more upset at what had happened to Hendrick than Zim had been. And yet he hadn’t even known Hendrick by sight; he had been forced to ask his name.

I had an unsettling feeling that I had been completely mistaken as to the very nature of the world I was in, as if every part of it was something wildly different from what it appeared to be—like discovering that your own mother isn’t anyone you’ve ever seen before, but a stranger in a rubber mask.

But I was sure of one thing: I didn’t even want to find out what the M.I. really was. If it was so tough that even the gods-that-be—sergeants and officers—were made unhappy by it, it was certainly too tough for Johnnie! How could you keep from making mistakes in an outfit you didn’t

understand? I didn’t want to swing by my neck till I was dead, dead, dead! I didn’t even want to risk being flogged . . . even though the doctor stands by to make certain that it doesn’t do you any permanent injury. Nobody in our family had ever been flogged (except paddlings in school, of course,

which isn’t at all the same thing). There were no criminals in our family on either side, none who had even been accused of crime. We were a proud

family; the only thing we lacked was citizenship and Father regarded that as no real honor, a vain and useless thing. But if I were flogged—Well, he’d probably have a stroke.

And yet Hendrick hadn’t done anything that I hadn’t thought about doing a thousand times. Why hadn’t I? Timid, I guess. I knewthat those instructors, any one of them, could beat the tar out of me, so I had buttoned my lip and hadn’t tried it. No guts, Johnnie. At least Ted Hendrick had had guts. I didn’t have . . . and a man with no guts has no business in the Army in the first place.

Besides that, Captain Frankel hadn’t even considered it to be Ted’s fault. Even if I didn’t buy a 9080, through lack of guts, what day would I do something other than a 9080—something not my fault—and wind up slumped against the whipping post anyhow?

Time to get out, Johnnie, while you’re still ahead.

My mother’s letter simply confirmed my decision. I had been able to harden my heart to my parents as long as they were refusing me—but when they softened, I couldn’t stand it. Or when Mother softened, at least. She had written:

—but I am afraid I must tell you that your father will still not permit your name to be mentioned. But, dearest, that is his way of grieving, since he

cannot cry. You must understand, my darling baby, that he loves you more than life itself—more than he does me—and that you have hurt him very

deeply. He tells the world that you are a grown man, capable of making your own decisions, and that he is proud of you. But that is his own pride speaking, the bitter hurt of a proud man who has been wounded deep in his heart by the one he loves best. You must understand, Juanito, that he does not speak of you and has not written to you because he cannot—not yet, not till his grief becomes bearable. When it has, I will know it, and then I will intercede for you—and we will all be together again.

Myself? How could anything her baby boy does anger his mother? You can hurt me, but you cannot make me love you the less. Wherever you are, whatever you choose to do, you are always my little boy who bangs his knee and comes running to my lap for comfort. My lap has shrunk, or

perhaps you have grown (though I have never believed it), but nonetheless it will always be waiting, when you need it. Little boys never get over needing their mother’s laps—do they, darling? I hope not. I hope that you will write and tell me so.

But I must add that, in view of the terribly long time that you have not written, it is probably best (until I let you know otherwise) for you to write to me care of your Aunt Eleanora. She will pass it on to me at once—and without causing any more upset. You understand?

A thousand kisses to my baby, Your Mother

I understood, all right—and if Father could not cry, I could. I did.

And at last I got to sleep . . . and was awakened at once by an alert. We bounced out to the bombing range, the whole regiment, and ran through a simulated exercise, without ammo. We were wearing full unarmored kit otherwise, including ear-plug receivers, and we had no more than extended when the word came to freeze.

We held that freeze for at least an hour—and I mean we held it, barely breathing. A mouse tiptoeing past would have sounded noisy. Something did go past and ran right over me, a coyote I think. I never twitched. We got awfully cold holding that freeze, but I didn’t care; I knew it was my last.

I didn’t even hear reveille the next morning; for the first time in weeks I had to be whacked out of my sack and barely made formation for morning jerks. There was no point in trying to resign before breakfast anyhow, since I had to see Zim as the first step. But he wasn’t at breakfast. I did ask Bronski’s permission to see the C.C. and he said, “Sure. Help yourself,” and didn’t ask me why.

But you can’t see a man who isn’t there. We started a route march after breakfast and I still hadn’t laid eyes on him. It was an out-and-back, with lunch fetched out to us by copter—an unexpected luxury, since failure to issue field rations before marching usually meant practice starvation except for whatever you had cached . . . and I hadn’t; too much on my mind.

Sergeant Zim came out with the rations and he held mail call in the field—which was not an unexpected luxury. I’ll say this for the M.I.; they might chop off your food, water, sleep, or anything else, without warning, but they never held up a person’s mail a minute longer than circumstances required. That was yours, and they got it to you by the first transportation available and you could read it at your earliest break, even on maneuvers. This hadn’t been too important for me, as (aside from a couple of letters from Carl) I hadn’t had anything but junk mail until Mother wrote to me.

I didn’t even gather around when Zim handed it out; I figured now on not speaking to him until he got in—no point in giving him reason to notice me until we were actually in reach of headquarters. So I was surprised when he called my name and held up a letter. I bounced over and took it.

And was surprised again—it was from Mr. Dubois, my high school instructor in History and Moral Philosophy. I would sooner have expected a letter from Santa Claus.

Then, when I read it, it still seemed like a mistake. I had to check the address and the return address to convince myself that he had written it and had meant it for me.

My dear boy,

I would have written to you much sooner to express my delight and my pride in learning that you had not only volunteered to serve but also had chosen my own service. But not to express surprise; it is what I expected of you—except, possibly, the additional and very personal bonus that you chose the M.I. This is the sort of consummation, which does not happen too often, that nevertheless makes all of a teacher’s efforts worth while. We necessarily sift a great many pebbles, much sand, for each nugget—but the nuggets are the reward.

By now the reason I did not write at once is obvious to you. Many young men, not necessarily through any reprehensible fault, are dropped during recruit training. I have waited (I have kept in touch through my own connections) until you had “sweated it out” past the hump (how well we all know that hump!) and were certain, barring accidents or illness, of completing your training and your term.

You are now going through the hardest part of your service—not the hardest physically (though physical hardship will never trouble you again; you now have its measure), but the hardest spiritually . . . the deep, soul-turning readjustments and re-evaluations necessary to metamorphize a potential citizen into one in being. Or, rather I should say: you have already gone through the hardest part, despite all the tribulations you still have ahead of you and all the hurdles, each higher than the last, which you still must clear. But it is that “hump” that counts—and, knowing you, lad, I know that I have waited long enough to be sure that you are past your “hump”— or you would be home now.

When you reached that spiritual mountaintop you felt something, a new something. Perhaps you haven’t words for it (I know I didn’t, when I was a boot). So perhaps you will permit an older comrade to lend you the words, since it often helps to have discrete words. Simply this: The noblest fate that a man can endure is to place his own mortal body between his loved home and the war’s   desolation. The words are not mine, of course, as you will recognize. Basic truths cannot change and once a man of insight  expresses one of them it is never necessary, no matter how much the world changes, to reformulate them. This is an immutable, true everywhere, throughout all time, for all men and all nations.

Let me hear from you, please, if you can spare an old man some of your precious sack time to write an occasional letter. And if you should happen to run across any of my former mates, give them my warmest greetings.

Good luck, trooper! You’ve made me proud.

Jean V. Dubois Lt.-Col., M.I., rtd.

The signature was as amazing as the letter itself. Old Sour Mouth was a short colonel? Why, our regional commander was only a major. Mr. Dubois had never used any sort of rank around school. We had supposed (if we thought about it at all) that he must have been a corporal or some such who had been let out when he lost his hand and had been fixed up with a soft job teaching a course that didn’t have to be passed, or even taught—just audited. Of course we had known that he was a veteran since History and Moral Philosophy must be taught by a citizen. But an M.I.? He didn’t look it. Prissy, faintly scornful, a dancing-master type—not one of us apes.

But that was the way he had signed himself.

I spent the whole long hike back to camp thinking about that amazing letter. It didn’t sound in the least like anything he had ever said in class. Oh, I don’t mean it contradicted anything he had told us in class; it was just entirely different in tone. Since when does a short colonel call a recruit private “comrade”?

When he was plain “Mr. Dubois” and I was one of the kids who had to take his course he hardly seemed to see me—except once when he got me sore by implying that I had too much money and not enough sense. (So my old man could have bought the school and given it to me for Christmas—is that a crime? It was none of his business.)

He had been droning along about “value,” comparing the Marxist theory with the orthodox “use” theory. Mr. Dubois had said, “Of course, the Marxian definition of value is ridiculous. All the work one cares to add will not turn a mud pie into an apple tart; it remains a mud pie, value zero. By corollary, unskillful work can easily subtract value; an untalented cook can turn wholesome dough and fresh green apples, valuable already, into an inedible mess, value zero. Conversely, a great chef can fashion of those same materials a confection of greater value than a commonplace apple tart, with no more effort than an ordinary cook uses to prepare an ordinary sweet.

“These kitchen illustrations demolish the Marxian theory of value—the fallacy from which the entire magnificent fraud of communism derives—and illustrate the truth of the common-sense definition as measured in terms of use.”

Dubois had waved his stump at us. “Nevertheless—wake up, back there!—nevertheless the disheveled old mystic of Das Kapital, turgid, tortured, confused, and neurotic, unscientific, illogical, this pompous fraud Karl Marx, nevertheless had a glimmering of a very important truth. If he had possessed an analytical mind, he might have formulated the first adequate definition of value . . . and this planet might have been saved endless grief.

“Or might not,” he added. “You!” I had sat up with a jerk.

“If you can’t listen, perhaps you can tell the class whether ‘value’ is a relative, or an absolute?”

I had been listening; I just didn’t see any reason not to listen with eyes closed and spine relaxed. But his question caught me out; I hadn’t read that day’s assignment. “An absolute,” I answered, guessing.

“Wrong,” he said coldly. “‘Value’ has no meaning other than in relation to living beings. The value of a thing is always relative to a particular person, is completely personal and different in quantity for each living human—‘market value’ is a fiction, merely a rough guess at the average of personal values, all of which must be quantitatively different or trade would be impossible.” (I had wondered what Father would have said if he had heard “market value” called a “fiction”—snort in disgust, probably.)

“This very personal relationship, ‘value,’ has two factors for a human being: first, what he can do with a thing, its use to him . . . and second, what he must do to get it, its cost to him. There is an old song which asserts ‘the best things in life are free.’ Not true! Utterly false! This was the tragic

fallacy which brought on the decadence and collapse of the democracies of the twentieth century; those noble experiments failed because the

people had been led to believe that they could simply vote for whatever they wanted . . . and get it, without toil, without sweat, without tears. “Nothing of value is free. Even the breath of life is purchased at birth only through gasping effort and pain.” He had been still looking at me and

added, “If you boys and girls had to sweat for your toys the way a newly born baby has to struggle to live you would be happier . . . and much richer. As it is, with some of you, I pity the poverty of your wealth. You! I’ve just awarded you the prize for the hundred-meter dash. Does it make you happy?”

“Uh, I suppose it would.”

“No dodging, please. You have the prize—here, I’ll write it out: ‘Grand prize for the championship, one hundred-meter sprint.’” He had actually come back to my seat and pinned it on my chest. “There! Are you happy? You value it—or don’t you?”

I was sore. First that dirty crack about rich kids—a typical sneer of those who haven’t got it—and now this farce. I ripped it off and chucked it at him.

Mr. Dubois had looked surprised. “It doesn’t make you happy?” “You know darn well I placed fourth!”

Exactly! The prize for first place is worthless to you . . . because you haven’t earned it. But you enjoy a modest satisfaction in placing fourth; you earned it. I trust that some of the somnambulists here understood this little morality play. I fancy that the poet who wrote that song meant to imply that

the best things in life must be purchased other than with money—which is true—just as the literal meaning of his words is false. The best things in life are beyond money; their price is agony and sweat and devotion . . . and the price demanded for the most precious of all things in life is life itself

—ultimate cost for perfect value.”

I mulled over things I had heard Mr. Dubois—Colonel Dubois—say, as well as his extraordinary letter, while we went swinging back toward camp. Then I stopped thinking because the band dropped back near our position in column and we sang for a while, a French group—“Marseillaise,” of course, and “Madelon” and “Sons of Toil and Danger,” and then “Legion Étrangère” and “Mademoiselle from Armentières.”

It’s nice to have the band play; it picks you right up when your tail is dragging the prairie. We hadn’t had anything but canned music at first and that only for parade and calls. But the powers-that-be had found out early who could play and who couldn’t; instruments were provided and a regimental band was organized, all our own—even the director and the drum major were boots.

It didn’t mean they got out of anything. Oh no! It just meant they were allowed and encouraged to do it on their own time, practicing evenings and Sundays and such—and that they got to strut and countermarch and show off at parade instead of being in ranks with their platoons. A lot of things that we did were run that way. Our chaplain, for example, was a boot. He was older than most of us and had been ordained in some obscure little sect I had never heard of. But he put a lot of passion into his preaching whether his theology was orthodox or not (don’t ask me) and he was certainly in a position to understand the problems of a recruit. And the singing was fun. Besides, there was nowhere else to go on Sunday morning between morning police and lunch.

The band suffered a lot of attrition but somehow they always kept it going. The camp owned four sets of pipes and some Scottish uniforms, donated by Lochiel of Cameron whose son had been killed there in training—and one of us boots turned out to be a piper; he had learned it in the Scottish Boy Scouts. Pretty soon we had four pipers, maybe not good but loud. Pipes seem very odd when you first hear them, and a tyro practicing can set your teeth on edge—it sounds and looks as if he had a cat under his arm, its tail in his mouth, and biting it.

But they grow on you. The first time our pipers kicked their heels out in front of the band, skirling away at “Alamein Dead,” my hair stood up so straight it lifted my cap. It gets you—makes tears.

We couldn’t take a parade band out on route march, of course, because no special allowances were made for the band. Tubas and bass drums had to stay behind because a boy in the band had to carry a full kit, same as everybody, and could only manage an instrument small enough to add to his load. But the M.I. has band instruments which I don’t believe anybody else has, such as a little box hardly bigger than a harmonica, an electric gadget which does an amazing job of faking a big horn and is played the same way. Comes band call when you are headed for the horizon, each bandsman sheds his kit without stopping, his squad mates split it up, and he trots to the column position of the color company and starts blasting.

It helps.

The band drifted aft, almost out of earshot, and we stopped singing because your own singing drowns out the beat when it’s too far away.  I suddenly realized I felt good.

I tried to think why I did. Because we would be in after a couple of hours and I could resign?

No. When I had decided to resign, it had indeed given me a measure of peace, quieted down my awful jitters and let me go to sleep. But this was something else—and no reason for it, that I could see.

Then I knew. I had passed my hump!

I was over the “hump” that Colonel Dubois had written about. I actually walked over it and started down, swinging easily. The prairie through there

was flat as a griddle-cake, but just the same I had been plodding wearily uphill all the way out and about halfway back. Then, at some point—I think it was while we were singing—I had passed the hump and it was all downhill. My kit felt lighter and I was no longer worried.

When we got in, I didn’t speak to Sergeant Zim; I no longer needed to. Instead he spoke to me, motioned me to him as we fell out. “Yes, sir?”

“This is a personal question . . . so don’t answer it unless you feel like it.” He stopped, and I wondered if he suspected that I had overheard his chewing-out, and shivered.

“At mail call today,” he said, “you got a letter. I noticed—purely by accident, none of my business—the name on the return address. It’s a fairly common name, some places, but—this is the personal question you need not answer—by any chance does the person who wrote that letter have his left hand off at the wrist?”

I guess my chin dropped. “How did you know? Sir?”

“I was nearby when it happened. It is Colonel Dubois? Right?”

“Yes, sir.” I added, “He was my high school instructor in History and Moral Philosophy.”

I think that was the only time I ever impressed Sergeant Zim, even faintly. His eyebrows went up an eighth of an inch and his eyes widened slightly. “So? You were extraordinarily fortunate.” He added, “When you answer his letter—if you don’t mind—you might say that Ship’s Sergeant Zim sends his respects.”

“Yes, sir. Oh . . . I think maybe he sent you a message, sir.”

What?

“Uh, I’m not certain.” I took out the letter, read just: “‘—if you should happen to run across any of my former mates, give them my warmest

greetings.’ Is that for you, sir?”

Zim pondered it, his eyes looking through me, somewhere else. “Eh? Yes, it is. For me among others. Thanks very much.” Then suddenly it was

over and he said briskly, “Nine minutes to parade. And you still have to shower and change. On the bounce, soldier.”

The young recruit is silly—’e thinks o’ suicide.       ’E’s lost ’is gutter-devil; ’e ’asin’t got’is pride;            But day by day they kicks ’im, which ’elps ’im on a bit, Till ’e finds ’isself one mornin’ with a full an’ proper kit. Gettin’ clear o’ dirtiness, gettin’ done with mess, Gettin’ shut o’ doin’ things rather-more-or-less.

I’m not going to talk much more about my boot training. Mostly it was simply work, but I was squared away—enough said.

Rudyard Kipling

But I do want to mention a little about powered suits, partly because I was fascinated by them and also because that was what led me into trouble. No complaints—I rated what I got.

An M.I. lives by his suit the way a K-9 man lives by and with and on his doggie partner. Powered armor is one-half the reason we call ourselves “mobile infantry” instead of just “infantry.” (The other half are the spaceships that drop us and the capsules we drop in.) Our suits give us better eyes, better ears, stronger backs (to carry heavier weapons and more ammo), better legs, more intelligence (“intelligence” in the military meaning; a man in a suit can be just as stupid as anybody else—only he had better not be), more firepower, greater endurance, less vulnerability.

A suit isn’t a space suit—although it can serve as one. It is not primarily armor—although the Knights of the Round Table were not armored as  well as we are. It isn’t a tank—but a single M.I. private could take on a squadron of those things and knock them off unassisted if anybody was silly enough to put tanks against M.I. A suit is not a ship but it can fly, a little—on the other hand neither spaceships nor atmosphere craft can fight  against a man in a suit except by saturation bombing of the area he is in (like burning down a house to get one flea!). Contrariwise we can do many things that no ship—air, submersible, or space—can do.

There are a dozen different ways of delivering destruction in impersonal wholesale, via ships and missiles of one sort or another, catastrophes so widespread, so unselective, that the war is over because that nation or planet has ceased to exist. What we do is entirely different. We make war as personal as a punch in the nose. We can be selective, applying precisely the required amount of pressure at the specified point at a designated time—we’ve never been told to go down and kill or capture all left-handed redheads in a particular area, but if they tell us to, we can. We will.

We are the boys who go to a particular place, at H-hour, occupy a designated terrain, stand on it, dig the enemy out of their holes, force them then and there to surrender or die. We’re the bloody infantry, the doughboy, the duckfoot, the foot soldier who goes where the enemy is and takes him on in person. We’ve been doing it, with changes in weapons but very little change in our trade, at least since the time five thousand years ago when the foot sloggers of Sargon the Great forced the Sumerians to cry “Uncle!”

Maybe they’ll be able to do without us someday. Maybe some mad genius with myopia, a bulging forehead, and a cybernetic mind will devise a weapon that can go down a hole, pick out the opposition, and force it to surrender or die—without killing that gang of your own people they’ve got imprisoned down there. I wouldn’t know; I’m not a genius, I’m an M.I. In the meantime, until they build a machine to replace us, my mates can handle that job—and I might be some help on it, too.

Maybe someday they’ll get everything nice and tidy and we’ll have that thing we sing about, when “we ain’t a-gonna study war no more.” Maybe. Maybe the same day the leopard will take off his spots and get a job as a Jersey cow, too. But again, I wouldn’t know; I am not a professor of cosmopolitics; I’m an M.I. When the government sends me, I go. In between, I catch a lot of sack time.

But, while they have not yet built a machine to replace us, they’ve surely thought up some honeys to help us. The suit, in particular.

No need to describe what it looks like, since it has been pictured so often. Suited up, you look like a big steel gorilla, armed with gorilla-sized weapons. (This may be why a sergeant generally opens his remarks with “You apes—” However, it seems more likely that Caesar’s sergeants used the same honorific.)

But the suits are considerably stronger than a gorilla. If an M.I. in a suit swapped hugs with a gorilla, the gorilla would be dead, crushed; the M.I. and the suit wouldn’t be mussed.

The “muscles,” the pseudo-musculature, get all the publicity but it’s the control of all that power which merits it. The real genius in the design is

that you dont have to control the suit; you just wear it, like your clothes, like skin. Any sort of ship you have to learn to pilot; it takes a long time, a new full set of reflexes, a different and artificial way of thinking. Even riding a bicycle demands an acquired skill, very different from walking, whereas a spaceship—oh, brother! I won’t live that long. Spaceships are for acrobats who are also mathematicians.

But a suit you just wear.

Two thousand pounds of it, maybe, in full kit—yet the very first time you are fitted into one you can immediately walk, run, jump, lie down, pick up

an egg without breaking it (takes a trifle of practice, but anything improves with practice), dance a jig (if you can dance a jig, that is, without a suit)— and jump right over the house next door and come down to a feather landing.

The secret lies in negative feedback and amplification.

Don’t ask me to sketch the circuitry of a suit; I can’t. But I understand that some very good concert violinists can’t build a violin, either. I can do field maintenance and field repairs and check off the three hundred and forty-seven items from “cold” to ready to wear, and that’s all a dumb M.I. is expected to do. But if my suit gets really sick, I call the doctor—a doctor of science (electromechanical engineering) who is a staff Naval officer, usually a lieutenant (read “captain” for our ranks), and is part of the ship’s company of the troop transport—or who is reluctantly assigned to a regimental headquarters at Camp Currie, a fate-worse-than-death to a Navy man.

But if you really are interested in the prints and stereos and schematics of a suit’s physiology, you can find most of it, the unclassified part, in any fairly large public library. For the small amount that is classified, you must look up a reliable enemy agent—“reliable” I say, because spies are a tricky lot; he’s likely to sell you the parts you could get free from the public library.

But here is how it works, minus the diagrams. The inside of the suit is a mass of pressure receptors, hundreds of them. You push with the heel of your hand; the suit feels it, amplifies it, pushes with you to take the pressure off the receptors that gave the order to push. That’s confusing, but negative feedback is always a confusing idea the first time, even though your body has been doing it ever since you quit kicking helplessly as a baby. Young children are still learning it; that’s why they are clumsy. Adolescents and adults do it without knowing they ever learned it—and a man with Parkinson’s disease has damaged his circuits for it.

The suit has feedback which causes it to match any motion you make, exactly—but with great force.

Controlled force . . . force controlled without your having to think about it. You jump, that heavy suit jumps, but higher than you can jump in your

skin. Jump really hard and the suit’s jets cut in, amplifying what the suit’s leg “muscles” did, giving you a three-jet shove, the axis of pressure of  which passes through your center of mass. So you jump over that house next door. Which makes you come down as fast as you went up . . . which the suit notes through your proximity & closing gear (a sort of simple-minded radar resembling a proximity fuse) and therefore cuts in the jets again just the right amount to cushion your landing without your having to think about it.

And that is the beauty of a powered suit: you don’t have to think about it. You don’t have to drive it, fly it, conn it, operate it; you just wear it and it takes orders directly from your muscles and does for you what your muscles are trying to do. This leaves you with your whole mind free to handle

your weapons and notice what is going on around you . . . which is supremely important to an infantryman who wants to die in bed. If you load a mud foot down with a lot of gadgets that he has to watch, somebody a lot more simply equipped—say with a stone ax—will sneak up and bash his head in while he is trying to read a vernier.

Your “eyes” and your “ears” are rigged to help you without cluttering up your attention, too. Say you have three audio circuits, common in a marauder suit. The frequency control to maintain tactical security is very complex, at least two frequencies for each circuit, both of which are necessary for any signal at all and each of which wobbles under the control of a cesium clock timed to a micromicrosecond with the other end—but all this is no problem of yours. You want circuit A to your squad leader, you bite down once—for circuit B, bite down twice—and so on. The mike is taped to your throat, the plugs are in your ears and can’t be jarred out; just talk. Besides that, outside mikes on each side of your helmet give you

binaural hearing for your immediate surroundings just as if your head were bare—or you can suppress any noisy neighbors and not miss what your

platoon leader is saying simply by turning your head.

Since your head is the one part of your body not involved in the pressure receptors controlling the suit’s muscles, you use your head—your jaw muscles, your chin, your neck—to switch things for you and thereby leave your hands free to fight. A chin plate handles all visual displays the way the jaw switch handles the audios. All displays are thrown on a mirror in front of your forehead from where the work is actually going on above and back of your head. All this helmet gear makes you look like a hydrocephalic gorilla but, with luck, the enemy won’t live long enough to be offended by your appearance, and it is a very convenient arrangement; you can flip through your several types of radar displays quicker than you can change   channels to avoid a commercial—catch a range & bearing, locate your boss, check your flank men, whatever.

If you toss your head like a horse bothered by a fly, your infrared snoopers go up on your forehead—toss it again, they come down. If you let go of

your rocket launcher, the suit snaps it back until you need it again. No point in discussing water nipples, air supply, gyros, etc.—the point to all the arrangements is the same: to leave you free to follow your trade, slaughter.

Of course these things do require practice and you do practice until picking the right circuit is as automatic as brushing your teeth, and so on. But simply wearing the suit, moving in it, requires almost no practice. You practice jumping because, while you do it with a completely natural motion,  you jump higher, faster, farther, and stay up longer. The last alone calls for a new orientation; those seconds in the air can be used—seconds are jewels beyond price in combat. While off the ground in a jump, you can get a range & bearing, pick a target, talk & receive, fire a weapon, reload,

decide to jump again without landing and override your automatics to cut in the jets again. You can do all of these things in one bounce, with practice.

But, in general, powered armor doesn’t require practice; it simply does it for you, just the way you were doing it, only better. All but one thing—you

cant scratch where it itches. If I ever find a suit that will let me scratch between my shoulder blades, I’ll marry it.

There are three main types of M.I. armor: marauder, command, and scout. Scout suits are very fast and very long-range, but lightly armed.

Command suits are heavy on go juice and jump juice, are fast and can jump high; they have three times as much comm & radar gear as other suits, and a dead-reckoning tracker, inertial. Marauders are for those guys in ranks with the sleepy look—the executioners.

As I may have said, I fell in love with powered armor, even though my first crack at it gave me a strained shoulder. Any day thereafter that my section was allowed to practice in suits was a big day for me. The day I goofed I had simulated sergeant’s chevrons as a simulated section leader and was armed with simulated A-bomb rockets to use in simulated darkness against a simulated enemy. That was the trouble; everything was simulated—  but you are required to behave as if it is all real.

We were retreating—“advancing toward the rear,” I mean—and one of the instructors cut the power on one of my men, by radio control, making him a helpless casualty. Per M.I. doctrine, I ordered the pickup, felt rather cocky that I had managed to get the order out before my number two cut out to do it anyhow, turned to do the next thing I had to do, which was to lay down a simulated atomic ruckus to discourage the simulated enemy overtaking us.

Our flank was swinging; I was supposed to fire it sort of diagonally but with the required spacing to protect my own men from blast while still putting it in close enough to trouble the bandits. On the bounce, of course. The movement over the terrain and the problem itself had been discussed ahead of time; we were still green—the only variations supposed to be left in were casualties.

Doctrine required me to locate exactly, by radar beacon, my own men who could be affected by the blast. But this all had to be done fast and I wasn’t too sharp at reading those little radar displays anyhow. I cheated just a touch—flipped my snoopers up and looked, bare eyes in broad

daylight. I left plenty of room. Shucks, I could see the only man affected, half a mile away, and all I had was just a little bitty H.E. rocket, intended to make a lot of smoke and not much else. So I picked a spot by eye, took the rocket launcher and let fly.

Then I bounced away, feeling smug—no seconds lost.

And had my power cut in the air. This doesn’t hurt you; it’s a delayed action, executed by your landing. I grounded and there I stuck, squatting,

held upright by gyros but unable to move. You do not repeat not move when surrounded by a ton of metal with your power dead.

Instead I cussed to myself—I hadn’t thought that they would make me a casualty when I was supposed to be leading the problem. Shucks and

other comments.

I should have known that Sergeant Zim would be monitoring the section leader.

He bounced over to me, spoke to me privately on the face-to-face. He suggested that I might be able to get a job sweeping floors since I was too stupid, clumsy, and careless to handle dirty dishes. He discussed my past and probable future and several other things that I did not want to hear about. He ended by saying tonelessly, “How would you like to have Colonel Dubois see what you’ve done?”

Then he left me. I waited there, crouched over, for two hours until the drill was over. The suit, which had been feather-light, real seven-league boots, felt like an Iron Maiden. At last he returned for me, restored power, and we bounded together at top speed to BHQ.

Captain Frankel said less but it cut more.

Then he paused and added in that flat voice officers use when quoting regulations: “You may demand trial by court-martial if such be your choice. How say you?”

I gulped and said, “No, sir!” Until that moment I hadn’t fully realized just how much trouble I was in.

Captain Frankel seemed to relax slightly. “Then we’ll see what the Regimental Commander has to say. Sergeant, escort the prisoner.” We

walked rapidly over to RHQ and for the first time I met the Regimental Commander face to face—and by then I was sure that I was going to catch a court no matter what. But I remembered sharply how Ted Hendrick had talked himself into one; I said nothing.

Major Malloy said a total of five words to me. After hearing Sergeant Zim, he said three of them: “Is that correct?”  I said, “Yes, sir,” which ended my part of it.

Major Malloy said, to Captain Frankel: “Is there any possibility of salvaging this man?” Captain Frankel answered, “I believe so, sir.”

Major Malloy said, “Then we’ll try administrative punishment,” turned to me and said: “Five lashes.”

Well, they certainly didn’t keep me dangling. Fifteen minutes later the doctor had completed checking my heart and the Sergeant of the Guard was outfitting me with that special shirt which comes off without having to be pulled over the hands—zippered from the neck down the arms. Assembly for parade had just sounded. I was feeling detached, unreal . . . which I have learned is one way of being scared right out of your senses. The nightmare hallucination—

Zim came into the guard tent just as the call ended. He glanced at the Sergeant of the Guard—Corporal Jones—and Jones went out. Zim stepped up to me, slipped something into my hand. “Bite on that,” he said quietly. “It helps. I know.”

It was a rubber mouthpiece such as we used to avoid broken teeth in hand-to-hand combat drill. Zim left. I put it in my mouth. Then they handcuffed me and marched me out.

The order read: “—in simulated combat, gross negligence which would in action have caused the death of a teammate.” Then they peeled off my shirt and strung me up.

Now here is a very odd thing: A flogging isn’t as hard to take as it is to watch. I don’t mean it’s a picnic. It hurts worse than anything else I’ve ever had happen to me, and the waits between strokes are worse than the strokes themselves. But the mouthpiece did help and the only yelp I let out never got past it.

Here’s the second odd thing: Nobody even mentioned it to me, not even other boots. So far as I could see, Zim and the instructors treated me exactly the same afterwards as they had before. From the instant the doctor painted the marks and told me to go back to duty it was all done with, completely. I even managed to eat a little at dinner that night and pretend to take part in the jawing at the table.

Another thing about administrative punishment: There is no permanent black mark. Those records are destroyed at the end of boot training and you start clean. The only record is one where it counts most.

You dont forget it.

Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old he will not depart from it.

Proverbs XXII:6

There were other floggings but darn few. Hendrick was the only man in our regiment to be flogged by sentence of court-martial; the others were administrative punishment, like mine, and for lashes it was necessary to go all the way up to the Regimental Commander—which a subordinate commander finds distasteful, to put it faintly. Even then, Major Malloy was much more likely to kick the man out, “Undesirable Discharge,” than to have the whipping post erected. In a way, an administrative flogging is the mildest sort of a compliment; it means that your superiors think that there is a faint possibility that you just might have the character eventually to make a soldier and a citizen, unlikely as it seems at the moment.

I was the only one to get the maximum administrative punishment; none of the others got more than three lashes. Nobody else came as close as I did to putting on civilian clothes but still squeaked by. This is a social distinction of sorts. I don’t recommend it.

But we had another case, much worse than mine or Ted Hendrick’s—a really sick-making one. Once they erected gallows.

Now, look, get this straight. This case didn’t really have anything to do with the Army. The crime didn’t take place at Camp Currie and the placement officer who accepted this boy for M.I. should turn in his suit.

He deserted, only two days after we arrived at Currie. Ridiculous, of course, but nothing about the case made sense—why didn’t he resign? Desertion, naturally, is one of the “thirty-one crash landings” but the Army doesn’t invoke the death penalty for it unless there are special circumstances, such as “in the face of the enemy” or something else that turns it from a highly informal way of resigning into something that can’t be ignored.

The Army makes no effort to find deserters and bring them back. This makes the hardest kind of sense. We’re all volunteers; we’re M.I. because we want to be, we’re proud to be M.I. and the M.I. is proud of us. If a man doesn’t feel that way about it, from his callused feet to his hairy ears, I  don’t want him on my flank when trouble starts. If I buy a piece of it, I want men around me who will pick me up because they’re M.I. and I’m M.I. and my skin means as much to them as their own. I don’t want any ersatz soldiers, dragging their tails and ducking out when the party gets rough. It’s a whole lot safer to have a blank file on your flank than to have an alleged soldier who is nursing the “conscript” syndrome. So if they run, let ’em run; it’s a waste of time and money to fetch them back.

Of course most of them do come back, though it may take them years—in which case the Army tiredly lets them have their fifty lashes instead of hanging them, and turns them loose. I suppose it must wear on a man’s nerves to be a fugitive when everybody else is either a citizen or a legal resident, even when the police aren’t trying to find him. “The wicked flee when no man pursueth.” The temptation to turn yourself in, take your lumps, and breathe easily again must get to be overpowering.

But this boy didn’t turn himself in. He was gone four months and I doubt if his own company remembered him, since he had been with them only a couple of days; he was probably just a name without a face, the “Dillinger, N.L.” who had to be reported, day after day, as absent without leave on  the morning muster.

Then he killed a baby girl.

He was tried and convicted by a local tribunal but identity check showed that he was an undischarged soldier; the Department had to be notified and our commanding general at once intervened. He was returned to us, since military law and jurisdiction take precedence over civil code.

Why did the general bother? Why didn’t he let the local sheriff do the job? In order to “teach us a lesson”?

Not at all. I’m quite sure that our general did not think that any of his boys needed to be nauseated in order not to kill any baby girls. By now I believe that he would have spared us the sight—had it been possible.

We did learn a lesson, though nobody mentioned it at the time and it is one that takes a long time to sink in until it becomes second nature: The M.I. take care of their own—no matter what.

Dillinger belonged to us, he was still on our rolls. Even though we didn’t want him, even though we should never have had him, even though we would have been happy to disclaim him, he was a member of our regiment. We couldn’t brush him off and let a sheriff a thousand miles away handle it. If it has to be done, a man—a real man—shoots his own dog himself; he doesn’t hire a proxy who may bungle it.

The regimental records said that Dillinger was ours, so taking care of him was our duty.

That evening we marched to the parade grounds at slow march, sixty beats to the minute (hard to keep step, when you’re used to a hundred and forty), while the band played “Dirge for the Unmourned.” Then Dillinger was marched out, dressed in M.I. full dress just as we were, and the band played “Danny Deever” while they stripped off every trace of insignia, even buttons and cap, leaving him in a maroon and light blue suit that was no longer a uniform. The drums held a sustained roll and it was all over.

We passed in review and on home at a fast trot. I don’t think anybody fainted and I don’t think anybody quite got sick, even though most of us didn’t eat much dinner that night and I’ve never heard the mess tent so quiet. But, grisly as it was (it was the first time I had seen death, first time for most of us), it was not the shock that Ted Hendrick’s flogging was—I mean, you couldn’t put yourself in Dillinger’s place; you didn’t have any feeling

of: “It could have been me.” Not counting the technical matter of desertion, Dillinger had committed at least four capital crimes; if his victim had lived, he still would have danced Danny Deever for any one of the other three—kidnaping, demand of ransom, criminal neglect, etc.

I had no sympathy for him and still haven’t. That old saw about “To understand all is to forgive all” is a lot of tripe. Some things, the more you understand the more you loathe them. My sympathy is reserved for Barbara Anne Enthwaite whom I had never seen, and for her parents, who would never again see their little girl.

As the band put away their instruments that night we started thirty days of mourning for Barbara and of disgrace for us, with our colors draped in black, no music at parade, no singing on route march. Only once did I hear anybody complain and another boot promptly asked him how he would like a full set of lumps? Certainly, it hadn’t been our fault—but our business was to guard little girls, not kill them. Our regiment had been dishonored;

we had to clean it. We were disgraced and we felt disgraced.

That night I tried to figure out how such things could be kept from happening. Of course, they hardly ever do nowadays—but even once is ’way too

many. I never did reach an answer that satisfied me. This Dillinger—he looked like anybody else, and his behavior and record couldn’t have been too odd or he would never have reached Camp Currie in the first place. I suppose he was one of those pathological personalities you read about— no way to spot them.

Well, if there was no way to keep it from happening once, there was only one sure way to keep it from happening twice. Which we had used.

If Dillinger had understood what he was doing (which seemed incredible) then he got what was coming to him . . . except that it seemed a shame that he hadn’t suffered as much as had little Barbara Anne—he practically hadn’t suffered at all.

But suppose, as seemed more likely, that he was so crazy that he had never been aware that he was doing anything wrong? What then? Well, we shoot mad dogs, don’t we?

Yes, but being crazy that way is a sickness—

I couldn’t see but two possibilities. Either he couldn’t be made well—in which case he was better dead for his own sake and for the safety of others—or he could be treated and made sane. In which case (it seemed to me) if he ever became sane enough for civilized society . . . and

thought over what he had done while he was “sick”—what could be left for him but suicide? How could he live with himself?

And suppose he escaped before he was cured and did the same thing again? And maybe again? How do you explain that to bereaved parents? In view of his record?

I couldn’t see but one answer.

I found myself mulling over a discussion in our class in History and Moral Philosophy. Mr. Dubois was talking about the disorders that preceded  the breakup of the North American republic, back in the XXth century. According to him, there was a time just before they went down the drain when such crimes as Dillinger’s were as common as dog-fights. The Terror had not been just in North America—Russia and the British Isles had it, too,  as well as other places. But it reached its peak in North America shortly before things went to pieces.

“Law-abiding people,” Dubois had told us, “hardly dared go into a public park at night. To do so was to risk attack by wolf packs of children,

armed with chains, knives, homemade guns, bludgeons . . . to be hurt at least, robbed most certainly, injured for life probably—or even killed. This

went on for years, right up to the war between the Russo-Anglo-American Alliance and the Chinese Hegemony. Murder, drug addiction, larceny, assault, and vandalism were commonplace. Nor were parks the only places—these things happened also on the streets in daylight, on school grounds, even inside school buildings. But parks were so notoriously unsafe that honest people stayed clear of them after dark.”

I had tried to imagine such things happening in our schools. I simply couldn’t. Nor in our parks. A park was a place for fun, not for getting hurt. As for getting killed in one—“Mr. Dubois, didn’t they have police? Or courts?”

“They had many more police than we have. And more courts. All overworked.”

“I guess I don’t get it.” If a boy in our city had done anything half that bad . . . well, he and his father would have been flogged side by side. But such things just didn’t happen.

Mr. Dubois then demanded of me, “Define a ‘juvenile delinquent.’” “Uh, one of those kids—the ones who used to beat up people.” “Wrong.”

“Huh? But the book said—”

“My apologies. Your textbook does so state. But calling a tail a leg does not make the name fit. ‘Juvenile delinquent’ is a contradiction in terms, one which gives a clue to their problem and their failure to solve it. Have you ever raised a puppy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you housebreak him?”

“Err . . . yes, sir. Eventually.” It was my slowness in this that caused my mother to rule that dogs must stay out of the house. “Ah, yes. When your puppy made mistakes, were you angry?”

“What? Why, he didn’t know any better; he was just a puppy.” “What did you do?”

“Why, I scolded him and rubbed his nose in it and paddled him.” “Surely he could not understand your words?”

“No, but he could tell I was sore at him!” “But you just said that you were not angry.”

Mr. Dubois had an infuriating way of getting a person mixed up. “No, but I had to make him think I was. He had to learn, didn’t he?”

“Conceded. But, having made it clear to him that you disapproved, how could you be so cruel as to spank him as well? You said the poor beastie

didn’t know that he was doing wrong. Yet you inflicted pain. Justify yourself! Or are you a sadist?”

I didn’t then know what a sadist was—but I knew pups. “Mr. Dubois, you have to! You scold him so that he knows he’s in trouble, you rub his nose in it so that he will know what trouble you mean, you paddle him so that he darn well won’t do it again—and you have to do it right away! It doesn’t   do a bit of good to punish him later; you’ll just confuse him. Even so, he won’t learn from one lesson, so you watch and catch him again and paddle him still harder. Pretty soon he learns. But it’s a waste of breath just to scold him.” Then I added, “I guess you’ve never raised pups.”

“Many. I’m raising a dachshund now—by your methods. Let’s get back to those juvenile criminals. The most vicious averaged somewhat younger than you here in this class . . . and they often started their lawless careers much younger. Let us never forget that puppy. These children were often caught; police arrested batches each day. Were they scolded? Yes, often scathingly. Were their noses rubbed in it? Rarely. News organs and officials usually kept their names secret—in many places the law so required for criminals under eighteen. Were they spanked? Indeed not! Many had never been spanked even as small children; there was a widespread belief that spanking, or any punishment involving pain, did a child permanent psychic damage.”

(I had reflected that my father must never have heard of that theory.)

“Corporal punishment in schools was forbidden by law,” he had gone on. “Flogging was lawful as sentence of court only in one small province, Delaware, and there only for a few crimes and was rarely invoked; it was regarded as ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’” Dubois had mused aloud, “I do not understand objections to ‘cruel and unusual’ punishment. While a judge should be benevolent in purpose, his awards should cause the criminal to suffer, else there is no punishment—and pain is the basic mechanism built into us by millions of years of evolution which safeguards us by warning when something threatens our survival. Why should society refuse to use such a highly perfected survival mechanism? However, that period was loaded with pre-scientific pseudo-psychological nonsense.

“As for ‘unusual,’ punishment must be unusual or it serves no purpose.” He then pointed his stump at another boy. “What would happen if a puppy were spanked every hour?”

“Uh . . . probably drive him crazy!”

“Probably. It certainly will not teach him anything. How long has it been since the principal of this school last had to switch a pupil?” “Uh, I’m not sure. About two years. The kid that swiped—”

“Never mind. Long enough. It means that such punishment is so unusual as to be significant, to deter, to instruct. Back to these young criminals— They probably were not spanked as babies; they certainly were not flogged for their crimes. The usual sequence was: for a first offense, a warning

—a scolding, often without trial. After several offenses a sentence of confinement but with sentence suspended and the youngster placed on probation. A boy might be arrested many times and convicted several times before he was punished—and then it would be merely confinement, with others like him from whom he learned still more criminal habits. If he kept out of major trouble while confined, he could usually evade most of even that mild punishment, be given probation—‘paroled’ in the jargon of the times.

“This incredible sequence could go on for years while his crimes increased in frequency and viciousness, with no punishment whatever save rare dull-but-comfortable confinements. Then suddenly, usually by law on his eighteenth birthday, this so-called ‘juvenile delinquent’ becomes an adult

criminal—and sometimes wound up in only weeks or months in a death cell awaiting execution for murder. You

He had singled me out again. “Suppose you merely scolded your puppy, never punished him, let him go on making messes in the house . . . and

occasionally locked him up in an outbuilding but soon let him back into the house with a warning not to do it again. Then one day you notice that he

is now a grown dog and still not housebroken—whereupon you whip out a gun and shoot him dead. Comment, please?” “Why . . . that’s the craziest way to raise a dog I ever heard of!”

“I agree. Or a child. Whose fault would it be?” “Uh . . . why, mine, I guess.”

“Again I agree. But I’m not guessing.”

“Mr. Dubois,” a girl blurted out, “but why? Why didn’t they spank little kids when they needed it and use a good dose of the strap on any older ones who deserved it—the sort of lesson they wouldn’t forget! I mean ones who did things really bad. Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he had answered grimly, “except that the time-tested method of instilling social virtue and respect for law in the minds of the young

did not appeal to a pre-scientific pseudo-professional class who called themselves ‘social workers’ or sometimes ‘child psychologists.’ It was too simple for them, apparently, since anybody could do it, using only the patience and firmness needed in training a puppy. I have sometimes wondered if they cherished a vested interest in disorder—but that is unlikely; adults almost always act from conscious ‘highest motives’ no matter what their behavior.”

“But—good heavens!” the girl answered. “I didn’t like being spanked any more than any kid does, but when I needed it, my mama delivered. The only time I ever got a switching in school I got another one when I got home—and that was years and years ago. I don’t ever expect to be hauled up in front of a judge and sentenced to a flogging; you behave yourself and such things don’t happen. I don’t see anything wrong with our system; it’s a

lot better than not being able to walk outdoors for fear of your life—why, that’s horrible!”

“I agree. Young lady, the tragic wrongness of what those well-meaning people did, contrasted with what they thought they were doing, goes very deep. They had no scientific theory of morals. They did have a theory of morals and they tried to live by it (I should not have sneered at their

motives), but their theory was wrong—half of it fuzzy-headed wishful thinking, half of it rationalized charlatanry. The more earnest they were, the farther it led them astray. You see, they assumed that Man has a moral instinct.”

“Sir? I thought—But he does! I have.”

“No, my dear, you have a cultivated conscience, a most carefully trained one. Man has no moral instinct. He is not born with moral sense. You were not born with it, I was not—and a puppy has none. We acquire moral sense, when we do, through training, experience, and hard sweat of the

mind. These unfortunate juvenile criminals were born with none, even as you and I, and they had no chance to acquire any; their experiences did not

permit it. What is ‘moral sense’? It is an elaboration of the instinct to survive. The instinct to survive is human nature itself, and every aspect of our personalities derives from it. Anything that conflicts with the survival instinct acts sooner or later to eliminate the individual and thereby fails to show up in future generations. This truth is mathematically demonstrable, everywhere verifiable; it is the single eternal imperative controlling everything  we do.

“But the instinct to survive,” he had gone on, “can be cultivated into motivations more subtle and much more complex than the blind, brute urge of the individual to stay alive. Young lady, what you miscalled your ‘moral instinct’ was the instilling in you by your elders of the truth that survival can  have stronger imperatives than that of your own personal survival. Survival of your family, for example. Of your children, when you have them. Of your nation, if you struggle that high up the scale. And so on up. A scientifically verifiable theory of morals must be rooted in the individual’s instinct to

survive—and nowhere else!—and must correctly describe the hierarchy of survival, note the motivations at each level, and resolve all conflicts.  “We have such a theory now; we can solve any moral problem, on any level. Self-interest, love of family, duty to country, responsibility toward the

human race—we are even developing an exact ethic for extra-human relations. But all moral problems can be illustrated by one misquotation: ‘Greater love hath no man than a mother cat dying to defend her kittens.’ Once you understand the problem facing that cat and how she solved it, you will then be ready to examine yourself and learn how high up the moral ladder you are capable of climbing.

“These juvenile criminals hit a low level. Born with only the instinct for survival, the highest morality they achieved was a shaky loyalty to a peer

group, a street gang. But the do-gooders attempted to ‘appeal to their better natures,’ to ‘reach them,’ to ‘spark their moral sense.’ Tosh! They had no ‘better natures’; experience taught them that what they were doing was the way to survive. The puppy never got his spanking; therefore what he did with pleasure and success must be ‘moral.’

“The basis of all morality is duty, a concept with the same relation to group that self-interest has to individual. Nobody preached duty to these kids in a way they could understand—that is, with a spanking. But the society they were in told them endlessly about their ‘rights.’

“The results should have been predictable, since a human being has no natural rights of any nature.

Mr. Dubois had paused. Somebody took the bait. “Sir? How about ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’?”

“Ah, yes, the ‘unalienable rights.’ Each year someone quotes that magnificent poetry. Life? What ‘right’ to life has a man who is drowning in the Pacific? The ocean will not hearken to his cries. What ‘right’ to life has a man who must die if he is to save his children? If he chooses to save his own life, does he do so as a matter of ‘right’? If two men are starving and cannibalism is the only alternative to death, which man’s right is

‘unalienable’? And is it ‘right’? As to liberty, the heroes who signed the great document pledged themselves to buy liberty with their lives. Liberty is never unalienable; it must be redeemed regularly with the blood of patriots or it always vanishes. Of all the so-called natural human rights that have ever been invented, liberty is least likely to be cheap and is never free of cost.

“The third ‘right’?—the ‘pursuit of happiness’? It is indeed unalienable but it is not a right; it is simply a universal condition which tyrants cannot

take away nor patriots restore. Cast me into a dungeon, burn me at the stake, crown me king of kings, I can ‘pursue happiness’ as long as my brain lives—but neither gods nor saints, wise men nor subtle drugs, can insure that I will catch it.”

Mr. Dubois then turned to me. “I told you that ‘juvenile delinquent’ is a contradiction in terms. ‘Delinquent’ means ‘failing in duty.’ But duty is an adult virtue—indeed a juvenile becomes an adult when, and only when, he acquires a knowledge of duty and embraces it as dearer than the self- love he was born with. There never was, there cannot be, a ‘juvenile delinquent.’ But for every juvenile criminal there are always one or more adult

delinquents—people of mature years who either do not know their duty, or who, knowing it, fail.

“And that was the soft spot which destroyed what was in many ways an admirable culture. The junior hoodlums who roamed their streets were symptoms of a greater sickness; their citizens (all of them counted as such) glorified their mythology of ‘rights’ . . . and lost track of their duties. No nation, so constituted, can endure.”

I wondered how Colonel Dubois would have classed Dillinger. Was he a juvenile criminal who merited pity even though you had to get rid of him? Or was he an adult delinquent who deserved nothing but contempt?

I didn’t know, I would never know. The one thing I was sure of was that he would never again kill any little girls. That suited me. I went to sleep.

We’ve got no place in this outfit for good losers. We want tough hombres who will go in there and win!

Admiral Jonas Ingram, 1926

When we had done all that a mud foot can do in flat country, we moved into some rough mountains to do still rougher things—the Canadian Rockies between Good Hope Mountain and Mount Waddington. Camp Sergeant Spooky Smith was much like Camp Currie (aside from its rugged setting) but it was much smaller. Well, the Third Regiment was much smaller now, too—less than four hundred whereas we had started out with more than  two thousand. H Company was now organized as a single platoon and the battalion paraded as if it were a company. But we were still called “H Company” and Zim was “Company Commander,” not platoon leader.

What the sweat-down meant, really, was much more personal instruction; we had more corporal-instructors than we had squads and Sergeant Zim, with only fifty men on his mind instead of the two hundred and sixty he had started with, kept his Argus eyes on each one of us all the time— even when he wasn’t there. At least, if you goofed, it turned out he was standing right behind you.

However, the chewing-out you got had almost a friendly quality, in a horrid sort of way, because we had changed, too, as well as the regiment— the one-in-five who was left was almost a soldier and Zim seemed to be trying to make him into one, instead of running him over the hill.

We saw a lot more of Captain Frankel, too; he now spent most of his time teaching us, instead of behind a desk, and he knew all of us by name and face and seemed to have a card file in his mind of exactly what progress each man had made on every weapon, every piece of equipment— not to mention your extra-duty status, medical record, and whether you had had a letter from home lately.

He wasn’t as severe with us as Zim was; his words were milder and it took a really stupid stunt to take that friendly grin off his face—but don’t let that fool you; there was beryl armor under the grin. I never did figure out which one was the better soldier, Zim or Captain Frankel—I mean, if you took away the insignia and thought of them as privates. Unquestionably they were both better soldiers than any of the other instructors—but which was best? Zim did everything with precision and style, as if he were on parade; Captain Frankel did the same thing with dash and gusto, as if it were a game. The results were about the same—and it never turned out to be as easy as Captain Frankel made it look.

We needed the abundance of instructors. Jumping a suit (as I have said) was easy on flat ground. Well, the suit jumps just as high and just as easily in the mountains—but it makes a lot of difference when you have to jump up a vertical granite wall, between two close-set fir trees, and override your jet control at the last instant. We had three major casualties in suit practice in broken country, two dead and one medical retirement.

But that rock wall is even tougher without a suit, tackled with lines and pitons. I didn’t really see what use alpine drill was to a cap trooper but I had learned to keep my mouth shut and try to learn what they shoved at us. I learned it and it wasn’t too hard. If anybody had told me, a year earlier, that I could go up a solid chunk of rock, as flat and as perpendicular as a blank wall of a building, using only a hammer, some silly little steel pins, and a chunk of clothesline, I would have laughed in his face; I’m a sea-level type. Correction: I was a sea-level type. There had been some changes made.

Just how much I had changed I began to find out. At Camp Sergeant Spooky Smith we had liberty—to go to town, I mean. Oh, we had “liberty” after the first month at Camp Currie, too. This meant that, on a Sunday afternoon, if you weren’t in the duty platoon, you could check out at the orderly tent and walk just as far away from camp as you wished, bearing in mind that you had to be back for evening muster. But there was nothing within walking distance, if you don’t count jack rabbits—no girls, no theaters, no dance halls, et cetera.

Nevertheless, liberty, even at Camp Currie, was no mean privilege; sometimes it can be very important indeed to be able to go so far away that you can’t see a tent, a sergeant, nor even the ugly faces of your best friends among the boots . . . not have to be on the bounce about anything, have time to take out your soul and look at it. You could lose that privilege in several degrees; you could be restricted to camp . . . or you could be restricted to your own company street, which meant that you couldn’t go to the library nor to what was misleadingly called the “recreation” tent   (mostly some parcheesi sets and similar wild excitements) . . . or you could be under close restriction, required to stay in your tent when your presence was not required elsewhere.

This last sort didn’t mean much in itself since it was usually added to extra duty so demanding that you didn’t have any time in your tent other than for sleep anyhow; it was a decoration added like a cherry on top of a dish of ice cream to notify you and the world that you had pulled not some everyday goof-off but something unbecoming of a member of the M.I. and were thereby unfit to associate with other troopers until you had washed away the stain.

But at Camp Spooky we could go into town—duty status, conduct status, etc., permitting. Shuttles ran to Vancouver every Sunday morning, right after divine services (which were moved up to thirty minutes after breakfast) and came back again just before supper and again just before taps. The instructors could even spend Saturday night in town, or cop a three-day pass, duty permitting.

I had no more than stepped out of the shuttle, my first pass, than I realized in part that I had changed. Johnnie didn’t fit in any longer. Civilian life, I mean. It all seemed amazingly complex and unbelievably untidy.

I’m not running down Vancouver. It’s a beautiful city in a lovely setting; the people are charming and they are used to having the M.I. in town and they make a trooper welcome. There is a social center for us downtown, where they have dances for us every week and see to it that junior

hostesses are on hand to dance with, and senior hostesses to make sure that a shy boy (me, to my amazement—but you try a few months with nothing female around but lady jack rabbits) gets introduced and has a partner’s feet to step on.

But I didn’t go to the social center that first pass. Mostly I stood around and gawked—at beautiful buildings, at display windows filled with all manner of unnecessary things (and not a weapon among them), at all those people running around, or even strolling, doing exactly as they pleased and no two of them dressed alike—and at girls.

Especially at girls. I hadn’t realized just how wonderful they were. Look, I’ve approved of girls from the time I first noticed that the difference was more than just that they dress differently. So far as I remember I never did go through that period boys are supposed to go through when they know

that girls are different but dislike them; I’ve always liked girls.

But that day I realized that I had long been taking them for granted.

Girls are simply wonderful. Just to stand on a corner and watch them going past is delightful. They don’t walk. At least not what we do when we talk. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s much more complex and utterly delightful. They don’t move just their feet; everything moves and in different directions . . . and all of it graceful.

I might have been standing there yet if a policeman hadn’t come by. He sized us up and said, “Howdy, boys. Enjoying yourselves?”

I quickly read the ribbons on his chest and was impressed. “Yes, sir!”

“You don’t have to say ‘sir’ to me. Not much to do here. Why don’t you go to the hospitality center?” He gave us the address, pointed the direction

and we started that way—Pat Leivy, “Kitten” Smith, and myself. He called after us, “Have a good time, boys . . . and stay out of trouble.” Which was exactly what Sergeant Zim had said to us as we climbed into the shuttle.

But we didn’t go there. Pat Leivy had lived in Seattle when he was a small boy and wanted to take a look at his old home town. He had money and offered to pay our shuttle fares if we would go with him. I didn’t mind and it was all right; shuttles ran every twenty minutes and our passes were not restricted to Vancouver. Smith decided to go along, too.

Seattle wasn’t so very different from Vancouver and the girls were just as plentiful; I enjoyed it. But Seattle wasn’t quite as used to having M.I. around in droves and we picked a poor spot to eat dinner, one where we weren’t quite so welcome—a bar-restaurant, down by the docks.

Now, look, we weren’t drinking. Well, Kitten Smith had had one repeat one beer with his dinner but he was never anything but friendly and nice. That is how he got his name; the first time we had hand-to-hand combat drill Corporal Jones had said to him disgustedly: “A kitten would have hit

me harder than that!” The nickname stuck.

We were the only uniforms in the place; most of the other customers were merchant marine sailors—Seattle handles an awful lot of surface

tonnage. I hadn’t known it at the time but merchant sailors don’t like us. Part of it has to do with the fact that their guilds have tried and tried to get their trade classed as equivalent to Federal Service, without success—but I understand that some of it goes way back in history, centuries.

There were some young fellows there, too, about our age—the right age to serve a term, only they weren’t—long-haired and sloppy and kind of dirty-looking. Well, say about the way I looked, I suppose, before I joined up.

Presently we started noticing that at the table behind us, two of these young twerps and two merchant sailors (to judge by clothes) were passing

remarks that were intended for us to overhear. I won’t try to repeat them.

We didn’t say anything. Presently, when the remarks were even more personal and the laughs louder and everybody else in the place was keeping quiet and listening, Kitten whispered to me, “Let’s get out of here.”

I caught Pat Leivy’s eye; he nodded. We had no score to settle; it was one of those pay-as-you-get-it places. We got up and left. They followed us out.

Pat whispered to me, “Watch it.” We kept on walking, didn’t look back. They charged us.

I gave my man a side-neck chop as I pivoted and let him fall past me, swung to help my mates. But it was over. Four in, four down. Kitten had handled two of them and Pat had sort of wrapped the other one around a lamppost from throwing him a little too hard.

Somebody, the proprietor I guess, must have called the police as soon as we stood up to leave, since they arrived almost at once while we were still standing around wondering what to do with the meat—two policemen; it was that sort of a neighborhood.

The senior of them wanted us to prefer charges, but none of us was willing—Zim had told us to “stay out of trouble.” Kitten looked blank and about fifteen years old and said, “I guess they stumbled.”

“So I see,” agreed the police officer and toed a knife away from the outflung hand of my man, put it against the curb and broke the blade. “Well, you boys had better run along . . . farther uptown.”

We left. I was glad that neither Pat nor Kitten wanted to make anything of it. It’s a mighty serious thing, a civilian assaulting a member of the Armed Forces, but what the deuce?—the books balanced. They jumped us, they got their lumps. All even.

But it’s a good thing we never go on pass armed . . . and have been trained to disable without killing. Because every bit of it happened by reflex. I didn’t believe that they would jump us until they already had, and I didn’t do any thinking at all until it was over.

But that’s how I learned for the first time just how much I had changed. We walked back to the station and caught a shuttle to Vancouver.

We started practice drops as soon as we moved to Camp Spooky—a platoon at a time, in rotation (a full platoon, that is—a company), would   shuttle down to the field north of Walla Walla, go aboard, space, make a drop, go through an exercise, and home on a beacon. A day’s work. With eight companies that gave us not quite a drop each week, and then it gave us a little more than a drop each week as attrition continued, whereupon the drops got tougher—over mountains, into the arctic ice, into the Australian desert, and, before we graduated, onto the face of the Moon, where your capsule is placed only a hundred feet up and explodes as it ejects—and you have to look sharp and land with only your suit (no air, no parachute) and a bad landing can spill your air and kill you.

Some of the attrition was from casualties, deaths or injuries, and some of it was just from refusing to enter the capsule—which some did, and that was that; they weren’t even chewed out; they were just motioned aside and that night they were paid off. Even a man who had made several drops might get the panic and refuse . . . and the instructors were just gentle with him, treated him the way you do a friend who is ill and won’t get well.

I never quite refused to enter the capsule—but I certainly learned about the shakes. I always got them, I was scared silly every time. I still am. But you’re not a cap trooper unless you drop.

They tell a story, probably not true, about a cap trooper who was sight-seeing in Paris. He visited Les Invalides, looked down at Napoleon’s coffin and said to a French guard there: “Who’s he?”

The Frenchman was properly scandalized. “Monsieur does not know? This is the tomb of Napoleon! Napoleon Bonaparte—the greatest soldier who ever lived!”

The cap trooper thought about it. Then he asked, “So? Where were his drops?”

It is almost certainly not true, because there is a big sign outside there that tells you exactly who Napoleon was. But that is how cap troopers feel about it.

Eventually we graduated.

I can see that I’ve left out almost everything. Not a word about most of our weapons, nothing about the time we dropped everything and fought a forest fire for three days, no mention of the practice alert that was a real one, only we didn’t know it until it was over, nor about the day the cook tent blew away—in fact not any mention of weather and, believe me, weather is important to a doughboy, rain and mud especially. But though weather is important while it happens it seems to me to be pretty dull to look back on. You can take descriptions of most any sort of weather out of an almanac and stick them in just anywhere; they’ll probably fit.

The regiment had started with 2009 men; we graduated 187—of the others, fourteen were dead (one executed and his name struck) and the rest resigned, dropped, transferred, medical discharge, etc. Major Malloy made a short speech, we each got a certificate, we passed in review for the last time, and the regiment was disbanded, its colors to be cased until they would be needed (three weeks later) to tell another couple of thousand civilians that they were an outfit, not a mob.

I was a “trained soldier,” entitled to put “TP” in front of my serial number instead of “RP.” Big day. The biggest I ever had.

The tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots . . .

Thomas Jefferson, 1787

That is, I thought I was a “trained soldier” until I reported to my ship. Any law against having a wrong opinion?

I see that I didn’t make any mention of how the Terran Federation moved from “peace” to a “state of emergency” and then on into “war.” I didn’t notice it too closely myself. When I enrolled, it was “peace,” the normal condition, at least so people think (who ever expects anything else?). Then, while I was at Currie, it became a “state of emergency” but I still didn’t notice it, as what Corporal Bronski thought about my haircut, uniform, combat drill, and kit was much more important—and what Sergeant Zim thought about such matters was overwhelmingly important. In any case,  “emergency” is still “peace.”

“Peace” is a condition in which no civilian pays any attention to military casualties which do not achieve page-one, lead-story prominence— unless that civilian is a close relative of one of the casualties. But, if there ever was a time in history when “peace” meant that there was no fighting going on, I have been unable to find out about it. When I reported to my first outfit, “Willie’s Wildcats,” sometimes known as Company K, Third

Regiment, First M.I. Division, and shipped with them in the Valley Forge (with that misleading certificate in my kit), the fighting had already been going on for several years.

The historians can’t seem to settle whether to call this one “The Third Space War” (or the “Fourth”), or whether “The First Interstellar War” fits it better. We just call it “The Bug War” if we call it anything, which we usually don’t, and in any case the historians date the beginning of “war” after the time I joined my first outfit and ship. Everything up to then and still later were “incidents,” “patrols,” or “police actions.” However, you are just as dead if you buy a farm in an “incident” as you are if you buy it in a declared war.

But, to tell the truth, a soldier doesn’t notice a war much more than a civilian does, except his own tiny piece of it and that just on the days it is happening. The rest of the time he is much more concerned with sack time, the vagaries of sergeants, and the chances of wheedling the cook between meals. However, when Kitten Smith and Al Jenkins and I joined them at Luna Base, each of Willies’ Wildcats had made more than one combat drop; they were soldiers and we were not. We weren’t hazed for it—at least I was not—and the sergeants and corporals were amazingly easy to deal with after the calculated frightfulness of instructors.

It took a little while to discover that this comparatively gentle treatment simply meant that we were nobody, hardly worth chewing out, until we had proved in a drop—a real drop—that we might possibly replace real Wildcats who had fought and bought it and whose bunks we now occupied.

Let me tell you how green I was. While the Valley Forge was still at Luna Base, I happened to come across my section leader just as he was  about to hit dirt, all slicked up in dress uniform. He was wearing in his left ear lobe a rather small earring, a tiny gold skull beautifully made and under it, instead of the conventional crossed bones of the ancient Jolly Roger design, was a whole bundle of little gold bones, almost too small to see.

Back home, I had always worn earrings and other jewelry when I went out on a date—I had some beautiful ear clips, rubies as big as the end of  my little finger which had belonged to my mother’s grandfather. I like jewelry and had rather resented being required to leave it all behind when I   went to Basic . . . but here was a type of jewelry which was apparently okay to wear with uniform. My ears weren’t pierced—my mother didn’t  approve of it, for boys—but I could have the jeweler mount it on a clip . . . and I still had some money left from pay call at graduation and was anxious to spend it before it mildewed. “Unh, Sergeant? Where do you get earrings like that one? Pretty neat.”

He didn’t look scornful, he didn’t even smile. He just said, “You like it?”

“I certainly do!” The plain raw gold pointed up the gold braid and piping of the uniform even better than gems would have done. I was thinking that a pair would be still handsomer, with just crossbones instead of all that confusion at the bottom. “Does the base PX carry them?”

“No, the PX here never sells them.” He added, “At least I don’t think you’ll ever be able to buy one here—I hope. But I tell you what—when we reach a place where you can buy one of your own, I’ll see to it you know about it. That’s a promise.”

“Uh, thanks!” “Don’t mention it.”

I saw several of the tiny skulls thereafter, some with more “bones,” some with fewer; my guess had been correct, this was jewelry permitted with uniform, when on pass at least. Then I got my own chance to “buy” one almost immediately thereafter and discovered that the prices were unreasonably high, for such plain ornaments.

It was Operation Bughouse, the First Battle of Klendathu in the history books, soon after Buenos Aires was smeared. It took the loss of B.A. to make the ground-hogs realize that anything was going on, because people who haven’t been out don’t really believe in other planets, not down deep where it counts. I know I hadn’t and I had been space-happy since I was a pup.

But B.A. really stirred up the civilians and inspired loud screams to bring all our forces home, from everywhere—orbit them around the planet practically shoulder to shoulder and interdict the space Terra occupies. This is silly, of course; you don’t win a war by defense but by attack—no “Department of Defense” ever won a war; see the histories. But it seems to be a standard civilian reaction to scream for defensive tactics as soon as they do notice a war. They then want to run the war—like a passenger trying to grab the controls away from the pilot in an emergency.

However, nobody asked my opinion at the time; I was told. Quite aside from the impossibility of dragging the troops home in view of our treaty obligations and what it would do to the colony planets in the Federation and to our allies, we were awfully busy doing something else, to wit: carrying the war to the Bugs. I suppose I noticed the destruction of B.A. much less than most civilians did. We were already a couple of parsecs away under Cherenkov drive and the news didn’t reach us until we got it from another ship after we came out of drive.

I remember thinking, “Gosh, that’s terrible!” and feeling sorry for the one Porteño in the ship. But B.A. wasn’t my home and Terra was a long way off and I was very busy, as the attack on Klendathu, the Bugs’ home planet, was mounted immediately after that and we spent the time to

rendezvous strapped in our bunks, doped and unconscious, with the internal-gravity field of the Valley Forge off, to save power and give greater speed.

The loss of Buenos Aires did mean a great deal to me; it changed my life enormously, but this I did not know until many months later.

When it came time to drop onto Klendathu, I was assigned to PFC Dutch Bamburger as a supernumerary. He managed to conceal his pleasure at the news and as soon as the platoon sergeant was out of earshot, he said, “Listen, boot, you stick close behind me and stay out of my way. You go slowing me down, I break your silly neck.”

I just nodded. I was beginning to realize that this was not a practice drop. Then I had the shakes for a while and then we were down—

Operation Bughouse should have been called “Operation Madhouse.” Everything went wrong. It had been planned as an all-out move to bring the enemy to their knees, occupy their capital and the key points of their home planet, and end the war. Instead it darn near lost the war.

I am not criticizing General Diennes. I don’t know whether it’s true that he demanded more troops and more support and allowed himself to be overruled by the Sky Marshal-in-Chief—or not. Nor was it any of my business. Furthermore I doubt if some of the smart second-guessers know all the facts.

What I do know is that the General dropped with us and commanded us on the ground and, when the situation became impossible, he personally led the diversionary attack that allowed quite a few of us (including me) to be retrieved—and, in so doing, bought his farm. He’s radioactive debris on Klendathu and it’s much too late to court-martial him, so why talk about it?

I do have one comment to make to any armchair strategist who has never made a drop. Yes, I agree that the Bugs’ planet possibly could have been plastered with H-bombs until it was surfaced with radioactive glass. But would that have won the war? The Bugs are not like us. The Pseudo- Arachnids aren’t even like spiders. They are arthropods who happen to look like a madman’s conception of a giant, intelligent spider, but their organization, psychological and economic, is more like that of ants or termites; they are communal entities, the ultimate dictatorship of the hive. Blasting the surface of their planet would have killed soldiers and workers; it would not have killed the brain caste and the queens—I doubt if  anybody can be certain that even a direct hit with a burrowing H-rocket would kill a queen; we don’t know how far down they are. Nor am I anxious to find out; none of the boys who went down those holes came up again.

So suppose we did ruin the productive surface of Klendathu? They still would have ships and colonies and other planets, same as we have, and their HQ is still intact—so unless they surrender, the war isn’t over. We didn’t have nova bombs at that time; we couldn’t crack Klendathu open. If

they absorbed the punishment and didn’t surrender, the war was still on. If they can surrender—

Their soldiers can’t. Their workers can’t fight (and you can waste a lot of time and ammo shooting up workers who wouldn’t say boo!) and their soldier caste can’t surrender. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that the Bugs are just stupid insects because they look the way they do and don’t know how to surrender. Their warriors are smart, skilled, and aggressive—smarter than you are, by the only universal rule, if the Bug shoots first. You can burn off one leg, two legs, three legs, and he just keeps on coming; burn off four on one side and he topples over—but keeps on shooting. You have to spot the nerve case and get it . . . whereupon he will trot right on past you, shooting at nothing, until he crashes into a wall or something.

The drop was a shambles from the start. Fifty ships were in our piece of it and they were supposed to come out of Cherenkov drive and into reaction drive so perfectly co-ordinated that they could hit orbit and drop us, in formation and where we were supposed to hit, without even making

one planet circuit to dress up their own formation. I suppose this is difficult. Shucks, I knowit is. But when it slips, it leaves the M.I. holding the sack.

We were lucky at that, because the Valley Forge and every Navy file in her bought it before we ever hit the ground. In that tight, fast formation (4.7 miles/sec. orbital speed is not a stroll) she collided with the Ypres and both ships were destroyed. We were lucky to get out of her tubes—those of

us who did get out, for she was still firing capsules as she was rammed. But I wasn’t aware of it; I was inside my cocoon, headed for the ground. I

suppose our company commander knew that the ship had been lost (and half his Wildcats with it) since he was out first and would know when he suddenly lost touch, over the command circuit, with the ship’s captain.

But there is no way to ask him, because he wasn’t retrieved. All I ever had was a gradually dawning realization that things were in a mess.

The next eighteen hours were a nightmare. I shan’t tell much about it because I don’t remember much, just snatches, stop-motion scenes of horror. I have never liked spiders, poisonous or otherwise; a common house spider in my bed can give me the creeps. Tarantulas are simply unthinkable, and I can’t eat lobster, crab, or anything of that sort. When I got my first sight of a Bug, my mind jumped right out of my skull and started to yammer. It was seconds later that I realized that I had killed it and could stop shooting. I suppose it was a worker; I doubt if I was in any shape to tackle a warrior and win.

But, at that, I was in better shape than was the K-9 Corps. They were to be dropped (if the drop had gone perfectly) on the periphery of our entire target and the neodogs were supposed to range outward and provide tactical intelligence to interdiction squads whose business it was to secure the periphery. Those Calebs aren’t armed, of course, other than their teeth. A neodog is supposed to hear, see, and smell and tell his partner what he finds by radio; all he carries is a radio and a destruction bomb with which he (or his partner) can blow the dog up in case of bad wounds or capture.

Those poor dogs didn’t wait to be captured; apparently most of them suicided as soon as they made contact. They felt the way I do about the Bugs, only worse. They have neodogs now that are indoctrinated from puppy-hood to observe and evade without blowing their tops at the mere sight or smell of a Bug. But these weren’t.

But that wasn’t all that went wrong. Just name it, it was fouled up. I didn’t know what was going on, of course; I just stuck close behind Dutch, trying to shoot or flame anything that moved, dropping a grenade down a hole whenever I saw one. Presently I got so that I could kill a Bug without wasting ammo or juice, although I did not learn to distinguish between those that were harmless and those that were not. Only about one in fifty is a warrior

—but he makes up for the other forty-nine. Their personal weapons aren’t as heavy as ours but they are lethal just the same—they’ve got a beam that will penetrate armor and slice flesh like cutting a hard-boiled egg, and they co-operate even better than we do . . . because the brain that is doing the heavy thinking for a “squad” isn’t where you can reach it; it’s down one of the holes.

Dutch and I stayed lucky for quite a long time, milling around over an area about a mile square, corking up holes with bombs, killing what we found above surface, saving our jets as much as possible for emergencies. The idea was to secure the entire target and allow the reinforcements and the heavy stuff to come down without important opposition; this was not a raid, this was a battle to establish a beachhead, stand on it, hold it, and enable fresh troops and heavies to capture or pacify the entire planet.

Only we didn’t.

Our own section was doing all right. It was in the wrong pew and out of touch with the other section—the platoon leader and sergeant were dead and we never re-formed. But we had staked out a claim, our special-weapons squad had set up a strong point, and we were ready to turn our real estate over to fresh troops as soon as they showed up.

Only they didn’t. They dropped in where we should have dropped, found unfriendly natives and had their own troubles. We never saw them. So we stayed where we were, soaking up casualties from time to time and passing them out ourselves as opportunity offered—while we ran low on ammo and jump juice and even power to keep the suits moving. This seemed to go on for a couple of thousand years.

Dutch and I were zipping along close to a wall, headed for our special-weapons squad in answer to a yell for help, when the ground suddenly opened in front of Dutch, a Bug popped out, and Dutch went down.

I flamed the Bug and tossed a grenade and the hole closed up, then turned to see what had happened to Dutch. He was down but he didn’t look hurt. A platoon sergeant can monitor the physicals of every man in his platoon, sort out the dead from those who merely can’t make it unassisted and must be picked up. But you can do the same thing manually from switches right on the belt of a man’s suit.

Dutch didn’t answer when I called to him. His body temperature read ninety-nine degrees, his respiration, heartbeat, and brain wave read zero— which looked bad but maybe his suit was dead rather than he himself. Or so I told myself, forgetting that the temperature indicator would give no reading if it were the suit rather than the man. Anyhow, I grabbed the can-opener wrench from my own belt and started to take him out of his suit while trying to watch all around me.

Then I heard an all-hands call in my helmet that I never want to hear again. “Sauve qui peut! Home! Home! Pickup and home! Any beacon you can hear. Six minutes! All hands, save yourselves, pick up your mates. Home on any beacon! Sauve qui—”

I hurried.

His head came off as I tried to drag him out of his suit, so I dropped him and got out of there. On a later drop I would have had sense enough to salvage his ammo, but I was far too sluggy to think; I simply bounced away from there and tried to rendezvous with the strong point we had been heading for.

It was already evacuated and I felt lost . . . lost and deserted. Then I heard recall, not the recall it should have been: “Yankee Doodle” (if it had

been a boat from the Valley Forge)—but “Sugar Bush,” a tune I didn’t know. No matter, it was a beacon; I headed for it, using the last of my jump juice lavishly—got aboard just as they were about to button up and shortly thereafter was in the Voortrek, in such a state of shock that I couldn’t remember my serial number.

I’ve heard it called a “strategic victory”—but I was there and I claim we took a terrible licking.

Six weeks later (and feeling about sixty years older) at Fleet Base on Sanctuary I boarded another ground boat and reported for duty to Ship’s Sergeant Jelal in the Rodger Young. I was wearing, in my pierced left ear lobe, a broken skull with one bone. Al Jenkins was with me and was wearing one exactly like it (Kitten never made it out of the tube). The few surviving Wildcats were distributed elsewhere around the Fleet; we had lost half our strength, about, in the collision between the Valley Forge and the Ypres; that disastrous mess on the ground had run our casualties up over 80 per cent and the powers-that-be decided that it was impossible to put the outfit back together with the survivors—close it out, put the records in the archives, and wait until the scars had healed before reactivating Company K (Wildcats) with new faces but old traditions.

Besides, there were a lot of empty files to fill in other outfits.

Sergeant Jelal welcomed us warmly, told us that we were joining a smart outfit, “best in the Fleet,” in a taut ship, and didn’t seem to notice our ear skulls. Later that day he took us forward to meet the Lieutenant, who smiled rather shyly and gave us a fatherly little talk. I noticed that Al Jenkins wasn’t wearing his gold skull. Neither was I—because I had already noticed that nobody in Rasczak’s Roughnecks wore the skulls.

They didn’t wear them because, in Rasczak’s Roughnecks, it didn’t matter in the least how many combat drops you had made, nor which ones; you were either a Roughneck or you weren’t—and if you were not, they didn’t care who you were. Since we had come to them not as recruits but as combat veterans, they gave us all possible benefit of doubt and made us welcome with no more than that unavoidable trace of formality anybody necessarily shows to a house guest who is not a member of the family.

But, less than a week later when we had made one combat drop with them, we were full-fledged Roughnecks, members of the family, called by  our first names, chewed out on occasion without any feeling on either side that we were less than blood brothers thereby, borrowed from and lent to,

included in bull sessions and privileged to express our own silly opinions with complete freedom—and have them slapped down just as freely. We

even called non-coms by their first names on any but strictly duty occasions. Sergeant Jelal was always on duty, of course, unless you ran across him dirtside, in which case he was “Jelly” and went out of his way to behave as if his lordly rank meant nothing between Roughnecks.

But the Lieutenant was always “The Lieutenant”—never “Mr. Rasczak,” nor even “Lieutenant Rasczak.” Simply “The Lieutenant,” spoken to and of in the third person. There was no god but the Lieutenant and Sergeant Jelal was his prophet. Jelly could say “No” in his own person and it might be

subject to further argument, at least from junior sergeants, but if he said, “The Lieutenant wouldn’t like it,” he was speaking ex cathedra and the matter was dropped permanently. Nobody ever tried to check up on whether or not the Lieutenant would or would not like it; the Word had been spoken.

The Lieutenant was father to us and loved us and spoiled us and was nevertheless rather remote from us aboard ship—and even dirtside . . . unless we reached dirt via a drop. But in a drop—well, you wouldn’t think that an officer could worry about every man of a platoon spread over a hundred square miles of terrain. But he can. He can worry himself sick over each one of them. How he could keep track of us all I can’t describe, but in the midst of a ruckus his voice would sing out over the command circuit: “Johnson! Check squad six! Smitty’s in trouble,” and it was better than even money that the Lieutenant had noticed it before Smith’s squad leader.

Besides that, you knew with utter and absolute certainty that, as long as you were still alive, the Lieutenant would not get into the retrieval boat without you. There have been prisoners taken in the Bug War, but none from Rasczak’s Roughnecks.

Jelly was mother to us and was close to us and took care of us and didn’t spoil us at all. But he didn’t report us to the Lieutenant—there was

never a court-martial among the Roughnecks and no man was ever flogged. Jelly didn’t even pass out extra duty very often; he had other ways of paddling us. He could look you up and down at daily inspection and simply say, “In the Navy you might look good. Why don’t you transfer?”—and get results, it being an article of faith among us that the Navy crew members slept in their uniforms and never washed below their collar lines.

But Jelly didn’t have to maintain discipline among privates because he maintained discipline among his non-coms and expected them to do

likewise. My squad leader, when I first joined, was “Red” Greene. After a couple of drops, when I knew how good it was to be a Roughneck, I got to feeling gay and a bit too big for my clothes—and talked back to Red. He didn’t report me to Jelly; he just took me back to the washroom and gave me a medium set of lumps, and we got to be pretty good friends. In fact, he recommended me for lance, later on.

Actually we didn’t know whether the crew members slept in their clothes or not; we kept to our part of the ship and the Navy men kept to theirs, because they were made to feel unwelcome if they showed up in our country other than on duty—after all, one has social standards one must maintain, mustn’t one? The Lieutenant had his stateroom in male officers’ country, a Navy part of the ship, but we never went there, either, except on

duty and rarely. We did go forward for guard duty, because the Rodger Young was a mixed ship, female captain and pilot officers, some female Navy ratings; forward of bulkhead thirty was ladies’ country—and two armed M.I. day and night stood guard at the one door cutting it. (At battle stations that door, like all other gastight doors, was secured; nobody missed a drop.)

Officers were privileged to go forward of bulkhead thirty on duty and all officers, including the Lieutenant, ate in a mixed mess just beyond it. But

they didn’t tarry there; they ate and got out. Maybe other corvette transports were run differently, but that was the way the Rodger Young was run— both the Lieutenant and Captain Deladrier wanted a taut ship and got it.

Nevertheless guard duty was a privilege. It was a rest to stand beside that door, arms folded, feet spread, doping off and thinking about nothing .

. . but always warmly aware that any moment you might see a feminine creature even though you were not privileged to speak to her other than on duty. Once I was called all the way into the Skipper’s office and she spoke to me—she looked right at me and said, “Take this to the Chief Engineer, please.”

My daily shipside job, aside from cleaning, was servicing electronic equipment under the close supervision of “Padre” Migliaccio, the section leader of the first section, exactly as I used to work under Carl’s eye. Drops didn’t happen too often and everybody worked every day. If a man didn’t have any other talent he could always scrub bulkheads; nothing was ever quite clean enough to suit Sergeant Jelal. We followed the M.I. rule; everybody fights, everybody works. Our first cook was Johnson, the second section’s sergeant, a big friendly boy from Georgia (the one in the western hemisphere, not the other one) and a very talented chef. He wheedled pretty well, too; he liked to eat between meals himself and saw no reason why other people shouldn’t.

With the Padre leading one section and the cook leading the other, we were well taken care of, body and soul—but suppose one of them bought it? Which one would you pick? A nice point that we never tried to settle but could always discuss.

The Rodger Young kept busy and we made a number of drops, all different. Every drop has to be different so that they never can figure out a pattern on you. But no more pitched battles; we operated alone, patrolling, harrying, and raiding. The truth was that the Terran Federation was not then able to mount a large battle; the foul-up with Operation Bughouse had cost too many ships, ’way too many trained men. It was necessary to take time to heal up, train more men.

In the meantime, small fast ships, among them the Rodger Young and other corvette transports, tried to be everywhere at once, keeping the enemy off balance, hurting him and running. We suffered casualties and filled our holes when we returned to Sanctuary for more capsules. I still got the shakes every drop, but actual drops didn’t happen too often nor were we ever down long—and between times there were days and days of shipboard life among the Roughnecks.

It was the happiest period of my life although I was never quite consciously aware of it—I did my full share of beefing just as everybody else did, and enjoyed that, too.

We weren’t really hurt until the Lieutenant bought it.

I guess that was the worst time in all my life. I was already in bad shape for a personal reason: My mother had been in Buenos Aires when the Bugs smeared it.

I found out about it one time when we put in at Sanctuary for more capsules and some mail caught up with us—a note from my Aunt Eleanora, one that had not been coded and sent fast because she had failed to mark for that; the letter itself came. It was about three bitter lines. Somehow she seemed to blame me for my mother’s death. Whether it was my fault because I was in the Armed Services and should have therefore prevented the raid, or whether she felt that my mother had made a trip to Buenos Aires because I wasn’t home where I should have been, was not quite clear; she managed to imply both in the same sentence.

I tore it up and tried to walk away from it. I thought that both my parents were dead—since Father would never send Mother on a trip that long by herself. Aunt Eleanora had not said so, but she wouldn’t have mentioned Father in any case; her devotion was entirely to her sister. I was almost correct—eventually I learned that Father had planned to go with her but something had come up and he stayed over to settle it, intending to come along the next day. But Aunt Eleanora did not tell me this.

A couple of hours later the Lieutenant sent for me and asked me very gently if I would like to take leave at Sanctuary while the ship went out on her next patrol—he pointed out that I had plenty of accumulated R&R and might as well use some of it. I don’t know how he knew that I had lost a member of my family, but he obviously did. I said no, thank you, sir; I preferred to wait until the outfit all took R&R together.

I’m glad I did it that way, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been along when the Lieutenant bought it . . . and that would have been just too much  to be borne. It happened very fast and just before retrieval. A man in the third squad was wounded, not badly but he was down; the assistant section leader moved in to pick up—and bought a small piece of it himself. The Lieutenant, as usual, was watching everything at once—no doubt he had checked physicals on each of them by remote, but we’ll never know. What he did was to make sure that the assistant section leader was still alive; then made pickup on both of them himself, one in each arm of his suit.

He threw them the last twenty feet and they were passed into the retrieval boat—and with everybody else in, the shield gone and no interdiction, was hit and died instantly.

I haven’t mentioned the names of the private and of the assistant section leader on purpose. The Lieutenant was making pickup on all of us, with his last breath. Maybe I was the private. It doesn’t matter who he was. What did matter was that our family had had its head chopped off. The head of the family from which we took our name, the father who made us what we were.

After the Lieutenant had to leave us Captain Deladrier invited Sergeant Jelal to eat forward, with the other heads of departments. But he begged to be excused. Have you ever seen a widow with stern character keep her family together by behaving as if the head of the family had simply stepped out and would return at any moment? That’s what Jelly did. He was just a touch more strict with us than ever and if he ever had to say: “The

Lieutenant wouldn’t like that,” it was almost more than a man could take. Jelly didn’t say it very often.

He left our combat team organization almost unchanged; instead of shifting everybody around, he moved the assistant section leader of the second section over into the (nominal) platoon sergeant spot, leaving his section leaders where they were needed—with their sections—and he moved me from lance and assistant squad leader into acting corporal as a largely ornamental assistant section leader. Then he himself behaved as if the Lieutenant were merely out of sight and that he was just passing on the Lieutenant’s orders, as usual.

It saved us.

CH:11

I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.

W. Churchill, XXth century soldier-statesman

As we came back into the ship after the raid on the Skinnies—the raid in which Dizzy Flores bought it, Sergeant Jelal’s first drop as platoon leader

—a ship’s gunner who was tending the boat lock spoke to me: “How’d it go?”

“Routine,” I answered briefly. I suppose his remark was friendly but I was feeling very mixed up and in no mood to talk—sad over Dizzy, glad that we had made pickup anyhow, mad that the pickup had been useless, and all of it tangled up with that washed-out but happy feeling of being back in the ship again, able to muster arms and legs and note that they are all present. Besides, how can you talk about a drop to a man who has never made one?

“So?” he answered. “You guys have got it soft. Loaf thirty days, work thirty minutes. Me, I stand a watch in three and turn to.” “Yeah, I guess so,” I agreed and turned away. “Some of us are born lucky.”

“Soldier, you ain’t peddlin’ vacuum,” he said to my back.

And yet there was much truth in what the Navy gunner had said. We cap troopers are like aviators of the earlier mechanized wars; a long and busy military career could contain only a few hours of actual combat facing the enemy, the rest being: train, get ready, go out—then come back, clean up the mess, get ready for another one, and practice, practice, practice, in between. We didn’t make another drop for almost three weeks and that on a different planet around another star—a Bug colony. Even with Cherenkov drive, stars are far apart.

In the meantime I got my corporal’s stripes, nominated by Jelly and confirmed by Captain Deladrier in the absence of a commissioned officer of our own. Theoretically the rank would not be permanent until approved against vacancy by the Fleet M.I. repple-depple, but that meant nothing, as the casualty rate was such that there were always more vacancies in the T.O. than there were warm bodies to fill them. I was a corporal when Jelly said I was a corporal; the rest was red tape.

But the gunner was not quite correct about “loafing”; there were fifty-three suits of powered armor to check, service, and repair between each drop, not to mention weapons and special equipment. Sometimes Migliaccio would down-check a suit, Jelly would confirm it, and the ship’s weapons engineer, Lieutenant Farley, would decide that he couldn’t cure it short of base facilities—whereupon a new suit would have to be broken out of stores and brought from “cold” to “hot,” an exacting process requiring twenty-six man-hours not counting the time of the man to whom it was being fitted.

We kept busy.

But we had fun, too. There were always several competitions going on, from acey-deucy to Honor Squad, and we had the best jazz band in several cubic light-years (well, the only one, maybe), with Sergeant Johnson on the trumpet leading them mellow and sweet for hymns or tearing the steel right off the bulkheads, as the occasion required. After that masterful (or should it be “mistressful”?) retrieval rendezvous without a

programmed ballistic, the platoon’s metalsmith, PFC Archie Campbell, made a model of the Rodger Young for the Skipper and we all signed and Archie engraved our signatures on a base plate: To Hot Pilot Yvette Deladrier, with thanks from Rasczak’s Roughnecks, and we invited her aft to

eat with us and the Roughneck Downbeat Combo played during dinner and then the junior private presented it to her. She got tears and kissed him

—and kissed Jelly as well and he blushed purple.

After I got my chevrons I simply had to get things straight with Ace, because Jelly kept me on as assistant section leader. This is not good. A man ought to fill each spot on his way up; I should have had a turn as squad leader instead of being bumped from lance and assistant squad leader to corporal and assistant section leader. Jelly knew this, of course, but I know perfectly well that he was trying to keep the outfit as much as possible   the way it had been when the Lieutenant was alive—which meant that he left his squad leaders and section leaders unchanged.

But it left me with a ticklish problem; all three of the corporals under me as squad leaders were actually senior to me—but if Sergeant Johnson bought it on the next drop, it would not only lose us a mighty fine cook, it would leave me leading the section. There mustn’t be any shadow of doubt when you give an order, not in combat; I had to clear up any possible shadow before we dropped again.

Ace was the problem. He was not only senior of the three, he was a career corporal as well and older than I was. If Ace accepted me, I wouldn’t have any trouble with the other two squads.

I hadn’t really had any trouble with him aboard. After we made pickup on Flores together he had been civil enough. On the other hand we hadn’t had anything to have trouble over; our shipside jobs didn’t put us together, except at daily muster and guard mount, which is all cut and dried. But you can feel it. He was not treating me as somebody he took orders from.

So I looked him up during off hours. He was lying in his bunk, reading a book, Space Rangers against the Galaxy—a pretty good yarn, except that I doubt if a military outfit ever had so many adventures and so few goof-offs. The ship had a good library.

“Ace. Got to see you.”

He glanced up. “So? I just left the ship, I’m off duty.” “I’ve got to see you now. Put your book down.”

“What’s so aching urgent? I’ve got to finish this chapter.”

“Oh, come off it, Ace. If you can’t wait, I’ll tell you how it comes out.”

“You do and I’ll clobber you.” But he put the book down, sat up, and listened.

I said, “Ace, about this matter of the section organization—you’re senior to me, you ought to be assistant section leader.”

“Oh, so it’s that again!”

“Yep. I think you and I ought to go see Johnson and get him to fix it up with Jelly.”

“You do, eh?”

“Yes, I do. That’s how it’s got to be.”

“So? Look, Shortie, let me put you straight. I got nothing against you at all. Matter of fact, you were on the bounce that day we had to pick up Dizzy; I’ll hand you that. But if you want a squad, you go dig up one of your own. Don’t go eyeing mine. Why, my boys wouldn’t even peel potatoes for you.”

“That’s your final word?”

“That’s my first, last, and only word.”

I sighed. “I thought it would be. But I had to make sure. Well, that settles that. But I’ve got one thing on my mind. I happened to notice that the washroom needs cleaning . . . and I think maybe you and I ought to attend to it. So put your book aside . . . as Jelly says, non-coms are always on duty.”

He didn’t stir at once. He said quietly, “You really think it’s necessary, Shortie? As I said, I got nothing against you.” “Looks like.”

“Think you can do it?” “I can sure try.”

“Okay. Let’s take care of it.”

We went aft to the washroom, chased out a private who was about to take a shower he didn’t really need, and locked the door. Ace said, “You got any restrictions in mind, Shortie?”

“Well . . . I hadn’t planned to kill you.”

“Check. And no broken bones, nothing that would keep either one of us out of the next drop—except maybe by accident, of course. That suit you?”

“Suits,” I agreed. “Uh, I think maybe I’ll take my shirt off.”

“Wouldn’t want to get blood on your shirt.” He relaxed. I started to peel it off and he let go a kick for my kneecap. No wind up. Flat-footed and not tense.

Only my kneecap wasn’t there—I had learned.

A real fight ordinarily can last only a second or two, because that is all the time it takes to kill a man, or knock him out, or disable him to the point where he can’t fight. But we had agreed to avoid inflicting permanent damage; this changes things. We were both young, in top condition, highly trained, and used to absorbing punishment. Ace was bigger, I was maybe a touch faster. Under such conditions the miserable business simply has to go on until one or the other is too beaten down to continue—unless a fluke settles it sooner. But neither one of us was allowing any flukes; we  were professionals and wary.

So it did go on, for a long, tedious, painful time. Details would be trivial and pointless; besides, I had no time to take notes.

A long time later I was lying on my back and Ace was flipping water in my face. He looked at me, then hauled me to my feet, shoved me against a bulkhead, steadied me. “Hit me!”

“Huh?” I was dazed and seeing double. “Johnnie . . . hit me.”

His face was floating in the air in front of me; I zeroed in on it and slugged it with all the force in my body, hard enough to mash any mosquito in poor health. His eyes closed and he slumped to the deck and I had to grab at a stanchion to keep from following him.

He got slowly up. “Okay, Johnnie,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ve had my lesson. You won’t have any more lip out of me . . . nor out of anybody in the section. Okay?”

I nodded and my head hurt. “Shake?” he asked.

We shook on it, and that hurt, too.

Almost anybody else knew more about how the war was going than we did, even though we were in it. This was the period, of course, after the Bugs had located our home planet, through the Skinnies, and had raided it, destroying Buenos Aires and turning “contact troubles” into all-out war, but before we had built up our forces and before the Skinnies had changed sides and become our co-belligerents and de facto allies. Partly effective interdiction for Terra had been set up from Luna (we didn’t know it), but speaking broadly, the Terran Federation was losing the war.

We didn’t know that, either. Nor did we know that strenuous efforts were being made to subvert the alliance against us and bring the Skinnies over to our side; the nearest we came to being told about that was when we got instructions, before the raid in which Flores was killed, to go easy on the Skinnies, destroy as much property as possible but to kill inhabitants only when unavoidable.

What a man doesn’t know he can’t spill if he is captured; neither drugs, nor torture, nor brainwash, nor endless lack of sleep can squeeze out a secret he doesn’t possess. So we were told only what we had to know for tactical purposes. In the past, armies have been known to fold up and quit because the men didn’t know what they were fighting for, or why, and therefore lacked the will to fight. But the M.I. does not have that weakness.  Each one of us was a volunteer to begin with, each for some reason or other—some good, some bad. But now we fought because we were M.I.

We were professionals, with esprit de corps. We were Rasczak’s Roughnecks, the best unprintable outfit in the whole expurgated M.I.; we climbed into our capsules because Jelly told us it was time to do so and we fought when we got down there because that is what Rasczak’s Roughnecks  do.

We certainly didn’t know that we were losing.

Those Bugs lay eggs. They not only lay them, they hold them in reserve, hatch them as needed. If we killed a warrior—or a thousand, or ten thousand—his or their replacements were hatched and on duty almost before we could get back to base. You can imagine, if you like, some Bug supervisor of population flashing a phone to somewhere down inside and saying, “Joe, warm up ten thousand warriors and have ’em ready by Wednesday . . . and tell engineering to activate reserve incubators N, O, P, Q, and R; the demand is picking up.”

I don’t say they did exactly that, but those were the results. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that they acted purely from instinct, like termites or ants; their actions were as intelligent as ours (stupid races don’t build spaceships!) and were much better co-ordinated. It takes a minimum of a

year to train a private to fight and to mesh his fighting in with his mates; a Bug warrior is hatched able to do this.

Every time we killed a thousand Bugs at a cost of one M.I. it was a net victory for the Bugs. We were learning, expensively, just how efficient a

total communism can be when used by a people actually adapted to it by evolution; the Bug commissars didn’t care any more about expending soldiers than we cared about expending ammo. Perhaps we could have figured this out about the Bugs by noting the grief the Chinese Hegemony gave the Russo-Anglo-American Alliance; however the trouble with “lessons from history” is that we usually read them best after falling flat on our chins.

But we were learning. Technical instructions and tactical doctrine orders resulted from every brush with them, spread through the Fleet. We learned to tell the workers from the warriors—if you had time, you could tell from the shape of the carapace, but the quick rule of thumb was: If he comes at you, he’s a warrior; if he runs, you can turn your back on him. We learned not to waste ammo even on warriors except in self-protection; instead we went after their lairs. Find a hole, drop down it first a gas bomb which explodes gently a few seconds later, releasing an oily liquid which evaporates as a nerve gas tailored to Bugs (it is harmless to us) and which is heavier than air and keeps on going down—then you use a second grenade of H.E. to seal the hole.

We still didn’t know whether we were getting deep enough to kill the queens—but we did know that the Bugs didn’t like these tactics; our intelligence through the Skinnies and on back into the Bugs themselves was definite on this point. Besides, we cleaned their colony off Sheol completely this way. Maybe they managed to evacuate the queens and the brains . . . but at least we were learning to hurt them.

But so far as the Roughnecks were concerned, these gas bombings were simply another drill, to be done according to orders, by the numbers, and on the bounce.

Eventually we had to go back to Sanctuary for more capsules. Capsules are expendable (well, so were we) and when they are gone, you must  return to base, even if the Cherenkov generators could still take you twice around the Galaxy. Shortly before this a dispatch came through breveting Jelly to lieutenant, vice Rasczak. Jelly tried to keep it quiet but Captain Deladrier published it and then required him to eat forward with the other officers. He still spent all the rest of his time aft.

But we had taken several drops by then with him as platoon leader and the outfit had gotten used to getting along without the Lieutenant—it still hurt but it was routine now. After Jelal was commissioned the word was slowly passed around among us and chewed over that it was time for us to name ourselves for our boss, as with other outfits.

Johnson was senior and took the word to Jelly; he picked me to go along with him as moral support. “Yeah?” growled Jelly. “Uh, Sarge—I mean Lieutenant, we’ve been thinking—”

“With what?”

“Well, the boys have sort of been talking it over and they think—well, they say the outfit ought to call itself: ‘Jelly’s Jaguars.’” “They do, eh? How many of ’em favor that name?”

“It’s unanimous,” Johnson said simply.

“So? Fifty-two ayes . . . and one no. The noes have it.” Nobody ever brought up the subject again.

Shortly after that we orbited at Sanctuary. I was glad to be there, as the ship’s internal pseudo-gravity field had been off for most of two days before that, while the Chief Engineer tinkered with it, leaving us in free fall—which I hate. I’ll never be a real spaceman. Dirt underfoot felt good. The entire platoon went on ten days’ rest & recreation and transferred to accommodation barracks at the Base.

I never have learned the co-ordinates of Sanctuary, nor the name or catalogue number of the star it orbits—because what you don’t know, you can’t spill; the location is ultra-top-secret, known only to ships’ captains, piloting officers, and such . . . and, I understand, with each of them under orders and hypnotic compulsion to suicide if necessary to avoid capture. So I don’t want to know. With the possibility that Luna Base might be taken and Terra herself occupied, the Federation kept as much of its beef as possible at Sanctuary, so that a disaster back home would not necessarily mean capitulation.

But I can tell you what sort of a planet it is. Like Earth, but retarded.

Literally retarded, like a kid who takes ten years to learn to wave bye-bye and never does manage to master patty-cake. It is a planet as near like

Earth as two planets can be, same age according to the planetologists and its star is the same age as the Sun and the same type, so say the astrophysicists. It has plenty of flora and fauna, the same atmosphere as Earth, near enough, and much the same weather; it even has a good-sized moon and Earth’s exceptional tides.

With all these advantages it barely got away from the starting gate. You see, it’s short on mutations; it does not enjoy Earth’s high level of natural radiation.

Its typical and most highly developed plant life is a very primitive giant fern; its top animal life is a proto-insect which hasn’t even developed

colonies. I am not speaking of transplanted Terran flora and fauna—our stuff moves in and brushes the native stuff aside.

With its evolutionary progress held down almost to zero by lack of radiation and a consequent most unhealthily low mutation rate, native life forms

on Sanctuary just haven’t had a decent chance to evolve and aren’t fit to compete. Their gene patterns remain fixed for a relatively long time; they aren’t adaptable—like being forced to play the same bridge hand over and over again, for eons, with no hope of getting a better one.

As long as they just competed with each other, this didn’t matter too much—morons among morons, so to speak. But when types that had evolved on a planet enjoying high radiation and fierce competition were introduced, the native stuff was outclassed.

Now all the above is perfectly obvious from high school biology . . . but the high forehead from the research station there who was telling me about this brought up a point I would never have thought of.

What about the human beings who have colonized Sanctuary?

Not transients like me, but the colonists who live there, many of whom were born there, and whose descendants will live there, even unto the umpteenth generation—what about those descendants? It doesn’t do a person any harm not to be radiated; in fact it’s a bit safer—leukemia and some types of cancer are almost unknown there. Besides that, the economic situation is at present all in their favor; when they plant a field of (Terran) wheat, they don’t even have to clear out the weeds. Terran wheat displaces anything native.

But the descendants of those colonists won’t evolve. Not much, anyhow. This chap told me that they could improve a little through mutation from other causes, from new blood added by immigration, and from natural selection among the gene patterns they already own—but that is all very minor compared with the evolutionary rate on Terra and on any usual planet. So what happens? Do they stay frozen at their present level while the rest of the human race moves on past them, until they are living fossils, as out of place as a pithecanthropus in a spaceship?

Or will they worry about the fate of their descendants and dose themselves regularly with X-rays or maybe set off lots of dirty-type nuclear explosions each year to build up a fallout reservoir in their atmosphere? (Accepting, of course, the immediate dangers of radiation to themselves in order to provide a proper genetic heritage of mutation for the benefit of their descendants.)

This bloke predicted that they would not do anything. He claims that the human race is too individualistic, too self-centered, to worry that much about future generations. He says that the genetic impoverishment of distant generations through lack of radiation is something most people are simply incapable of worrying about. And of course it is a far-distant threat; evolution works so slowly, even on Terra, that the development of a new species is a matter of many, many thousands of years.

I don’t know. Shucks, I don’t know what I myself will do more than half the time; how can I predict what a colony of strangers will do? But I’m sure of this: Sanctuary is going to be fully settled, either by us or by the Bugs. Or by somebody. It is a potential utopia, and, with desirable real estate so scarce in this end of the Galaxy, it will not be left in the possession of primitive life forms that failed to make the grade.

Already it is a delightful place, better in many ways for a few days R&R than is most of Terra. In the second place, while it has an awful lot of civilians, more than a million, as civilians go they aren’t bad. They know there is a war on. Fully half of them are employed either at the Base or in  war industry; the rest raise food and sell it to the Fleet. You might say they have a vested interest in war, but, whatever their reasons, they respect   the uniform and don’t resent the wearers thereof. Quite the contrary. If an M.I. walks into a shop there, the proprietor calls him “Sir,” and really seems to mean it, even while he’s trying to sell something worthless at too high a price.

But in the first place, half of those civilians are female.

You have to have been out on a long patrol to appreciate this properly. You need to have looked forward to your day of guard duty, for the

privilege of standing two hours out of each six with your spine against bulkhead thirty and your ears cocked for just the sound of a female voice. I suppose it’s actually easier in the all-stag ships . . . but I’ll take the Rodger Young. It’s good to know that the ultimate reason you are fighting actually exists and that they are not just a figment of the imagination.

Besides the civilian wonderful 50 per cent, about 40 per cent of the Federal Service people on Sanctuary are female. Add it all up and you’ve got the most beautiful scenery in the explored universe.

Besides these unsurpassed natural advantages, a great deal has been done artificially to keep R&R from being wasted. Most of the civilians seem to hold two jobs; they’ve got circles under their eyes from staying up all night to make a service man’s leave pleasant. Churchill Road from the Base to the city is lined both sides with enterprises intended to separate painlessly a man from money he really hasn’t any use for anyhow, to the pleasant accompaniment of refreshment, entertainment, and music.

If you are able to get past these traps, through having already been bled of all valuta, there are still other places in the city almost as satisfactory (I mean there are girls there, too) which are provided free by a grateful populace—much like the social center in Vancouver, these are, but even more welcome.

Sanctuary, and especially Espiritu Santo, the city, struck me as such an ideal place that I toyed with the notion of asking for my discharge there when my term was up—after all, I didn’t really care whether my descendants (if any) twenty-five thousand years hence had long green tendrils like everybody else, or just the equipment I had been forced to get by with. That professor type from the Research Station couldn’t frighten me with that no radiation scare talk; it seemed to me (from what I could see around me) that the human race had reached its ultimate peak anyhow.

No doubt a gentleman wart hog feels the same way about a lady wart hog—but, if so, both of us are very sincere.

There are other opportunities for recreation there, too. I remember with particular pleasure one evening when a table of Roughnecks got into a

friendly discussion with a group of Navy men (not from the Rodger Young) seated at the next table. The debate was spirited, a bit noisy, and some Base police came in and broke it up with stun guns just as we were warming to our rebuttal. Nothing came of it, except that we had to pay for the furniture—the Base Commandant takes the position that a man on R&R should be allowed a little freedom as long as he doesn’t pick one of the “thirty-one crash landings.”

The accommodation barracks are all right, too—not fancy, but comfortable and the chow line works twenty-five hours a day with civilians doing all the work. No reveille, no taps, you’re actually on leave and you don’t have to go to the barracks at all. I did, however, as it seemed downright preposterous to spend money on hotels when there was a clean, soft sack free and so many better ways to spend accumulated pay. That extra hour in each day was nice, too, as it meant nine hours solid and the day still untouched—I caught up sack time clear back to Operation Bughouse.

It might as well have been a hotel; Ace and I had a room all to ourselves in visiting non-com quarters. One morning, when R&R was regrettably drawing to a close, I was just turning over about local noon when Ace shook my bed. “On the bounce, soldier! The Bugs are attacking.”

I told him what to do with the Bugs. “Let’s hit dirt,” he persisted.

“No dinero.” I had had a date the night before with a chemist (female, of course, and charmingly so) from the Research Station. She had known Carl on Pluto and Carl had written to me to look her up if I ever got to Sanctuary. She was a slender redhead, with expensive tastes. Apparently Carl had intimated to her that I had more money than was good for me, for she decided that the night before was just the time for her to get acquainted with the local champagne. I didn’t let Carl down by admitting that all I had was a trooper’s honorarium; I bought it for her while I drank what they said was (but wasn’t) fresh pineapple squash. The result was that I had to walk home, afterwards—the cabs aren’t free. Still, it had been worth it. After

all, what is money?—I’m speaking of Bug money, of course.

“No ache,” Ace answered. “I can juice you—I got lucky last night. Ran into a Navy file who didn’t know percentages.”

So I got up and shaved and showered and we hit the chow line for half a dozen shell eggs and sundries such as potatoes and ham and hot cakes and so forth and then we hit dirt to get something to eat. The walk up Churchill Road was hot and Ace decided to stop in a cantina. I went along to see if their pineapple squash was real. It wasn’t, but it was cold. You can’t have everything.

We talked about this and that and Ace ordered another round. I tried their strawberry squash—same deal. Ace stared into his glass, then said, “Ever thought about greasing for officer?”

I said, “Huh? Are you crazy?”

“Nope. Look, Johnnie, this war may run on quite a piece. No matter what propaganda they put out for the folks at home, you and I know that the

Bugs aren’t ready to quit. So why don’t you plan ahead? As the man says, if you’ve got to play in the band, it’s better to wave the stick than to carry

the big drum.”

I was startled by the turn the talk had taken, especially from Ace. “How about you? Are you planning to buck for a commission?”

“Me?” he answered. “Check your circuits, son—you’re getting wrong answers. I’ve got no education and I’m ten years older than you are. But

you’ve got enough education to hit the selection exams for O.C.S. and you’ve got the I.Q. they like. I guarantee that if you go career, you’ll make sergeant before I do . . . and get picked for O.C.S. the day after.”

“Now I know you’re crazy!”

“You listen to your pop. I hate to tell you this, but you are just stupid and eager and sincere enough to make the kind of officer that men love to follow into some silly predicament. But me—well, I’m a natural non-com, with the proper pessimistic attitude to offset the enthusiasm of the likes of you. Someday I’ll make sergeant . . . and presently I’ll have my twenty years in and retire and get one of the reserved jobs—cop, maybe—and marry a nice fat wife with the same low tastes I have, and I’ll follow the sports and fish and go pleasantly to pieces.”

Ace stopped to wet his whistle. “But you,” he went on. “You’ll stay in and probably make high rank and die gloriously and I’ll read about it and say proudly, ‘I knew him when. Why, I used to lend him money—we were corporals together.’ Well?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” I said slowly. “I just meant to serve my term.”

He grinned sourly. “Do you see any term enrollees being paid off today? You expect to make it on two years?”

He had a point. As long as the war continued, a “term” didn’t end—at least not for cap troopers. It was mostly a difference in attitude, at least for the present. Those of us on “term” could at least feel like short-timers; we could talk about: “When this flea-bitten war is over.” A career man didn’t say that; he wasn’t going anywhere, short of retirement—or buying it.

On the other hand, neither were we. But if you went “career” and then didn’t finish twenty . . . well, they could be pretty sticky about your franchise even though they wouldn’t keep a man who didn’t want to stay.

“Maybe not a two-year term,” I admitted. “But the war won’t last forever.” “It won’t?”

“How can it?”

“Blessed if I know. They don’t tell me these things. But I know that’s not what is troubling you, Johnnie. You got a girl waiting?”

“No. Well, I had,” I answered slowly, “but she ‘Dear-Johned’ me.” As a lie, this was no more than a mild decoration, which I tucked in because Ace

seemed to expect it. Carmen wasn’t my girl and she never waited for anybody—but she did address letters with “Dear Johnnie” on the infrequent occasions when she wrote to me.

Ace nodded wisely. “They’ll do it every time. They’d rather marry civilians and have somebody around to chew out when they feel like it. Never you mind, son—you’ll find plenty of them more than willing to marry when you’re retired . . . and you’ll be better able to handle one at that age. Marriage

is a young man’s disaster and an old man’s comfort.” He looked at my glass. “It nauseates me to see you drinking that slop.” “I feel the same way about the stuff you drink,” I told him.

He shrugged. “As I say, it takes all kinds. You think it over.” “I will.”

Ace got into a card game shortly after, and lent me some money and I went for a walk; I needed to think.

Go career? Quite aside from that noise about a commission, did I want to go career? Why, I had gone through all this to get my franchise, hadn’t I?—and if I went career, I was just as far away from the privilege of voting as if I had never enrolled . . . because as long as you were still in uniform you weren’t entitled to vote. Which was the way it should be, of course—why, if they let the Roughnecks vote the idiots might vote not to make a drop. Can’t have that.

Nevertheless I had signed up in order to win a vote. Or had I?

Had I ever cared about voting? No, it was the prestige, the pride, the status . . . of being a citizen. Or was it?

I couldn’t to save my life remember why I had signed up.

Anyhow, it wasn’t the process of voting that made a citizen—the Lieutenant had been a citizen in the truest sense of the word, even though he

had not lived long enough ever to cast a ballot. He had “voted” every time he made a drop. And so had I!

I could hear Colonel Dubois in my mind: “Citizenship is an attitude, a state of mind, an emotional conviction that the whole is greater than the part

. . . and that the part should be humbly proud to sacrifice itself that the whole may live.”

I still didn’t know whether I yearned to place my one-and-only body “between my loved home and the war’s desolation”—I still got the shakes  every drop and that “desolation” could be pretty desolate. But nevertheless I knew at last what Colonel Dubois had been talking about. The M.I. was mine and I was theirs. If that was what the M.I. did to break the monotony, then that was what I did. Patriotism was a bit esoteric for me, too large- scale to see. But the M.I. was my gang, I belonged. They were all the family I had left; they were the brothers I had never had, closer than Carl had ever been. If I left them, I’d be lost.

So why shouldn’t I go career?

All right, all right—but how about this nonsense of greasing for a commission? That was something else again. I could see myself putting in twenty years and then taking it easy, the way Ace had described, with ribbons on my chest and carpet slippers on my feet . . . or evenings down at

the Veterans Hall, rehashing old times with others who belonged. But O.C.S.? I could hear Al Jenkins, in one of the bull sessions we had about such things: “I’m a private! I’m going to stay a private! When you’re a private they don’t expect anything of you. Who wants to be an officer? Or even a sergeant? You’re breathing the same air, aren’t you? Eating the same food. Going the same places, making the same drops. But no worries.”

Al had a point. What had chevrons ever gotten me?—aside from lumps.

Nevertheless I knew I would take sergeant if it was ever offered to me. You don’t refuse, a cap trooper doesn’t refuse anything; he steps up and takes a swing at it. Commission, too, I supposed.

Not that it would happen. Who was I to think that I could ever be what Lieutenant Rasczak had been?

My walk had taken me close to the candidates’ school, though I don’t believe I intended to come that way. A company of cadets were out on their parade ground, drilling at trot, looking for all the world like boots in Basic. The sun was hot and it looked not nearly as comfortable as a bull session

in the drop room of the Rodger Young—why, I hadn’t marched farther than bulkhead thirty since I had finished Basic; that breaking-in nonsense was past.

I watched them a bit, sweating through their uniforms; I heard them being chewed out—by sergeants, too. Old Home Week. I shook my head and walked away from there—

—went back to the accommodation barracks, over to the B.O.Q. wing, found Jelly’s room.

He was in it, his feet up on a table and reading a magazine. I knocked on the frame of the door. He looked up and growled, “Yeah?” “Sarge—I mean, Lieutenant—”

“Spit it out!”

“Sir, I want to go career.”

He dropped his feet to the desk. “Put up your right hand.”

He swore me, reached into the drawer of the table and pulled out papers.

He had my papers already made out, waiting for me ready to sign. And I hadn’t even told Ace. How about that?

CH:12

It is by no means enough that an officer should be capable. . . . He should be as well a gentleman of liberal education, refined manners, punctilious courtesy, and the nicest sense  of personal honor. . . . No meritorious act of a subordinate should escape his attention, even  if the reward be only one word of approval. Conversely, he should not be blind to a single fault in any subordinate.

True as may be the political principles for which we are nowcontending . . . the ships themselves must be ruled under a system of absolute despotism.

I trust that I have nowmade clear to you the tremendous responsibilities. . . . We must do the best we can with what we have.

John Paul Jones, September 14, 1775; excerpts from a letter to the naval committee of the N.A. insurrectionists

The Rodger Young was again returning to Base for replacements, both capsules and men. Al Jenkins had bought his farm, covering a pickup—  and that one had cost us the Padre, too. And besides that, I had to be replaced. I was wearing brand-new sergeant’s chevrons (vice Migliaccio) but   I had a hunch that Ace would be wearing them as soon as I was out of the ship—they were mostly honorary, I knew; the promotion was Jelly’s way of giving me a good send-off as I was detached for O.C.S.

But it didn’t keep me from being proud of them. At the Fleet landing field I went through the exit gate with my nose in the air and strode up to the quarantine desk to have my orders stamped. As this was being done I heard a polite, respectful voice behind me: “Excuse me, Sergeant, but that

boat that just came down—is it from the Rodger—”

I turned to see the speaker, flicked my eyes over his sleeves, saw that it was a small, slightly stoop-shouldered corporal, no doubt one of our—

Father!

Then the corporal had his arms around me. “Juan! Juan! Oh, my little Johnnie!”

I kissed him and hugged him and started to cry. Maybe that civilian clerk at the quarantine desk had never seen two non-coms kiss each other before. Well, if I had noticed him so much as lifting an eyebrow, I would have pasted him. But I didn’t notice him; I was busy. He had to remind me to take my orders with me.

By then we had blown our noses and quit making an open spectacle of ourselves. I said, “Father, let’s find a corner somewhere and sit down and

talk. I want to know . . . well, everything!” I took a deep breath. “I thought you were dead.”

“No. Came close to buying it once or twice, maybe. But, Son . . . Sergeant—I really do have to find out about that landing boat. You see—”

“Oh, that. It’s from the Rodger Young. I just—”

He looked terribly disappointed. “Then I’ve got to bounce, right now. I’ve got to report in.” Then he added eagerly, “But you’ll be back aboard

soon, won’t you, Juanito? Or are you going on R&R?”

“Uh, no.” I thought fast. Of all the ways to have things roll! “Look, Father, I know the boat schedule. You can’t go aboard for at least an hour and a

bit. That boat is not on a fast retrieve; she’ll make a minimum-fuel rendezvous when the Rog completes this pass—if the pilot doesn’t have to wait over for the next pass after that; they’ve got to load first.”

He said dubiously, “My orders read to report at once to the pilot of the first available ship’s boat.”

“Father, Father! Do you have to be so confounded regulation? The girl who’s pushing that heap won’t care whether you board the boat now, or

just as they button up. Anyhow they’ll play the ship’s recall over the speakers in here ten minutes before boost and announce it. You cant miss it.” He let me lead him over to an empty corner. As we sat down he added, “Will you be going up in the same boat, Juan? Or later?”

“Uh—” I showed him my orders; it seemed the simplest way to break the news. Ships that pass in the night, like the Evangeline story—cripes, what a way for things to break!

He read them and got tears in his eyes and I said hastily, “Look, Father, I’m going to try to come back—I wouldn’t want any other outfit than the Roughnecks. And with you in them . . . oh, I know it’s disappointing but—”

“It’s not disappointment, Juan.” “Huh?”

“It’s pride. My boy is going to be an officer. My little Johnnie—Oh, it’s disappointment, too; I had waited for this day. But I can wait a while longer.” He smiled through his tears. “You’ve grown, lad. And filled out, too.”

“Uh, I guess so. But, Father, I’m not an officer yet and I might only be out of the Rog a few days. I mean, they sometimes bust ’em out pretty fast and—”

“Enough of that, young man!” “Huh?”

“You’ll make it. Let’s have no more talk of ‘busting out.’” Suddenly he smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve been able to tell a sergeant to shut up.”

“Well . . . I’ll certainly try, Father. And if I do make it, I’ll certainly put in for the old Rog. But—” I trailed off.

“Yes, I know. Your request won’t mean anything unless there’s a billet for you. Never mind. If this hour is all we have, we’ll make the most of it—

and I’m so proud of you I’m splitting my seams. How have you been, Johnnie?”

“Oh, fine, just fine.” I was thinking that it wasn’t all bad. He would be better off in the Roughnecks than in any other outfit. All my friends . . . they’d take care of him, keep him alive. I’d have to send a gram to Ace—Father like as not wouldn’t even let them know he was related. “Father, how long have you been in?”

“A little over a year.” “And corporal already!”

Father smiled grimly. “They’re making them fast these days.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. Casualties. There were always vacancies in the T.O.; you couldn’t get enough trained soldiers to fill them. Instead I said, “Uh . . . but, Father, you’re—Well, I mean, aren’t you sort of old to be soldiering? I mean the Navy, or Logistics, or—”

“I wanted the M.I. and I got it!” he said emphatically. “And I’m no older than many sergeants—not as old, in fact. Son, the mere fact that I am twenty-two years older than you are doesn’t put me in a wheel chair. And age has its advantages, too.”

Well, there was something in that. I recalled how Sergeant Zim had always tried the older men first, when he was dealing out boot chevrons. And Father would never have goofed in Basic the way I had—no lashes for him. He was probably spotted as non-com material before he ever finished Basic. The Army needs a lot of really grown-up men in the middle grades; it’s a paternalistic organization.

I didn’t have to ask him why he had wanted M.I., nor why or how he had wound up in my ship—I just felt warm about it, more flattered by it than any

praise he had ever given me in words. And I didn’t want to ask him why he had joined up; I felt that I knew. Mother. Neither of us had mentioned her

—too painful.

So I changed the subject abruptly. “Bring me up to date. Tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve done.” “Well, I trained at Camp San Martín—”

“Huh? Not Currie?”

“New one. But the same old lumps, I understand. Only they rush you through two months faster, you don’t get Sundays off. Then I requested the

Rodger Young—and didn’t get it—and wound up in McSlattery’s Volunteers. A good outfit.”

“Yes, I know.” They had had a reputation for being rough, tough, and nasty—almost as good as the Roughnecks.

“I should say that it was a good outfit. I made several drops with them and some of the boys bought it and after a while I got these.” He glanced at

his chevrons. “I was a corporal when we dropped on Sheol—”

“You were there? So was I!” With a sudden warm flood of emotion I felt closer to my father than I ever had before in my life.

“I know. At least I knew your outfit was there. I was about fifty miles north of you, near as I can guess. We soaked up that counterattack when they

came boiling up out of the ground like bats out of a cave.” Father shrugged. “So when it was over I was a corporal without an outfit, not enough of us left to make a healthy cadre. So they sent me here. I could have gone with King’s Kodiak Bears, but I had a word with the placement sergeant—

and, sure as sunrise, the Rodger Young came back with a billet for a corporal. So here I am.”

“And when did you join up?” I realized that it was the wrong remark as soon as I had made it—but I had to get the subject away from McSlattery’s

Volunteers; an orphan from a dead outfit wants to forget it. Father said quietly, “Shortly after Buenos Aires.”

“Oh. I see.”

Father didn’t say anything for several moments. Then he said softly, “I’m not sure that you do see, Son.” “Sir?”

“Mmm . . . it will not be easy to explain. Certainly, losing your mother had a great deal to do with it. But I didn’t enroll to avenge her—even though I had that in mind, too. You had more to do with it—”

Me?

“Yes, you. Son, I always understood what you were doing better than your mother did—don’t blame her; she never had a chance to know, any

more than a bird can understand swimming. And perhaps I knew why you did it, even though I beg to doubt that you knew yourself, at the time. At least half of my anger at you was sheer resentment . . . that you had actually done something that I knew, buried deep in my heart, I should have done. But you weren’t the cause of my joining up, either . . . you merely helped trigger it and you did control the service I chose.”

He paused. “I wasn’t in good shape at the time you enrolled. I was seeing my hypnotherapist pretty regularly—you never suspected that, did you?

—but we had gotten no farther than a clear recognition that I was enormously dissatisfied. After you left, I took it out on you—but it was not you, and I knew it and my therapist knew it. I suppose I knew that there was real trouble brewing earlier than most; we were invited to bid on military components fully a month before the state of emergency was announced. We had converted almost entirely to war production while you were still in training.

“I felt better during that period, worked to death and too busy to see my therapist. Then I became more troubled than ever.” He smiled. “Son, do you know about civilians?”

“Well . . . we don’t talk the same language. I know that.”

“Clearly enough put. Do you remember Madame Ruitman? I was on a few days leave after I finished Basic and I went home. I saw some of our friends, said goodby—she among them. She chattered away and said, ‘So you’re really going out? Well, if you reach Faraway, you really must look up my dear friends the Regatos.’

“I told her, as gently as I could, that it seemed unlikely, since the Arachnids had occupied Faraway.

“It didn’t faze her in the least. She said, ‘Oh, that’s all right—they’re civilians!’” Father smiled cynically. “Yes, I know.”

“But I’m getting ahead of my story. I told you that I was getting still more upset. Your mother’s death released me for what I had to do . . . even though she and I were closer than most, nevertheless it set me free to do it. I turned the business over to Morales—”

“Old man Morales? Can he handle it?”

“Yes. Because he has to. A lot of us are doing things we didn’t know we could. I gave him a nice chunk of stock—you know the old saying about

the kine that tread the grain—and the rest I split two ways, in a trust: half to the Daughters of Charity, half to you whenever you want to go back and take it. If you do. Never mind. I had at last found out what was wrong with me.” He stopped, then said very softly, “I had to perform an act of faith. I

had to prove to myself that I was a man. Not just a producing-consuming economic animal . . . but a man.”

At that moment, before I could answer anything, the wall speakers around us sang: “—shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young!” and a girl’s voice added, “Personnel for F.C.T. Rodger Young, stand to boat. Berth H. Nine minutes.”

Father bounced to his feet, grabbed his kit roll. “That’s mine! Take care of yourself, Son—and hit those exams. Or you’ll find you’re still not too big

to paddle.”

“I will, Father.”

He embraced me hastily. “See you when we get back!” And he was gone, on the bounce.

In the Commandant’s outer office I reported to a fleet sergeant who looked remarkably like Sergeant Ho, even to lacking an arm. However, he lacked Sergeant Ho’s smile as well. I said, “Career Sergeant Juan Rico, to report to the Commandant pursuant to orders.”

He glanced at the clock. “Your boat was down seventy-three minutes ago. Well?”

So I told him. He pulled his lip and looked at me meditatively. “I’ve heard every excuse in the book. But you’ve just added a new page. Your father, your own father, really was reporting to your old ship just as you were detached?”

“The bare truth, Sergeant. You can check it—Corporal Emilio Rico.”

“We don’t check the statements of the ‘young gentlemen’ around here. We simply cashier them if it ever turns out that they have not told the truth. Okay, a boy who wouldn’t be late in order to see his old man off wouldn’t be worth much in any case. Forget it.”

“Thanks, Sergeant. Do I report to the Commandant now?”

“You’ve reported to him.” He made a check mark on a list. “Maybe a month from now he’ll send for you along with a couple of dozen others. Here’s your room assignment, here’s a checkoff list you start with—and you can start by cutting off those chevrons. But save them; you may need them later. But as of this moment you are ‘Mister,’ not ‘Sergeant.’”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ I call you ‘sir.’ But you won’t like it.”

I am not going to describe Officer Candidates School. It’s like Basic, but squared and cubed with books added. In the mornings we behaved like privates, doing the same old things we had done in Basic and in combat and being chewed out for the way we did them—by sergeants. In the afternoons we were cadets and “gentlemen,” and recited on and were lectured concerning an endless list of subjects: math, science,   galactography, xenology, hypnopedia, logistics, strategy and tactics, communications, military law, terrain reading, special weapons, psychology of leadership, anything from the care and feeding of privates to why Xerxes lost the big one. Most especially how to be a one-man catastrophe   yourself while keeping track of fifty other men, nursing them, loving them, leading them, saving them—but never babying them.

We had beds, which we used all too little; we had rooms and showers and inside plumbing; and each four candidates had a civilian servant, to make our beds and clean our rooms and shine our shoes and lay out our uniforms and run errands. This service was not intended as a luxury and was not; its purpose was to give the student more time to accomplish the plainly impossible by relieving him of things any graduate of Basic can already do perfectly.

Six days shalt thou work and do all thou art able, The seventh the same and pound on the cable.

Or the Army version ends:—and clean out the stable, which shows you how many centuries this sort of thing has been going on. I wish I could catch just one of those civilians who think we loaf and put them through one month of O.C.S.

In the evenings and all day Sundays we studied until our eyes burned and our ears ached—then slept (if we slept) with a hypnopedic speaker droning away under the pillow.

Our marching songs were appropriately downbeat: “No Army for mine, no Army for mine! I’d rather be behind the plow any old time!” and “Don’t wanta study war no more,” and “Don’t make my boy a soldier, the weeping mother cried,” and—favorite of all—the old classic “Gentlemen Rankers” with its chorus about the Little Lost Sheep: “—God ha’ pity on such as we. Baa! Yah! Bah!”

Yet somehow I don’t remember being unhappy. Too busy, I guess. There was never that psychological “hump” to get over, the one everybody hits in Basic; there was simply the ever-present fear of flunking out. My poor preparation in math bothered me especially. My roommate, a colonial from

Hesperus with the oddly appropriate name of “Angel,” sat up night after night, tutoring me.

Most of the instructors, especially the officers, were disabled. The only ones I can remember who had a full complement of arms, legs, eyesight, hearing, etc., were some of the non-commissioned combat instructors—and not all of those. Our coach in dirty fighting sat in a powered chair, wearing a plastic collar, and was completely paralyzed from the neck down. But his tongue wasn’t paralyzed, his eye was photographic, and the savage way in which he could analyze and criticize what he had seen made up for his minor impediment.

At first I wondered why those obvious candidates for physical retirement and full-pay pension didn’t take it and go home. Then I quit wondering.  I guess the high point in my whole cadet course was a visit from Ensign Ibañez, she of the dark eyes, junior watch officer and pilot-under-

instruction of the Corvette Transport Mannerheim. Carmencita showed up, looking incredibly pert in Navy dress whites and about the size of a paperweight, while my class was lined up for evening meal muster—walked down the line and you could hear eyeballs click as she passed— walked straight up to the duty officer and asked for me by name in a clear, penetrating voice.

The duty officer, Captain Chandar, was widely believed never to have smiled at his own mother, but he smiled down at little Carmen, straining his face out of shape, and admitted my existence . . . whereupon she waved her long black lashes at him, explained that her ship was about to boost

and could she please take me out to dinner?

And I found myself in possession of a highly irregular and totally unprecedented three-hour pass. It may be that the Navy has developed hypnosis

techniques that they have not yet gotten around to passing on to the Army. Or her secret weapon may be older than that and not usable by M.I. In any case I not only had a wonderful time but my prestige with my classmates, none too high until then, climbed to amazing heights.

It was a glorious evening and well worth flunking two classes the next day. It was somewhat dimmed by the fact that we had each heard about Carl—killed when the Bugs smashed our research station on Pluto—but only somewhat, as we had each learned to live with such things.

One thing did startle me. Carmen relaxed and took off her hat while we were eating, and her blue-black hair was all gone. I knew that a lot of the Navy girls shaved their heads—after all, it’s not practical to take care of long hair in a war ship and, most especially, a pilot can’t risk having her hair floating around, getting in the way, in any free-fall maneuvers. Shucks, I shaved my own scalp, just for convenience and cleanliness. But my mental picture of little Carmen included this mane of thick, wavy hair.

But, do you know, once you get used to it, it’s rather cute. I mean, if a girl looks all right to start with, she still looks all right with her head smooth. And it does serve to set a Navy girl apart from civilian chicks—sort of a lodge pin, like the gold skulls for combat drops. It made Carmen look distinguished, gave her dignity, and for the first time I fully realized that she really was an officer and a fighting man—as well as a very pretty girl.

I got back to barracks with stars in my eyes and whiffing slightly of perfume. Carmen had kissed me good-by.

The only O.C.S. classroom course the content of which I’m even going to mention was: History and Moral Philosophy.

I was surprised to find it in the curriculum. H. & M. P. has nothing to do with combat and how to lead a platoon; its connection with war (where it is

connected) is in why to fight—a matter already settled for any candidate long before he reaches O.C.S. An M.I. fights because he is M.I.

I decided that the course must be a repeat for the benefit of those of us (maybe a third) who had never had it in school. Over 20 per cent of my

cadet class were not from Terra (a much higher percentage of colonials sign up to serve than do people born on Earth—sometimes it makes you wonder) and of the three-quarters or so from Terra, some were from associated territories and other places where H. & M. P. might not be taught. So I figured it for a cinch course which would give me a little rest from tough courses, the ones with decimal points.

Wrong again. Unlike my high school course, you had to pass it. Not by examination, however. The course included examinations and prepared papers and quizzes and such—but no marks. What you had to have was the instructor’s opinion that you were worthy of commission.

If he gave you a downcheck, a board sat on you, questioning not merely whether you could be an officer but whether you belonged in the Army at

any rank, no matter how fast you might be with weapons—deciding whether to give you extra instruction . . . or just kick you out and let you be a civilian.

History and Moral Philosophy works like a delayed-action bomb. You wake up in the middle of the night and think: Now what did he mean by

that? That had been true even with my high school course; I simply hadn’t known what Colonel Dubois was talking about. When I was a kid I thought it was silly for the course to be in the science department. It was nothing like physics or chemistry; why wasn’t it over in the fuzzy studies where it belonged? The only reason I paid attention was because there were such lovely arguments.

I had no idea that “Mr.” Dubois was trying to teach me why to fight until long after I had decided to fight anyhow.

Well, why should I fight? Wasn’t it preposterous to expose my tender skin to the violence of unfriendly strangers? Especially as the pay at any rank was barely spending money, the hours terrible, and the working conditions worse? When I could be sitting at home while such matters were

handled by thick-skulled characters who enjoyed such games? Particularly when the strangers against whom I fought never had done anything to me personally until I showed up and started kicking over their tea wagon—what sort of nonsense is this?

Fight because I’m an M.I.? Brother, you’re drooling like Dr. Pavlov’s dogs. Cut it out and start thinking.

Major Reid, our instructor, was a blind man with a disconcerting habit of looking straight at you and calling you by name. We were reviewing events after the war between the Russo-Anglo-American Alliance and the Chinese Hegemony, 1987 and following. But this was the day that we heard the news of the destruction of San Francisco and the San Joaquin Valley; I thought he would give us a pep talk. After all, even a civilian ought to be able to figure it out now—the Bugs or us. Fight or die.

Major Reid didn’t mention San Francisco. He had one of us apes summarize the negotiated treaty of New Delhi, discuss how it ignored

prisoners of war . . . and, by implication, dropped the subject forever; the armistice became a stalemate and prisoners stayed where they were—on one side; on the other side they were turned loose and, during the Disorders, made their way home—or not if they didn’t want to.

Major Reid’s victim summed up the unreleased prisoners : survivors of two divisions of British paratroopers, some thousands of civilians, captured mostly in Japan, the Philippines, and Russia and sentenced for “political” crimes.

“Besides that, there were many other military prisoners,” Major Reid’s victim went on, “captured during and before the war—there were rumors that some had been captured in an earlier war and never released. The total of unreleased prisoners was never known. The best estimates place the number around sixty-five thousand.”

“Why the ‘best’?”

“Uh, that’s the estimate in the textbook, sir.”

“Please be precise in your language. Was the number greater or less than one hundred thousand?” “Uh, I don’t know, sir.”

“And nobody else knows. Was it greater than one thousand?” “Probably, sir. Almost certainly.”

“Utterly certain—because more than that eventually escaped, found their ways home, were tallied by name. I see you did not read your lesson

carefully. Mr. Rico!

Now I am the victim. “Yes, sir.”

“Are a thousand unreleased prisoners sufficient reason to start or resume a war? Bear in mind that millions of innocent people may die, almost

certainly will die, if war is started or resumed.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir! More than enough reason.”

“‘More than enough.’ Very well, is one prisoner, unreleased by the enemy, enough reason to start or resume a war?”

I hesitated. I knew the M.I. answer—but I didn’t think that was the one he wanted. He said sharply, “Come, come, Mister! We have an upper limit

of one thousand; I invited you to consider a lower limit of one. But you can’t pay a promissory note which reads ‘somewhere between one and one

thousand pounds’—and starting a war is much more serious than paying a trifle of money. Wouldn’t it be criminal to endanger a country—two countries in fact—to save one man? Especially as he may not deserve it? Or may die in the meantime? Thousands of people get killed every day in accidents . . . so why hesitate over one man? Answer! Answer yes, or answer no—you’re holding up the class.”

He got my goat. I gave him the cap trooper’s answer. “Yes, sir!” “‘Yes’ what?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s a thousand—or just one, sir. You fight.”

“Aha! The number of prisoners is irrelevant. Good. Now prove your answer.”

I was stuck. I knewit was the right answer. But I didn’t know why. He kept hounding me. “Speak up, Mr. Rico. This is an exact science. You have

made a mathematical statement; you must give proof. Someone may claim that you have asserted, by analogy, that one potato is worth the same

price, no more, no less, as one thousand potatoes. No?” “No, sir!”

“Why not? Prove it.” “Men are not potatoes.”

“Good, good, Mr. Rico! I think we have strained your tired brain enough for one day. Bring to class tomorrow a written proof, in symbolic logic, of your answer to my original question. I’ll give you a hint. See reference seven in today’s chapter. Mr. Salomon! How did the present political organization evolve out of the Disorders? And what is its moral justification?”

Sally stumbled through the first part. However, nobody can describe accurately how the Federation came about; it just grew. With national governments in collapse at the end of the XXth century, something had to fill the vacuum, and in many cases it was returned veterans. They had lost a war, most of them had no jobs, many were sore as could be over the terms of the Treaty of New Delhi, especially the P.O.W. foul-up—and they knew how to fight. But it wasn’t revolution; it was more like what happened in Russia in 1917—the system collapsed; somebody else moved in.

The first known case, in Aberdeen, Scotland, was typical. Some veterans got together as vigilantes to stop rioting and looting, hanged a few people (including two veterans) and decided not to let anyone but veterans on their committee. Just arbitrary at first—they trusted each other a bit, they didn’t trust anyone else. What started as an emergency measure became constitutional practice . . . in a generation or two.

Probably those Scottish veterans, since they were finding it necessary to hang some veterans, decided that, if they had to do this, they weren’t going to let any “bleedin’, profiteering, black-market, double-time-for-overtime, army-dodging, unprintable” civilians have any say about it. They’d do what they were told, see?—while us apes straightened things out! That’s my guess, because I might feel the same way . . . and historians agree

that antagonism between civilians and returned soldiers was more intense than we can imagine today.

Sally didn’t tell it by the book. Finally Major Reid cut him off. “Bring a summary to class tomorrow, three thousand words. Mr. Salomon, can you give me a reason—not historical nor theoretical but practical—why the franchise is today limited to discharged veterans?”

“Uh, because they are picked men, sir. Smarter.”

“Preposterous!” “Sir?”

“Is the word too long for you? I said it was a silly notion. Service men are not brighter than civilians. In many cases civilians are much more

intelligent. That was the sliver of justification underlying the attempted coup d’état just before the Treaty of New Delhi, the so-called ‘Revolt of the Scientists’: let the intelligent elite run things and you’ll have utopia. It fell flat on its foolish face of course. Because the pursuit of science, despite its social benefits, is itself not a social virtue; its practitioners can be men so self-centered as to be lacking in social responsibility. I’ve given you a hint, Mister; can you pick it up?”

Sally answered, “Uh, service men are disciplined, sir.”

Major Reid was gentle with him. “Sorry. An appealing theory not backed up by facts. You and I are not permitted to vote as long as we remain in the Service, nor is it verifiable that military discipline makes a man self-disciplined once he is out; the crime rate of veterans is much like that of civilians. And you have forgotten that in peacetime most veterans come from non-combatant auxiliary services and have not been subjected to the full rigors of military discipline; they have merely been harried, overworked, and endangered—yet their votes count.”

Major Reid smiled. “Mr. Salomon, I handed you a trick question. The practical reason for continuing our system is the same as the practical reason for continuing anything: It works satisfactorily.

“Nevertheless, it is instructive to observe the details. Throughout history men have labored to place the sovereign franchise in hands that would guard it well and use it wisely, for the benefit of all. An early attempt was absolute monarchy, passionately defended as the ‘divine right of kings.’

“Sometimes attempts were made to select a wise monarch, rather than leave it up to God, as when the Swedes picked a Frenchman, General Bernadotte, to rule them. The objection to this is that the supply of Bernadottes is limited.

“Historic examples ranged from absolute monarch to utter anarch; mankind has tried thousands of ways and many more have been proposed,

some weird in the extreme such as the antlike communism urged by Plato under the misleading title The Republic. But the intent has always been moralistic: to provide stable and benevolent government.

“All systems seek to achieve this by limiting franchise to those who are believed to have the wisdom to use it justly. I repeat ‘all systems’; even the so-called ‘unlimited democracies’ excluded from franchise not less than one-quarter of their populations by age, birth, poll tax, criminal record, or other.”

Major Reid smiled cynically. “I have never been able to see how a thirty-year-old moron can vote more wisely than a fifteen-year-old genius . . . but that was the age of the ‘divine right of the common man.’ Never mind, they paid for their folly.

“The sovereign franchise has been bestowed by all sorts of rules—place of birth, family of birth, race, sex, property, education, age, religion, et cetera. All these systems worked and none of them well. All were regarded as tyrannical by many, all eventually collapsed or were overthrown.

“Now here are we with still another system . . . and our system works quite well. Many complain but none rebel; personal freedom for all is greatest in history, laws are few, taxes are low, living standards are as high as productivity permits, crime is at its lowest ebb. Why? Not because our voters are smarter than other people; we’ve disposed of that argument. Mr. Tammany—can you tell us why our system works better than any used by our ancestors?”

I don’t know where Clyde Tammany got his name; I’d take him for a Hindu. He answered, “Uh, I’d venture to guess that it’s because the electors are a small group who know that the decisions are up to them . . . so they study the issues.”

“No guessing, please; this is exact science. And your guess is wrong. The ruling nobles of many another system were a small group fully aware of their grave power. Furthermore, our franchised citizens are not everywhere a small fraction; you know or should know that the percentage of citizens among adults ranges from over eighty per cent on Iskander to less than three per cent in some Terran nations—yet government is much the same everywhere. Nor are the voters picked men; they bring no special wisdom, talent, or training to their sovereign tasks. So what difference is there between our voters and wielders of franchise in the past? We have had enough guesses; I’ll state the obvious: Under our system every voter and officeholder is a man who has demonstrated through voluntary and difficult service that he places the welfare of the group ahead of personal advantage.

“And that is the one practical difference.

“He may fail in wisdom, he may lapse in civic virtue. But his average performance is enormously better than that of any other class of rulers in history.”

Major Reid paused to touch the face of an old-fashioned watch, “reading” its hands. “The period is almost over and we have yet to determine the

moral reason for our success in governing ourselves. Now continued success is never a matter of chance. Bear in mind that this is science, not wishful thinking; the universe is what it is, not what we want it to be. To vote is to wield authority; it is the supreme authority from which all other authority derives—such as mine to make your lives miserable once a day. Force, if you will!—the franchise is force, naked and raw, the Power of the Rods and the Ax. Whether it is exerted by ten men or by ten billion, political authority is force.

“But this universe consists of paired dualities. What is the converse of authority? Mr. Rico.”

He had picked one I could answer. “Responsibility, sir.”

“Applause. Both for practical reasons and for mathematically verifiable moral reasons, authority and responsibility must be equal—else a balancing takes place as surely as current flows between points of unequal potential. To permit irresponsible authority is to sow disaster; to hold a man responsible for anything he does not control is to behave with blind idiocy. The unlimited democracies were unstable because their citizens were not responsible for the fashion in which they exerted their sovereign authority . . . other than through the tragic logic of history. The unique ‘poll tax’ that we must pay was unheard of. No attempt was made to determine whether a voter was socially responsible to the extent of his literally unlimited authority. If he voted the impossible, the disastrous possible happened instead—and responsibility was then forced on him willy-nilly and destroyed both him and his foundationless temple.

“Superficially, our system is only slightly different; we have democracy unlimited by race, color, creed, birth, wealth, sex, or conviction, and anyone may win sovereign power by a usually short and not too arduous term of service—nothing more than a light workout to our cave-man ancestors. But that slight difference is one between a system that works, since it is constructed to match the facts, and one that is inherently unstable. Since sovereign franchise is the ultimate in human authority, we insure that all who wield it accept the ultimate in social responsibility—we require each person who wishes to exert control over the state to wager his own life—and lose it, if need be—to save the life of the state. The maximum

responsibility a human can accept is thus equated to the ultimate authority a human can exert. Yin and yang, perfect and equal.”

The Major added, “Can anyone define why there has never been revolution against our system? Despite the fact that every government in history has had such? Despite the notorious fact that complaints are loud and unceasing?”

One of the older cadets took a crack at it. “Sir, revolution is impossible.” “Yes. But why?”

“Because revolution—armed uprising—requires not only dissatisfaction but aggressiveness. A revolutionist has to be willing to fight and die—or he’s just a parlor pink. If you separate out the aggressive ones and make them the sheep dogs, the sheep will never give you trouble.”

“Nicely put! Analogy is always suspect, but that one is close to the facts. Bring me a mathematical proof tomorrow. Time for one more question— you ask it and I’ll answer. Anyone?”

“Uh, sir, why not go—well, go the limit? Require everyone to serve and let everybody vote?” “Young man, can you restore my eyesight?”

“Sir? Why, no, sir!”

“You would find it much easier than to instill moral virtue—social responsibility—into a person who doesn’t have it, doesn’t want it, and resents having the burden thrust on him. This is why we make it so hard to enroll, so easy to resign. Social responsibility above the level of family, or at most of tribe, requires imagination—devotion, loyalty, all the higher virtues—which a man must develop himself; if he has them forced down him, he will vomit them out. Conscript armies have been tried in the past. Look up in the library the psychiatric report on brainwashed prisoners in the so-called ‘Korean War,’ circa 1950—the Mayor Report. Bring an analysis to class.” He touched his watch. “Dismissed.”

Major Reid gave us a busy time.

But it was interesting. I caught one of those master’s-thesis assignments he chucked around so casually; I had suggested that the Crusades were

different from most wars. I got sawed off and handed this: Required: to prove that war and moral perfection derive from the same genetic inheritance. Briefly, thus: All wars arise from population pressure. (Yes, even the Crusades, though you have to dig into trade routes and birth rate

and several other things to prove it. ) Morals—all correct moral rules—derive from the instinct to survive; moral behavior is survival behavior above the individual level—as in a father who dies to save his children. But since population pressure results from the process of surviving through others, then war, because it results from population pressure, derives from the same inherited instinct which produces all moral rules suitable for human beings.

Check of proof: Is it possible to abolish war by relieving population pressure (and thus do away with the all-too-evident evils of war) through constructing a moral code under which population is limited to resources?

Without debating the usefulness or morality of planned parenthood, it may be verified by observation that any breed which stops its own increase gets crowded out by breeds which expand. Some human populations did so, in Terran history, and other breeds moved in and engulfed them.

Nevertheless, let’s assume that the human race manages to balance birth and death, just right to fit its own planets, and thereby becomes peaceful. What happens?

Soon (about next Wednesday) the Bugs move in, kill off this breed which “ain’ta gonna study war no more” and the universe forgets us. Which still may happen. Either we spread and wipe out the Bugs, or they spread and wipe us out—because both races are tough and smart and want the  same real estate.

Do you know how fast population pressure could cause us to fill the entire universe shoulder to shoulder? The answer will astound you, just the flicker of an eye in terms of the age of our race.

Try it—it’s a compound-interest expansion.

But does Man have any “right” to spread through the universe?

Man is what he is, a wild animal with the will to survive, and (so far) the ability, against all competition. Unless one accepts that, anything one says

about morals, war, politics—you name it—is nonsense. Correct morals arise from knowing what Man is—not what do-gooders and well-meaning old Aunt Nellies would like him to be.

The universe will let us know—later—whether or not Man has any “right” to expand through it.

In the meantime the M.I. will be in there, on the bounce and swinging, on the side of our own race.

Toward the end each of us was shipped out to serve under an experienced combat commander. This was a semifinal examination, your ’board- ship instructor could decide that you didn’t have what it takes. You could demand a board but I never heard of anybody who did; they either came back with an upcheck—or we never saw them again.

Some hadn’t failed; it was just that they were killed—because assignments were to ships about to go into action. We were required to keep kit bags packed—once at lunch, all the cadet officers of my company were tapped; they left without eating and I found myself cadet company commander.

Like boot chevrons, this is an uncomfortable honor, but in less than two days my own call came.

I bounced down to the Commandant’s office, kit bag over my shoulder and feeling grand. I was sick of late hours and burning eyes and never catching up, of looking stupid in class; a few weeks in the cheerful company of a combat team was just what Johnnie needed!

I passed some new cadets, trotting to class in close formation, each with the grim look that every O.C.S. candidate gets when he realizes that possibly he made a mistake in bucking for officer, and I found myself singing. I shut up when I was within earshot of the office.

Two others were there, Cadets Hassan and Byrd. Hassan the Assassin was the oldest man in our class and looked like something a fisherman had let out of a bottle, while Birdie wasn’t much bigger than a sparrow and about as intimidating.

We were ushered into the Holy of Holies. The Commandant was in his wheel chair—we never saw him out of it except Saturday inspection and parade, I guess walking hurt. But that didn’t mean you didn’t see him—you could be working a prob at the board, turn around and find that wheel chair behind you, and Colonel Nielssen reading your mistakes.

He never interrupted—there was a standing order not to shout “Attention!” But it’s disconcerting. There seemed to be about six of him.

The Commandant had a permanent rank of fleet general (yes, that Nielssen); his rank as colonel was temporary, pending second retirement, to permit him to be Commandant. I once questioned a paymaster about this and confirmed what the regulations seemed to say: The Commandant got only the pay of a colonel—but would revert to the pay of a fleet general on the day he decided to retire again.

Well, as Ace says, it takes all sorts—I can’t imagine choosing half pay for the privilege of riding herd on cadets.

Colonel Nielssen looked up and said, “Morning, gentlemen. Make yourselves comfortable.” I sat down but wasn’t comfortable. He glided over to a coffee machine, drew four cups, and Hassan helped him deal them out. I didn’t want coffee but a cadet doesn’t refuse the Commandant’s   hospitality.

He took a sip. “I have your orders, gentlemen,” he announced, “and your temporary commissions.” He went on, “But I want to be sure you understand your status.”

We had already been lectured about this. We were going to be officers just enough for instruction and testing—“supernumerary, probationary, and temporary.” Very junior, quite superfluous, on good behavior, and extremely temporary; we would revert to cadet when we got back and could be busted at any time by the officers examining us.

We would be “temporary third lieutenants”—a rank as necessary as feet on a fish, wedged into the hairline between fleet sergeants and real officers. It is as low as you can get and still be called an “officer.” If anybody ever saluted a third lieutenant, the light must have been bad.

“Your commission reads ‘third lieutenant,’” he went on, “but your pay stays the same, you continue to be addressed as ‘Mister,’ the only change in uniform is a shoulder pip even smaller than cadet insignia. You continue under instruction since it has not yet been settled that you are fit to be officers.” The Colonel smiled. “So why call you a ‘third lieutenant’?”

I had wondered about that. Why this whoopty-do of “commissions” that weren’t real commissions? Of course I knew the textbook answer.

“Mr. Byrd?” the Commandant said.

“Uh . . . to place us in the line of command, sir.”

“Exactly!” Colonel glided to a T.O. on one wall. It was the usual pyramid, with chain of command defined all the way down. “Look at this—” He pointed to a box connected to his own by a horizontal line; it read: ASSISTANT TO COMMANDANT (Miss Kendrick).

“Gentlemen,” he went on, “I would have trouble running this place without Miss Kendrick. Her head is a rapid-access file to everything that  happens around here.” He touched a control on his chair and spoke to the air. “Miss Kendrick, what mark did Cadet Byrd receive in military law last

term?”

Her answer came back at once: “Ninety-three per cent, Commandant.”

“Thank you.” He continued, “You see? I sign anything if Miss Kendrick has initialed it. I would hate to have an investigating committee find out how often she signs my name and I don’t even see it. Tell me, Mr. Byrd . . . if I drop dead, does Miss Kendrick carry on to keep things moving?”

“Why, uh—” Birdie looked puzzled. “I suppose, with routine matters, she would do what was necess—”

“She wouldn’t do a blessed thing!” the Colonel thundered. “Until Colonel Chauncey told her what to do—his way. She is a very smart woman and understands what you apparently do not, namely, that she is not in the line of command and has no authority.”

He went on, “‘Line of command’ isn’t just a phrase; it’s as real as a slap in the face. If I ordered you to combat as a cadet the most you could do would be to pass along somebody else’s orders. If your platoon leader bought out and you then gave an order to a private—a good order, sensible and wise—you would be wrong and he would be just as wrong if he obeyed it. Because a cadet cannot be in the line of command. A cadet has no military existence, no rank, and is not a soldier. He is a student who will become a soldier—either an officer, or at his former rank. While he is under

Army discipline, he is not in the Army. That is why—”

A zero. A nought with no rim. If a cadet wasn’t even in the Army—“Colonel!”

“Eh? Speak up, young man. Mr. Rico.”

I had startled myself but I had to say it. “But . . . if we aren’t in the Army . . . then we aren’t M.I. Sir?” He blinked at me. “This worries you?”

“I, uh, don’t believe I like it much, sir.” I didn’t like it at all. I felt naked.

“I see.” He didn’t seem displeased. “You let me worry about the space-lawyer aspects of it, son.” “But—”

“That’s an order. You are technically not an M.I. But the M.I. hasn’t forgotten you; the M.I. never forgets its own no matter where they are. If you are struck dead this instant, you will be cremated as Second Lieutenant Juan Rico, Mobile Infantry, of—” Colonel Nielssen stopped. “Miss Kendrick, what was Mr. Rico’s ship?”

“The Rodger Young.”

“Thank you.” He added, “—in and of TFCT Rodger Young, assigned to mobile combat team Second Platoon of George Company, Third Regiment, First Division, M.I.—the ‘Roughnecks,’” he recited with relish, not consulting anything once he had been reminded of my ship. “A good outfit, Mr. Rico—proud and nasty. Your Final Orders go back to them for Taps and that’s the way your name would read in Memorial Hall. That’s why we always commission a dead cadet, son—so we can send him home to his mates.”

I felt a surge of relief and homesickness and missed a few words. “. . . lip buttoned while I talk, we’ll have you back in the M.I. where you belong. You must be temporary officers for your ’prentice cruise because there is no room for deadheads in a combat drop. You’ll fight—and take orders—

and give orders. Legal orders, because you will hold rank and be ordered to serve in that team; that makes any order you give in carrying out your assigned duties as binding as one signed by the C-in-C.

“Even more,” the Commandant went on, “once you are in line of command, you must be ready instantly to assume higher command. If you are in  a one-platoon team—quite likely in the present state of the war—and you are assistant platoon leader when your platoon leader buys it . . . then . . .

you . . . are . . . It!

He shook his head. “Not ‘acting platoon leader.’ Not a cadet leading a drill. Not a ‘junior officer under instruction.’ Suddenly you are the Old Man,

the Boss, Commanding Officer Present—and you discover with a sickening shock that fellow human beings are depending on you alone to tell them what to do, how to fight, how to complete the mission and get out alive. They wait for the sure voice of command—while seconds trickle away

—and it’s up to you to be that voice, make decisions, give the right orders . . . and not only the right ones but in a calm, unworried tone. Because it’s a cinch, gentlemen, that your team is in trouble—bad trouble!—and a strange voice with panic in it can turn the best combat team in the Galaxy into

a leaderless, lawless, fear-crazed mob.

“The whole merciless load will land without warning. You must act at once and you’ll have only God over you. Don’t expect Him to fill in tactical

details; that’s your job. He’ll be doing all that a soldier has a right to expect if He helps you keep the panic you are sure to feel out of your voice.” The Colonel paused. I was sobered and Birdie was looking terribly serious and awfully young and Hassan was scowling. I wished that I were

back in the drop room of the Rog, with not too many chevrons and an after-chow bull session in full swing. There was a lot to be said for the job of assistant section leader—when you come right to it, it’s a lot easier to die than it is to use your head.

The Commandant continued: “That’s the Moment of Truth, gentlemen. Regrettably there is no method known to military science to tell a real

officer from a glib imitation with pips on his shoulders, other than through ordeal by fire. Real ones come through—or die gallantly; imitations crack up.

“Sometimes, in cracking up, the misfits die. But the tragedy lies in the loss of others . . . good men, sergeants and corporals and privates, whose only lack is fatal bad fortune in finding themselves under the command of an incompetent.

“We try to avoid this. First is our unbreakable rule that every candidate must be a trained trooper, blooded under fire, a veteran of combat drops. No other army in history has stuck to this rule, although some came close. Most great military schools of the past—Saint Cyr, West Point,   Sandhurst, Colorado Springs—didn’t even pretend to follow it; they accepted civilian boys, trained them, commissioned them, sent them out with no battle experience to command men . . . and sometimes discovered too late that this smart young ‘officer’ was a fool, a poltroon, or a hysteric.

“At least we have no misfits of those sorts. We know you are good soldiers—brave and skilled, proved in battle—else you would not be here. We know that your intelligence and education meet acceptable minimums. With this to start on, we eliminate as many as possible of the not-quite- competent—get them quickly back in ranks before we spoil good cap troopers by forcing them beyond their abilities. The course is very hard— because what will be expected of you later is still harder.

“In time we have a small group whose chances look fairly good. The major criterion left untested is one we cannot test here; that undefinable something which is the difference between a leader in battle . . . and one who merely has the earmarks but not the vocation. So we field-test for it.

“Gentlemen!—you have reached that point. Are you ready to take the oath?”

There was an instant of silence, then Hassan the Assassin answered firmly, “Yes, Colonel,” and Birdie and I echoed.

The Colonel frowned. “I have been telling you how wonderful you are—physically perfect, mentally alert, trained, disciplined, blooded. The very

model of the smart young officer—” He snorted. “Nonsense! You may become officers someday. I hope so . . . we not only hate to waste money and time and effort, but also, and much more important, I shiver in my boots every time I send one of you half-baked not-quite-officers up to the Fleet, knowing what a Frankensteinian monster I may be turning loose on a good combat team. If you understood what you are up against, you

wouldn’t be so all-fired ready to take the oath the second the question is put to you. You may turn it down and force me to let you go back to your permanent ranks. But you dont know.

“So I’ll try once more. Mr. Rico! Have you ever thought how it would feel to be court-martialed for losing a regiment?”

I was startled silly. “Why—No, sir, I never have.” To be court-martialed—for any reason—is eight times as bad for an officer as for an enlisted man. Offenses which will get privates kicked out (maybe with lashes, possibly without) rate death in an officer. Better never to have been born!

“Think about it,” he said grimly. “When I suggested that your platoon leader might be killed, I was by no means citing the ultimate in military disaster. Mr. Hassan! What is the largest number of command levels ever knocked out in a single battle?”

The Assassin scowled harder than ever. “I’m not sure, sir. Wasn’t there a while during Operation Bughouse when a major commanded a brigade, before the Soveki-poo?”

“There was and his name was Fredericks. He got a decoration and a promotion. If you go back to the Second Global War, you can find a case in which a naval junior officer took command of a major ship and not only fought it but sent signals as if he were admiral. He was vindicated even though there were officers senior to him in line of command who were not even wounded. Special circumstances—a breakdown in   communications. But I am thinking of a case in which four levels were wiped out in six minutes—as if a platoon leader were to blink his eyes and   find himself commanding a brigade. Any of you heard of it?”

Dead silence.

“Very well. It was one of those bush wars that flared up on the edges of the Napoleonic wars. This young officer was the most junior in a naval vessel—wet navy, of course—wind-powered, in fact. This youngster was about the age of most of your class and was not commissioned. He carried the title of ‘temporary third lieutenant’—note that this is the title you are about to carry. He had no combat experience; there were four

officers in the chain of command above him. When the battle started his commanding officer was wounded. The kid picked him up and carried him

out of the line of fire. That’s all—make a pickup on a comrade. But he did it without being ordered to leave his post. The other officers all bought it

while he was doing this and he was tried for ‘deserting his post of duty as commanding officer in the presence of the enemy.’ Convicted. Cashiered.”

I gasped. “For that? Sir.”

“Why not? True, we make pickup. But we do it under different circumstances from a wet-navy battle, and by orders to the man making pickup. But

pickup is never an excuse for breaking off battle in the presence of the enemy. This boy’s family tried for a century and a half to get his conviction reversed. No luck, of course. There was doubt about some circumstances but no doubt that he had left his post during battle without orders. True,

he was green as grass—but he was lucky not to be hanged.” Colonel Nielssen fixed me with a cold eye. “Mr. Rico—could this happen to you?”  I gulped. “I hope not, sir.”

“Let me tell you how it could on this very ’prentice cruise. Suppose you are in a multiple-ship operation, with a full regiment in the drop. Officers drop first, of course. There are advantages to this and disadvantages, but we do it for reasons of morale; no trooper ever hits the ground on a  hostile planet without an officer. Assume the Bugs know this—and they may. Suppose they work up some trick to wipe out those who hit the ground first . . . but not good enough to wipe out the whole drop. Now suppose, since you are a supernumerary, you have to take any vacant capsule  instead of being fired with the first wave. Where does that leave you?”

“Uh, I’m not sure, sir.”

“You have just inherited command of a regiment. What are you going to do with your command, Mister? Talk fast—the Bugs won’t wait!”

“Uh . . .” I caught an answer right out of the book and parroted it. “I’ll take command and act as circumstances permit, sir, according to the tactical

situation as I see it.”

“You will, eh?” The Colonel grunted. “And you’ll buy a farm too—that’s all anybody can do with a foul-up like that. But I hope you’ll go down swinging—and shouting orders to somebody, whether they make sense or not. We don’t expect kittens to fight wildcats and win—we merely expect them to try. All right, stand up. Put up your right hands.”

He struggled to his feet. Thirty seconds later we were officers—“temporary, probationary, and supernumerary.”

I thought he would give us our shoulder pips and let us go. We aren’t supposed to buy them—they’re a loan, like the temporary commission they represent. Instead he lounged back and looked almost human.

“See here, lads—I gave you a talk on how rough it’s going to be. I want you to worry about it, doing it in advance, planning what steps you might take against any combination of bad news that can come your way, keenly aware that your life belongs to your men and is not yours to throw away

in a suicidal reach for glory . . . and that your life isn’t yours to save, either, if the situation requires that you expend it. I want you to worry yourself sick

before a drop, so that you can be unruffled when the trouble starts.

“Impossible, of course. Except for one thing. What is the only factor that can save you when the load is too heavy? Anyone?” Nobody answered.

“Oh, come now!” Colonel Nielssen said scornfully. “You aren’t recruits. Mr. Hassan!” “Your leading sergeant, sir,” the Assassin said slowly.

“Obviously. He’s probably older than you are, more drops under his belt, and he certainly knows his team better than you do. Since he isn’t carrying that dreadful, numbing load of top command, he may be thinking more clearly than you are. Ask his advice. You’ve got one circuit just for that.

“It won’t decrease his confidence in you; he’s used to being consulted. If you don’t, he’ll decide you are a fool, a cocksure know-it-all—and he’ll be right.

“But you don’t have to take his advice. Whether you use his ideas, or whether they spark some different plan—make your decision and snap out orders. The one thing—the only thing!—that can strike terror in the heart of a good platoon sergeant is to find that he’s working for a boss who can’t

make up his mind.

“There never has been an outfit in which officers and men were more dependent on each other than they are in the M.I., and sergeants are the glue that holds us together. Never forget it.”

The Commandant whipped his chair around to a cabinet near his desk. It contained row on row of pigeonholes, each with a little box. He pulled out one and opened it. “Mr. Hassan—”

“Sir?”

“These pips were worn by Captain Terrence O’Kelly on his ’prentice cruise. Does it suit you to wear them?” “Sir?” The Assassin’s voice squeaked and I thought the big lunk was going to break into tears. “Yes, sir!”

“Come here.” Colonel Nielssen pinned them on, then said, “Wear them as gallantly as he did . . . but bring them back. Understand me?” “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will. There’s an air car waiting on the roof and your boat boosts in twenty-eight minutes. Carry out your orders, sir!” The Assassin saluted and left; the Commandant turned and picked out another box. “Mr. Byrd, are you superstitious?”

“No, sir.”

“Really? I am, quite. I take it you would not object to wearing pips which have been worn by five officers, all of whom were killed in action?” Birdie barely hesitated. “No, sir.”

“Good. Because these five officers accumulated seventeen citations, from the Terran Medal to the Wounded Lion. Come here. The pip with the brown discoloration must always be worn on your left shoulder—and don’t try to buff it off! Just try not to get the other one marked in the same fashion. Unless necessary, and you’ll know when it is necessary. Here is a list of former wearers. You have thirty minutes until your transportation leaves. Bounce up to Memorial Hall and look up the record of each.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry out your orders, sir!”

He turned to me, looked at my face and said sharply, “Something on your mind, son? Speak up!”

“Uh—” I blurted it out. “Sir, that temporary third lieutenant—the one that got cashiered. How could I find out what happened?”

“Oh. Young man, I didn’t mean to scare the daylights out of you; I simply intended to wake you up. The battle was on one June 1813 old style

between USF Chesapeake and HMF Shannon. Try the Naval Encyclopedia; your ship will have it.” He turned back to the case of pips and frowned.

Then he said, “Mr. Rico, I have a letter from one of your high school teachers, a retired officer, requesting that you be issued the pips he wore as a third lieutenant. I am sorry to say that I must tell him ‘No.’”

“Sir?” I was delighted to hear that Colonel Dubois was still keeping track of me—and very disappointed, too.

“Because I cant. I issued those pips two years ago—and they never came back. Real estate deal. Hmm—” He took a box, looked at me. “You could start a new pair. The metal isn’t important; the importance of the request lies in the fact that your teacher wanted you to have them.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Or”—he cradled the box in his hands—“you could wear these. They have been worn five times . . . and the last four candidates to wear them have all failed of commission—nothing dishonorable but pesky bad luck. Are you willing to take a swing at breaking the hoodoo? Turn them into good-luck pips instead?”

I would rather have petted a shark. But I answered, “All right, sir. I’ll take a swing at it.”

“Good.” He pinned them on me. “Thank you, Mr. Rico. You see, these were mine, I wore them first . . . and it would please me mightily to have them brought back to me with that streak of bad luck broken, have you go on and graduate.”

I felt ten feet tall. “I’ll try, sir!”

“I know you will. You may now carry out your orders, sir. The same air car will take both you and Byrd. Just a moment—Are your mathematics textbooks in your bag?”

“Sir? No, sir.”

“Get them. The Weightmaster of your ship has been advised of your extra baggage allowance.”

I saluted and left, on the bounce. He had me shrunk down to size as soon as he mentioned math.

My math books were on my study desk, tied into a package with a daily assignment sheet tucked under the cord. I gathered the impression that Colonel Nielssen never left anything unplanned—but everybody knew that.

Birdie was waiting on the roof by the air car. He glanced at my books and grinned. “Too bad. Well, if we’re in the same ship, I’ll coach you. What ship?”

Tours.

“Sorry, I’m for the Moskva.” We got in, I checked the pilot, saw that it had been pre-set for the field, closed the door and the car took off. Birdie added, “You could be worse off. The Assassin took not only his math books but two other subjects.”

Birdie undoubtedly knew and he had not been showing off when he offered to coach me; he was a professor type except that his ribbons proved that he was a soldier too.

Instead of studying math Birdie taught it. One period each day he was a faculty member, the way little Shujumi taught judo at Camp Currie. The

M.I. doesn’t waste anything; we can’t afford to. Birdie had a B.S. in math on his eighteenth birthday, so naturally he was assigned extra duty as instructor—which didn’t keep him from being chewed out at other hours.

Not that he got chewed out much. Birdie had that rare combo of brilliant intellect, solid education, common sense, and guts, which gets a cadet marked as a potential general. We figured he was a cinch to command a brigade by the time he was thirty, what with the war.

But my ambitions didn’t soar that high. “It would be a dirty, rotten shame,” I said, “if the Assassin flunked out,” while thinking that it would be a dirty,

rotten shame if I flunked out.

“He won’t,” Birdie answered cheerfully. “They’ll sweat him through the rest if they have to put him in a hypno booth and feed him through a tube.

Anyhow,” he added, “Hassan could flunk out and get promoted for it.” “Huh?”

“Didn’t you know? The Assassin’s permanent rank is first lieutenant—field commission, naturally. He reverts to it if he flunks out. See the regs.”

I knew the regs. If I flunked math, I’d revert to buck sergeant, which is better than being slapped in the face with a wet fish any way you think about it . . . and I’d thought about it, lying awake nights after busting a quiz.

But this was different. “Hold it,” I protested. “He gave up first lieutenant, permanent grade . . . and has just made temporary third lieutenant . . . in order to become a second lieutenant? Are you crazy? Or is he?”

Birdie grinned. “Just enough to make us both M.I.”

“But—I don’t get it.”

“Sure you do. The Assassin has no education that he didn’t pick up in the M.I. So how high can he go? I’m sure he could command a regiment in battle and do a real swingin’ job—provided somebody else planned the operation. But commanding in battle is only a fraction of what an officer does, especially a senior officer. To direct a war, or even to plan a single battle and mount the operation, you have to have theory of games, operational analysis, symbolic logic, pessimistic synthesis, and a dozen other skull subjects. You can sweat them out on your own if you’ve got the grounding. But have them you must, or you’ll never get past captain, or possibly major. The Assassin knows what he is doing.”

“I suppose so,” I said slowly. “Birdie, Colonel Nielssen must know that Hassan was an officer—is an officer, really.” “Huh? Of course.”

“He didn’t talk as if he knew. We all got the same lecture.”

“Not quite. Did you notice that when the Commandant wanted a question answered a particular way he always asked the Assassin?”  I decided it was true. “Birdie, what is your permanent rank?”

The car was just landing; he paused with a hand on the latch and grinned. “PFC—I don’t dare flunk out!”

I snorted. “You won’t. You can’t!” I was surprised that he wasn’t even a corporal, but a kid as smart and well educated as Birdie would go to

O.C.S. just as quickly as he proved himself in combat . . . which, with the war on, could be only months after his eighteenth birthday. Birdie grinned still wider. “We’ll see.”

“You’ll graduate. Hassan and I have to worry, but not you.”

“So? Suppose Miss Kendrick takes a dislike to me.” He opened the door and looked startled. “Hey! They’re sounding my call. So long!” “See you, Birdie.”

But I did not see him and he did not graduate. He was commissioned two weeks later and his pips came back with their eighteenth decoration— the Wounded Lion, posthumous.

CH:13

Youse guys think this deleted outfit is a blankety-blank nursery. Well, it ain’t! See?

Remark attributed to a Hellenic corporal before the walls of Troy, 1194 B.C.

The Rodger Young carries one platoon and is crowded; the Tours carries six—and is roomy. She has the tubes to drop them all at once and enough spare room to carry twice that number and make a second drop. This would make her very crowded, with eating in shifts, hammocks in passageways and drop rooms, rationed water, inhale when your mate exhales, and get your elbow out of my eye! I’m glad they didn’t double up while I was in her.

But she has the speed and lift to deliver such crowded troops still in fighting condition to any point in Federation space and much of Bug space; under Cherenkov drive she cranks Mike 400 or better—say Sol to Capella, forty-six light-years, in under six weeks.

Of course, a six-platoon transport is not big compared with a battle wagon or passenger liner; these things are compromises. The M.I. prefers speedy little one-platoon corvettes which give flexibility for any operation, while if it was left up to the Navy we would have nothing but regimental transports. It takes almost as many Navy files to run a corvette as it does to run a monster big enough for a regiment—more maintenance and housekeeping, of course, but soldiers can do that. After all, those lazy troopers do nothing but sleep and eat and polish buttons—do ’em good to have a little regular work. So says the Navy.

The real Navy opinion is even more extreme: The Army is obsolete and should be abolished.

The Navy doesn’t say this officially—but talk to a Naval officer who is on R&R and feeling his oats; you’ll get an earful. They think they can fight any war, win it, send a few of their own people down to hold the conquered planet until the Diplomatic Corps takes charge.

I admit that their newest toys can blow any planet right out of the sky—I’ve never seen it but I believe it. Maybe I’m as obsolete as Tyrannosaurus rex. I don’t feel obsolete and us apes can do things that the fanciest ship cannot. If the government doesn’t want those things done, no doubt they’ll

tell us.

Maybe it’s just as well that neither the Navy nor the M.I. has the final word. A man can’t buck for Sky Marshal unless he has commanded both a regiment and a capital ship—go through M.I. and take his lumps and then become a Naval officer (I think little Birdie had that in mind), or first become an astrogator-pilot and follow it with Camp Currie, etc.

I’ll listen respectfully to any man who has done both.

Like most transports, the Tours is a mixed ship; the most amazing change for me was to be allowed “North of Thirty.” The bulkhead that separates ladies’ country from the rough characters who shave is not necessarily No. 30 but, by tradition, it is called “bulkhead thirty” in any mixed

ship. The wardroom is just beyond it and the rest of ladies’ country is farther forward. In the Tours the wardroom also served as messroom for enlisted women, who ate just before we did, and it was partitioned between meals into a recreation room for them and a lounge for their officers. Male officers had a lounge called the cardroom just abaft thirty.

Besides the obvious fact that drop & retrieval require the best pilots (i.e., female), there is very strong reason why female Naval officers are assigned to transports: It is good for trooper morale.

Let’s skip M.I. traditions for a moment. Can you think of anything sillier than letting yourself be fired out of a spaceship with nothing but mayhem and sudden death at the other end? However, if someone must do this idiotic stunt, do you know of a surer way to keep a man keyed up to the point where he is willing than by keeping him constantly reminded that the only good reason why men fight is a living, breathing reality?

In a mixed ship, the last thing a trooper hears before a drop (maybe the last word he ever hears) is a woman’s voice, wishing him luck. If you don’t think this is important, you’ve probably resigned from the human race.

The Tours had fifteen Naval officers, eight ladies and seven men; there were eight M.I. officers including (I am happy to say) myself. I won’t say “bulkhead thirty” caused me to buck for O.C.S. but the privilege of eating with the ladies is more incentive than any increase in pay. The Skipper was president of the mess, my boss Captain Blackstone was vice-president—not because of rank; three Naval officers ranked him; but as C.O. of the strike force he was de facto senior to everybody but the Skipper.

Every meal was formal. We would wait in the cardroom until the hour struck, follow Captain Blackstone in and stand behind our chairs; the Skipper would come in followed by her ladies and, as she reached the head of the table, Captain Blackstone would bow and say, “Madam President . . . ladies,” and she would answer, “Mr. Vice . . . gentlemen,” and the man on each lady’s right would seat her.

This ritual established that it was a social event, not an officers’ conference; thereafter ranks or titles were used, except that junior Naval officers and myself alone among the M.I. were called “Mister” or “Miss”—with one exception which fooled me.

My first meal aboard I heard Captain Blackstone called “Major,” although his shoulder pips plainly read “captain.” I got straightened out later. There can’t be two captains in a Naval vessel so an Army captain is bumped one rank socially rather than commit the unthinkable of calling him by the title reserved for the one and only monarch. If a Naval captain is aboard as anything but skipper, he or she is called “Commodore” even if the skipper is a lowly lieutenant.

The M.I. observes this by avoiding the necessity in the wardroom and paying no attention to the silly custom in our own part of the ship.

Seniority ran downhill from each end of the table, with the Skipper at the head and the strike force C.O. at the foot, the junior midshipmen at his right and myself at the Skipper’s right. I would most happily have sat by the junior midshipman; she was awfully pretty—but the arrangement is planned chaperonage; I never even learned her first name.

I knew that I, as the lowliest male, sat on the Skipper’s right—but I didn’t know that I was supposed to seat her. At my first meal she waited and nobody sat down—until the third assistant engineer jogged my elbow. I haven’t been so embarrassed since a very unfortunate incident in kindergarten, even though Captain Jorgenson acted as if nothing had happened.

When the Skipper stands up the meal is over. She was pretty good about this but once she stayed seated only a few minutes and Captain Blackstone got annoyed. He stood up but called out, “Captain—”

She stopped. “Yes, Major?”

“Will the Captain please give orders that my officers and myself be served in the cardroom?” She answered coldly, “Certainly, sir.” And we were. But no Naval officer joined us.

The following Saturday she exercised her privilege of inspecting the M.I. aboard—which transport skippers almost never do. However, she   simply walked down the ranks without commenting. She was not really a martinet and she had a nice smile when she wasn’t being stern. Captain Blackstone assigned Second Lieutenant “Rusty” Graham to crack the whip over me about math; she found out about it, somehow, and told Captain Blackstone to have me report to her office for one hour after lunch each day, whereupon she tutored me in math and bawled me out when my “homework” wasn’t perfect.

Our six platoons were two companies as a rump battalion; Captain Blackstone commanded Company D, Blackie’s Blackguards, and also

commanded the rump battalion. Our battalion commander by the T.O., Major Xera, was with A and B companies in the Tourssister ship  Normandy Beach—maybe half a sky away; he commanded us only when the full battalion dropped together—except that Cap’n Blackie routed certain reports and letters through him. Other matters went directly to Fleet, Division, or Base, and Blackie had a truly wizard fleet sergeant to keep

such things straight and to help him handle both a company and a rump battalion in combat.

Administrative details are not simple in an army spread through many light-years in hundreds of ships. In the old Valley Forge, in the Rodger Young, and now in the Tours I was in the same regiment, the Third (“Pampered Pets”) Regiment of the First (“Polaris”) M.I. Division. Two battalions formed from available units had been called the “Third Regiment” in Operation Bughouse but I did not see “my” regiment; all I saw was PFC

Bamburger and a lot of Bugs.

I might be commissioned in the Pampered Pets, grow old and retire in it—and never even see my regimental commander. The Roughnecks had a company commander but he also commanded the first platoon (“Hornets”) in another corvette; I didn’t know his name until I saw it on my orders to

O.C.S. There is a legend about a “lost platoon” that went on R&R as its corvette was decommissioned. Its company commander had just been promoted and the other platoons had been attached tactically elsewhere. I’ve forgotten what happened to the platoon’s lieutenant but R&R is a routine time to detach an officer—theoretically after a relief has been sent to understudy him, but reliefs are always scarce.

They say this platoon enjoyed a local year of the flesh-pots along Churchill Road before anybody missed them.

I don’t believe it. But it could happen.

The chronic scarcity of officers strongly affected my duties in Blackie’s Blackguards. The M.I. has the lowest percentage of officers in any army of record and this factor is just part of the M.I.’s unique “divisional wedge.” “D.W.” is military jargon but the idea is simple: If you have 10,000 soldiers, how many fight? And how many just peel potatoes, drive lorries, count graves, and shuffle papers?

In the M.I., 10,000 men fight.

In the mass wars of the XXth century it sometimes took 70,000 men (fact!) to enable 10,000 to fight.

I admit it takes the Navy to place us where we fight; however, an M.I. strike force, even in a corvette, is at least three times as large as the transport’s Navy crew. It also takes civilians to supply and service us; about 10 per cent of us are on R&R at any time; and a few of the very best of us are rotated to instruct at boot camps.

While a few M.I. are on desk jobs you will always find that they are shy an arm or leg, or some such. These are the ones—the Sergeant Hos and the Colonel Nielssens—who refuse to retire, and they really ought to count twice since they release able-bodied M.I. by filling jobs which require fighting spirit but not physical perfection. They do work that civilians can’t do—or we would hire civilians. Civilians are like beans; you buy ’em as needed for any job which merely requires skill and savvy.

But you can’t buy fighting spirit.

It’s scarce. We use all of it, waste none. The M.I. is the smallest army in history for the size of the population it guards. You can’t buy an M.I., you can’t conscript him, you can’t coerce him—you can’t even keep him if he wants to leave. He can quit thirty seconds before a drop, lose his nerve and not get into his capsule and all that happens is that he is paid off and can never vote.

At O.C.S. we studied armies in history that were driven like galley slaves. But the M.I. is a free man; all that drives him comes from inside—that

self-respect and need for the respect of his mates and his pride in being one of them called morale, or esprit de corps.

The root of our morale is: “Everybody works, everybody fights.” An M.I. doesn’t pull strings to get a soft, safe job; there aren’t any. Oh, a trooper

will get away with what he can; any private with enough savvy to mark time to music can think up reasons why he should not clean compartments or break out stores; this is a soldier’s ancient right.

But all “soft, safe” jobs are filled by civilians; that goldbricking private climbs into his capsule certain that everybody, from general to private, is doing it with him. Light-years away and on a different day, or maybe an hour or so later—no matter. What does matter is that everybody drops. This

is why he enters the capsule, even though he may not be conscious of it.

If we ever deviate from this, the M.I. will go to pieces. All that holds us together is an idea—one that binds more strongly than steel but its magic power depends on keeping it intact.

It is this “everybody fights” rule that lets the M.I. get by with so few officers.

I know more about this than I want to, because I asked a foolish question in Military History and got stuck with an assignment which forced me to

dig up stuff ranging from De Bello Gallico to Tsing’s classic Collapse of the Golden Hegemony. Consider an ideal M.I. division—on paper, because you won’t find one elsewhere. How many officers does it require? Never mind units attached from other corps; they may not be present during a ruckus and they are not like M.I.—the special talents attached to Logistics & Communications are all ranked as officers. If it will make a memory man, a telepath, a senser, or a lucky man happy to have me salute him, I’m glad to oblige; he is more valuable than I am and I could not replace him if I lived to be two hundred. Or take the K-9 Corps, which is 50 per cent “officers” but whose other 50 per cent are neodogs.

None of these is in line of command, so let’s consider only us apes and what it takes to lead us.

This imaginary division has 10,800 men in 216 platoons, each with a lieutenant. Three platoons to a company calls for 72 captains; four companies to a battalion calls for 18 majors or lieutenant colonels. Six regiments with six colonels can form two or three brigades, each with a short general, plus a medium-tall general as top boss.

You wind up with 317 officers out of a total, all ranks, of 11,117.

There are no blank files and every officer commands a team. Officers total 3 per cent—which is what the M.I. does have, but arranged somewhat differently. In fact a good many platoons are commanded by sergeants and many officers “wear more than one hat” in order to fill some utterly necessary staff jobs.

Even a platoon leader should have “staff ”—his platoon sergeant.

But he can get by without one and his sergeant can get by without him. But a general must have staff; the job is too big to carry in his hat. He  needs a big planning staff and a small combat staff. Since there are never enough officers, the team commanders in his flag transport double as his planning staff and are picked from the M.I.’s best mathematical logicians—then they drop with their own teams. The general drops with a small combat staff, plus a small team of the roughest, on-the-bounce troopers in the M.I. Their job is to keep the general from being bothered by rude strangers while he is managing the battle. Sometimes they succeed.

Besides necessary staff billets, any team larger than a platoon ought to have a deputy commander. But there are never enough officers so we make do with what we’ve got. To fill each necessary combat billet, one job to one officer, would call for a 5 per cent ratio of officers—but 3 per cent is all we’ve got.

In place of that optimax of 5 per cent that the M.I. never can reach, many armies in the past commissioned 10 per cent of their number, or even 15 per cent—and sometimes a preposterous 20 per cent! This sounds like a fairy tale but it was a fact, especially during the XXth century. What kind

of an army has more “officers” than corporals? (And more non-coms than privates!)

An army organized to lose wars—if history means anything. An army that is mostly organization, red tape, and overhead, most of whose “soldiers” never fight.

But what do “officers” do who do not command fighting men?

Fiddlework, apparently—officers’ club officer, morale officer, athletics officer, public information officer, recreation officer, PX officer,

transportation officer, legal officer, chaplain, assistant chaplain, junior assistant chaplain, officer-in-charge of anything anybody can think of—even

nursery officer!

In the M.I., such things are extra duty for combat officers or, if they are real jobs, they are done better and cheaper and without demoralizing a fighting outfit by hiring civilians. But the situation got so smelly in one of the XXth century major powers that real officers, ones who commanded

fighting men, were given special insignia to distinguish them from the swarms of swivel-chair hussars.

The scarcity of officers got steadily worse as the war wore on, because the casualty rate is always highest among officers . . . and the M.I. never commissions a man simply to fill a vacancy. In the long run, each boot regiment must supply its own share of officers and the percentage can’t be raised without lowering the standards—The strike force in the Tours needed thirteen officers—six platoon leaders, two company commanders and two deputies, and a strike force commander staffed by a deputy and an adjutant.

What it had was six . . . and me.

TABLE OF ORGANIZATION

“Rump Battalion” Strike Force—

Cpt. Blackstone (“first hat”)

Fleet Sergeant

I would have been under Lieutenant Silva, but he left for hospital the day I reported, ill with some sort of twitching awfuls. But this did not necessarily mean that I would get his platoon. A temporary third lieutenant is not considered an asset; Captain Blackstone could place me under Lieutenant Bayonne and put a sergeant in charge of his own first platoon, or even “put on a third hat” and take the platoon himself.

In fact, he did both and nevertheless assigned me as platoon leader of the first platoon of the Blackguards. He did this by borrowing the Wolverine’s best buck sergeant to act as his battalion staffer, then he placed his fleet sergeant as platoon sergeant of his first platoon—a job two grades below his chevrons. Then Captain Blackstone spelled it out for me in a head-shrinking lecture: I would appear on the T.O. as platoon leader, but Blackie himself and the fleet sergeant would run the platoon.

As long as I behaved myself, I could go through the motions. I would even be allowed to drop as platoon leader—but one word from my platoon sergeant to my company commander and the jaws of the nutcracker would close.

It suited me. It was my platoon as long as I could swing it—and if I couldn’t, the sooner I was shoved aside the better for everybody. Besides, it was a lot less nerve-racking to get a platoon that way than by sudden catastrophe in battle.

I took my job very seriously, for it was my platoon—the T.O. said so. But I had not yet learned to delegate authority and, for about a week, I was around troopers’ country much more than is good for a team. Blackie called me into his stateroom. “Son, what in Ned do you think you are doing?”

I answered stiffly that I was trying to get my platoon ready for action.

“So? Well, that’s not what you are accomplishing. You are stirring them like a nest of wild bees. Why the deuce do you think I turned over to you

the best sergeant in the Fleet? If you will go to your stateroom, hang yourself on a hook, and stay there! . . . until ‘Prepare for Action’ is sounded, he’ll hand that platoon over to you tuned like a violin.”

“As the Captain pleases, sir,” I agreed glumly.

“And that’s another thing—I can’t stand an officer who acts like a confounded kaydet. Forget that silly third-person talk around me—save it for generals and the Skipper. Quit bracing your shoulders and clicking your heels. Officers are supposed to look relaxed, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And let that be the last time you say ‘sir’ to me for one solid week. Same for saluting. Get that grim kaydet look off your face and hang a smile on it.”

“Yes, s—Okay.”

“That’s better. Lean against the bulkhead. Scratch yourself. Yawn. Anything but that tin-soldier act.”

I tried . . . and grinned sheepishly as I discovered that breaking a habit is not easy. Leaning was harder work than standing at attention. Captain Blackstone studied me. “Practice it,” he said. “An officer can’t look scared or tense; it’s contagious. Now tell me, Johnnie, what your platoon needs. Never mind the piddlin’ stuff; I’m not interested in whether a man has the regulation number of socks in his locker.”

I thought rapidly. “Uh . . . do you happen to know if Lieutenant Silva intended to put Brumby up for sergeant?”

“I do happen to know. What’s your opinion?”

“Well . . . the record shows that he has been acting section leader the past two months. His efficiency marks are good.”

“I asked for your recommendation, Mister.”

“Well, s—Sorry. I’ve never seen him work on the ground, so I can’t have a real opinion; anybody can soldier in the drop room. But the way I see it, he’s been acting sergeant too long to bust him back to chaser and promote a squad leader over him. He ought to get that third chevron before we drop—or he ought to be transferred when we get back. Sooner, if there’s a chance for a spaceside transfer.”

Blackie grunted. “You’re pretty generous in giving away my Blackguards—for a third lieutenant.”

I turned red. “Just the same, it’s a soft spot in my platoon. Brumby ought to be promoted, or transferred. I don’t want him back in his old job with somebody promoted over his head; he’d likely turn sour and I’d have an even worse soft spot. If he can’t have another chevron, he ought to go to repple-depple for cadre. Then he won’t be humiliated and he gets a fair shake to make sergeant in another team—instead of a dead end here.”

“Really?” Blackie did not quite sneer. “After that masterly analysis, apply your powers of deduction and tell me why Lieutenant Silva failed to transfer him three weeks ago when we arrived around Sanctuary.”

I had wondered about that. The time to transfer a man is the earliest possible instant after you decide to let him go—and without warning; it’s better for the man and the team—so says the book. I said slowly, “Was Lieutenant Silva already ill at that time, Captain?”

“No.”

The pieces matched. “Captain, I recommend Brumby for immediate promotion.” His eyebrows shot up. “A minute ago you were about to dump him as useless.”

“Uh, not quite. I said it had to be one or the other—but I didn’t know which. Now I know.” “Continue.”

“Uh, this assumes that Lieutenant Silva is an efficient officer—”

Hummmph! Mister, for your information, ‘Quick’ Silva has an unbroken string of ‘Excellent—Recommended for Promotion’ on his Form Thirty- One.”

“But I knew that he was good,” I plowed on, “because I inherited a good platoon. A good officer might not promote a man for—oh, for many reasons—and still not put his misgivings in writing. But in this case, if he could not recommend him for sergeant, then he wouldn’t keep him with the team—so he would get him out of the ship at the first opportunity. But he didn’t. Therefore I know he intended to promote Brumby.” I added, “But I can’t see why he didn’t push it through three weeks ago, so that Brumby could have worn his third chevron on R&R.”

Captain Blackstone grinned. “That’s because you don’t credit me with being efficient.” “S—I beg pardon?”

“Never mind. You’ve proved who killed Cock Robin and I don’t expect a still-moist kaydet to know all the tricks. But listen and learn, son. As long as this war goes on, don’t ever promote a man just before you return to Base.”

“Uh . . . why not, Captain?”

“You mentioned sending Brumby to Replacement Depot if he was not to be promoted. But that’s just where he would have gone if we had promoted him three weeks ago. You don’t know how hungry that non-com desk at repple-depple is. Paw through the dispatch file and you’ll find a demand that we supply two sergeants for cadre. With a platoon sergeant being detached for O.C.S. and a buck sergeant spot vacant, I was under complement and able to refuse.” He grinned savagely. “It’s a rough war, son, and your own people will steal your best men if you don’t watch ’em.” He took two sheets of paper out of a drawer. “There—”

One was a letter from Silva to Cap’n Blackie, recommending Brumby for sergeant; it was dated over a month ago.

The other was Brumby’s warrant for sergeant—dated the day after we left Sanctuary. “That suit you?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, yes indeed!”

“I’ve been waiting for you to spot the weak place in your team, and tell me what had to be done. I’m pleased that you figured it out—but only middlin’ pleased because an experienced officer would have analyzed it at once from the T.O. and the service records. Never mind, that’s how you gain experience. Now here’s what you do. Write me a letter like Silva’s; date it yesterday. Tell your platoon sergeant to tell Brumby that you have put him up for a third stripe—and don’t mention that Silva did so. You didn’t know that when you made the recommendation, so we’ll keep it that way. When I swear Brumby in, I’ll let him know that both his officers recommended him independently—which will make him feel good. Okay, anything more?”

“Uh . . . not in organization—unless Lieutenant Silva planned to promote Naidi, vice Brumby. In which case we could promote one PFC to lance . .

. and that would allow us to promote four privates to PFC, including three vacancies now existing. I don’t know whether it’s your policy to keep the

T.O. filled up tight or not?”

“Might as well,” Blackie said gently, “as you and I know that some of those lads aren’t going to have many days in which to enjoy it. Just remember that we don’t make a man a PFC until after he has been in combat—not in Blackie’s Blackguards we don’t. Figure it out with your platoon sergeant and let me know. No hurry . . . any time before bedtime tonight. Now . . . anything else?”

“Well—Captain, I’m worried about the suits.” “So am I. All platoons.”

“I don’t know all the other platoons, but with five recruits to fit, plus four suits damaged and exchanged, and two more downchecked this past week and replaced from stores—well, I don’t see how Cunha and Navarre can warm up that many and run routine tests on forty-one others and get it all done by our calculated date. Even if no trouble develops—”

“Trouble always develops.”

“Yes, Captain. But that’s two hundred and eighty-six man-hours just for warm & fit, and plus a hundred and twenty-three hours of routine checks. And it always takes longer.”

“Well, what do you think can be done? The other platoons will lend you help if they finish their suits ahead of time. Which I doubt. Don’t ask to borrow help from the Wolverines; we’re more likely to lend them help.”

“Uh . . . Captain, I don’t know what you’ll think of this, since you told me to stay out of troopers’ country. But when I was a corporal, I was assistant to the Ordnance & Armor sergeant.”

“Keep talking.”

“Well, right at the last I was the O&A sergeant. But I was just standing in another man’s shoes—I’m not a finished O&A mechanic. But I’m a pretty darn good assistant and if I was allowed to, well, I can either warm new suits, or run routine checks—and give Cunha and Navarre that much more time for trouble.”

Blackie leaned back and grinned. “Mister, I have searched the regs carefully . . . and I can’t find the one that says an officer mustn’t get his hands dirty.” He added, “I mention that because some ‘young gentlemen’ who have been assigned to me apparently had read such a regulation. All right, draw some dungarees—no need to get your uniform dirty along with your hands. Go aft and find your platoon sergeant, tell him about Brumby and order him to prepare recommendations to close the gaps in the T.O. in case I should decide to confirm your recommendation for Brumby. Then tell him that you are going to put in all your time on ordnance and armor—and that you want him to handle everything else. Tell him that if he has any problems to look you up in the armory. Don’t tell him you consulted me—just give him orders. Follow me?”

“Yes, s—Yes, I do.”

“Okay, get on it. As you pass through the cardroom, please give my compliments to Rusty and tell him to drag his lazy carcass in here.”

For the next two weeks I was never so busy—not even in boot camp. Working as an ordnance & armor mech about ten hours a day was not all that I did. Math, of course—and no way to duck it with the Skipper tutoring me. Meals—say an hour and a half a day. Plus the mechanics of staying alive

—shaving, showering, putting buttons in uniforms and trying to chase down the Navy master-at-arms, get him to unlock the laundry to locate clean

uniforms ten minutes before inspection. (It is an unwritten law of the Navy that facilities must always be locked when they are most needed. )

Guard mount, parade, inspections, a minimum of platoon routine, took another hour a day. But besides, I was “George.” Every outfit has a

“George.” He’s the most junior officer and has the extra jobs—athletics officer, mail censor, referee for competitions, school officer, correspondence courses officer, prosecutor courts-martial, treasurer of the welfare mutual loan fund, custodian of registered publications, stores officer, troopers’ mess officer, et cetera ad endless nauseam.

Rusty Graham had been “George” until he happily turned it over to me. He wasn’t so happy when I insisted on a sight inventory on everything for which I had to sign. He suggested that if I didn’t have sense enough to accept a commissioned officer’s signed inventory then perhaps a direct order would change my tune. So I got sullen and told him to put his orders in writing—with a certified copy so that I could keep the original and endorse the copy over to the team commander.

Rusty angrily backed down—even a second lieutenant isn’t stupid enough to put such orders in writing. I wasn’t happy either as Rusty was my roommate and was then still my tutor in math, but we held the sight inventory. I got chewed out by Lieutenant Warren for being stupidly officious but he opened his safe and let me check his registered publications. Captain Blackstone opened his with no comment and I couldn’t tell whether he approved of my sight inventory or not.

Publications were okay but accountable property was not. Poor Rusty! He had accepted his predecessor’s count and now the count was short— and the other officer was not merely gone, he was dead. Rusty spent a restless night (and so did I!), then went to Blackie and told him the truth.

Blackie chewed him out, then went over the missing items, found ways to expend most of them as “lost in combat.” It reduced Rusty’s shortages to a few days’ pay—but Blackie had him keep the job, thereby postponing the cash reckoning indefinitely.

Not all “George” jobs caused that much headache. There were no courts-martial; good combat teams don’t have them. There was no mail to censor as the ship was in Cherenkov drive. Same for welfare loans for similar reasons. Athletics I delegated to Brumby; referee was “if and when.” The troopers’ mess was excellent; I initialed menus and sometimes inspected the galley, i.e., I scrounged a sandwich without getting out of dungarees when working late in the armory. Correspondence courses meant a lot of paperwork since quite a few were continuing their educations, war or no war—but I delegated my platoon sergeant and the records were kept by the PFC who was his clerk.

Nevertheless “George” jobs soaked up about two hours every day—there were so many.

You see where this left me—ten hours O&A, three hours math, meals an hour and a half, personal one hour, military fiddlework one hour, “George” two hours, sleep eight hours; total, twenty-six and a half hours. The ship wasn’t even on the twenty-five-hour Sanctuary day; once we left we went on Greenwich standard and the universal calendar.

The only slack was in my sleeping time.

I was sitting in the cardroom about one o’clock one morning, plugging away at math, when Captain Blackstone came in. I said, “Good evening, Captain.”

“Morning, you mean. What the deuce ails you, son? Insomnia?” “Uh, not exactly.”

He picked up a stack of sheets, remarking, “Can’t your sergeant handle your paperwork? Oh, I see. Go to bed.” “But, Captain—”

“Sit back down. Johnnie, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I never see you here in the cardroom, evenings. I walk past your room, you’re at your desk. When your bunkie goes to bed, you move out here. What’s the trouble?”

“Well . . . I just never seem to get caught up.”

“Nobody ever does. How’s the work going in the armory?” “Pretty well. I think we’ll make it.”

“I think so, too. Look, son, you’ve got to keep a sense of proportion. You have two prime duties. First is to see that your platoon’s equipment is ready—you’re doing that. You don’t have to worry about the platoon itself, I told you that. The second—and just as important—you’ve got to be ready to fight. You’re muffing that.”

“I’ll be ready, Captain.”

“Nonsense and other comments. You’re getting no exercise and losing sleep. Is that how to train for a drop? When you lead a platoon, son, you’ve got to be on the bounce. From here on you will exercise from sixteen-thirty to eighteen hundred each day. You will be in your sack with lights out at twenty-three hundred—and if you lie awake fifteen minutes two nights in a row, you will report to the Surgeon for treatment. Orders.”

“Yes, sir.” I felt the bulkheads closing in on me and added desperately, “Captain, I don’t see howI can get to bed by twenty-three—and still get everything done.”

“Then you won’t. As I said, son, you must have a sense of proportion. Tell me how you spend your time.”

So I did. He nodded. “Just as I thought.” He picked up my math “homework,” tossed it in front of me. “Take this. Sure, you want to work on it. But why work so hard before we go into action?”

“Well, I thought—”

“‘Think’ is what you didn’t do. There are four possibilities, and only one calls for finishing these assignments. First, you might buy a farm. Second,

you might buy a small piece and be retired with an honorary commission. Third, you might come through all right . . . but get a downcheck on your Form Thirty-One from your examiner, namely me. Which is just what you’re aching for at the present time—why, son, I won’t even let you drop if you show up with eyes red from no sleep and muscles flabby from too much chair parade. The fourth possibility is that you take a grip on yourself . . . in which case I might let you take a swing at leading a platoon. So let’s assume that you do and put on the finest show since Achilles slew Hector and I pass you. In that case only—you’ll need to finish these math assignments. So do them on the trip back.

“That takes care of that—I’ll tell the Skipper. The rest of those jobs you are relieved of, right now. On our way home you can spend your time on math. If we get home. But you’ll never get anywhere if you don’t learn to keep first things first. Go to bed!”

A week later we made rendezvous, coming out of drive and coasting short of the speed of light while the fleet exchanged signals. We were sent Briefing, Battle Plan, our Mission & Orders—a stack of words as long as a novel—and were told not to drop.

Oh, we were to be in the operation but we would ride down like gentlemen, cushioned in retrieval boats. This we could do because the Federation already held the surface; Second, Third, and Fifth M.I. Divisions had taken it—and paid cash.

The described real estate didn’t seem worth the price. Planet P is smaller than Terra, with a surface gravity of 0.7, is mostly arctic-cold ocean and rock, with lichenous flora and no fauna of interest. Its air is not breathable for long, being contaminated with nitrous oxide and too much ozone. Its one continent is about half the size of Australia, plus many worthless islands; it would probably require as much terra-forming as Venus before we could use it.

However, we were not buying real estate to live on; we went there because Bugs were there—and they were there on our account, so Staff thought. Staff told us that Planet P was an uncompleted advance base (prob. 87 ± 6 per cent) to be used against us.

Since the planet was no prize, the routine way to get rid of this Bug base would be for the Navy to stand off at a safe distance and render this ugly spheroid uninhabitable by Man or Bug. But the C-in-C had other ideas.

The operation was a raid. It sounds incredible to call a battle involving hundreds of ships and thousands of casualties a “raid,” especially as, in the meantime, the Navy and a lot of other cap troopers were keeping things stirred up many light-years into Bug space in order to divert them from reinforcing Planet P.

But the C-in-C was not wasting men; this giant raid could determine who won the war, whether next year or thirty years hence. We needed to   learn more about Bug psychology. Must we wipe out every Bug in the Galaxy? Or was it possible to trounce them and impose a peace? We did not know; we understood them as little as we understand termites.

To learn their psychology we had to communicate with them, learn their motivations, find out why they fought and under what conditions they would stop; for these, the Psychological Warfare Corps needed prisoners.

Workers are easy to capture. But a Bug worker is hardly more than animate machinery. Warriors can be captured by burning off enough limbs to make them helpless—but they are almost as stupid without a director as workers. From such prisoners our own professor types had learned important matters—the development of that oily gas that killed them but not us came from analyzing the biochemistries of workers and warriors, and we had had other new weapons from such research even in the short time I had been a cap trooper. But to discover why Bugs fight we needed to study members of their brain caste. Also, we hoped to exchange prisoners.

So far, we had never taken a brain Bug alive. We had either cleaned out colonies from the surface, as on Sheol, or (as had too often been the case) raiders had gone down their holes and not come back. A lot of brave men had been lost this way.

Still more had been lost through retrieval failure. Sometimes a team on the ground had its ship or ships knocked out of the sky. What happens to such a team? Possibly it dies to the last man. More probably it fights until power and ammo are gone, then survivors are captured as easily as so many beetles on their backs.

From our co-belligerents the Skinnies we knew that many missing troopers were alive as prisoners—thousands we hoped, hundreds we were sure. Intelligence believed that prisoners were always taken to Klendathu; the Bugs are as curious about us as we are about them—a race of individuals able to build cities, starships, armies, may be even more mysterious to a hive entity than a hive entity is to us.

As may be, we wanted those prisoners back!

In the grim logic of the universe this may be a weakness. Perhaps some race that never bothers to rescue an individual may exploit this human

trait to wipe us out. The Skinnies have such a trait only slightly and the Bugs don’t seem to have it at all—nobody ever saw a Bug come to the aid of another because he was wounded; they co-operate perfectly in fighting but units are abandoned the instant they are no longer useful.

Our behavior is different. How often have you seen a headline like this?—TWO DIE ATTEMPTING RESCUE OF DROWNING CHILD. If a man gets lost in the mountains, hundreds will search and often two or three searchers are killed. But the next time somebody gets lost just as many volunteers turn out.

Poor arithmetic . . . but very human. It runs through all our folklore, all human religions, all our literature—a racial conviction that when one human needs rescue, others should not count the price.

Weakness? It might be the unique strength that wins us a Galaxy.

Weakness or strength, Bugs don’t have it; there was no prospect of trading fighters for fighters.

But in a hive polyarchy, some castes are valuable—or so our Psych Warfare people hoped. If we could capture brain Bugs, alive and undamaged, we might be able to trade on good terms.

And suppose we captured a queen!

What is a queen’s trading value? A regiment of troopers? Nobody knew, but Battle Plan ordered us to capture Bug “royalty,” brains and queens,

at any cost, on the gamble that we could trade them for human beings.

The third purpose of Operation Royalty was to develop methods: how to go down, how to dig them out, how to win with less than total weapons.

Trooper for warrior, we could now defeat them above ground; ship for ship, our Navy was better; but, so far, we had had no luck when we tried to go down their holes.

If we failed to exchange prisoners on any terms, then we still had to: (a) win the war, (b) do so in a way that gave us a fighting chance to rescue our own people, or (c)—might as well admit it—die trying and lose. Planet P was a field test to determine whether we could learn how to root them out.

Briefing was read to every trooper and he heard it again in his sleep during hypno preparation. So, while we all knew that Operation Royalty was laying the groundwork toward eventual rescue of our mates, we also knew that Planet P held no human prisoners—it had never been raided. So there was no reason to buck for medals in a wild hope of being personally in on a rescue; it was just another Bug hunt, but conducted with massive

force and new techniques. We were going to peel that planet like an onion, until we knewthat every Bug had been dug out.

The Navy had plastered the islands and that unoccupied part of the continent until they were radioactive glaze; we could tackle Bugs with no

worries about our rear. The Navy also maintained a ball-of-yarn patrol in tight orbits around the planet, guarding us, escorting transports, keeping a spy watch on the surface to make sure that Bugs did not break out behind us despite that plastering.

Under the Battle Plan, the orders for Blackie’s Blackguards charged us with supporting the prime Mission when ordered or as opportunity presented, relieving another company in a captured area, protecting units of other corps in that area, maintaining contact with M.I. units around us— and smacking down any Bugs that showed their ugly heads.

So we rode down in comfort to an unopposed landing. I took my platoon out at a powered-armor trot. Blackie went ahead to meet the company commander he was relieving, get the situation and size up the terrain. He headed for the horizon like a scared jack rabbit.

I had Cunha send his first sections’ scouts out to locate the forward corners of my patrol area and I sent my platoon sergeant off to my left to

make contact with a patrol from the Fifth Regiment. We, the Third Regiment, had a grid three hundred miles wide and eighty miles deep to hold; my piece was a rectangle forty miles deep and seventeen wide in the extreme left flank forward corner. The Wolverines were behind us, Lieutenant Khoroshen’s platoon on the right and Rusty beyond him.

Our First Regiment had already relieved a Vth Div. regiment ahead of us, with a “brick wall” overlap which placed them on my corner as well as ahead. “Ahead” and “rear,” “right flank” and “left,” referred to orientation set up in dead-reckoning tracers in each command suit to match the grid of the Battle Plan. We had no true front, simply an area, and the only fighting at the moment was going on several hundred miles away, to our arbitrary right and rear.

Somewhere off that way, probably two hundred miles, should be 2nd platoon, G Co, 2nd Batt, 3rd Reg—commonly known as “The Roughnecks.”

Or the Roughnecks might be forty light-years away. Tactical organization never matches the Table of Organization; all I knew from Plan was that

something called the “2nd Batt” was on our right flank beyond the boys from the Normandy Beach. But that battalion could have been borrowed from another division. The Sky Marshal plays his chess without consulting the pieces.

Anyhow, I should not be thinking about the Roughnecks; I had all I could do as a Blackguard. My platoon was okay for the moment—safe as you can be on a hostile planet—but I had plenty to do before Cunha’s first squad reached the far corner. I needed to:

  1. Locate the platoon leader who had been holding my area.
  2. Establish corners and identify them to section and squad leaders.
  3. Make contact liaison with eight platoon leaders on my sides and corners, five of whom should already be in position (those from Fifth and First Regiments) and three (Khoroshen of the Blackguards and Bayonne and Sukarno of the Wolverines) who were now moving into position.
  4. Get my own boys spread out to their initial points as fast as possible by shortest routes.

The last had to be set up first, as the open column in which we disembarked would not do it. Brumby’s last squad needed to deploy to the left flank; Cunha’s leading squad needed to spread from dead ahead to left oblique; the other four squads must fan out in between.

This is a standard square deployment and we had simulated how to reach it quickly in the drop room; I called out: “Cunha! Brumby! Time to spread ’em out,” using the non-com circuit.

“Roger sec one!”—“Roger sec two!”

“Section leaders take charge . . . and caution each recruit. You’ll be passing a lot of Cherubs. I don’t want ’em shot at by mistake!” I bit down for my private circuit and said, “Sarge, you got contact on the left?”

“Yes, sir. They see me, they see you.”

“Good. I don’t see a beacon on our anchor corner—” “Missing.”

“—so you coach Cunha by D.R. Same for the lead scout—that’s Hughes—and have Hughes set a new beacon.” I wondered why the Third or Fifth hadn’t replaced that anchor beacon—my forward left corner where three regiments came together.

No use talking. I went on: “D.R. check. You bear two seven five, miles twelve.” “Sir, reverse is nine six, miles twelve scant.”

“Close enough. I haven’t found my opposite number yet, so I’m cutting out forward at max. Mind the shop.” “Got ’em, Mr. Rico.”

I advanced at max speed while clicking over to officers’ circuit: “Square Black One, answer. Black One, Chang’s Cherubs—do you read me? Answer.” I wanted to talk with the leader of the platoon we were relieving—and not for any perfunctory I-relieve-you-sir: I wanted the ungarnished word.

I didn’t like what I had seen.

Either the top brass had been optimistic in believing that we had mounted overwhelming force against a small, not fully developed Bug base—or the Blackguards had been awarded the spot where the roof fell in. In the few moments I had been out of the boat I had spotted half a dozen armored suits on the ground—empty I hoped, dead men possibly, but ’way too many any way you looked at it.

Besides that, my tactical radar display showed a full platoon (my own) moving into position but only a scattering moving back toward retrieval or still on station. Nor could I see any system to their movements.

I was responsible for 680 square miles of hostile terrain and I wanted very badly to find out all I could before my own squads were deep into it. Battle Plan had ordered a new tactical doctrine which I found dismaying: Do not close the Bugs’ tunnels. Blackie had explained this as if it had been his own happy thought, but I doubt if he liked it.

The strategy was simple, and, I guess, logical . . . if we could afford the losses. Let the Bugs come up. Meet them and kill them on the surface. Let them keep on coming up. Don’t bomb their holes, don’t gas their holes—let them out. After a while—a day, two days, a week—if we really did have overwhelming force, they would stop coming up. Planning Staff estimated (don’t ask me how!) that the Bugs would expend 70 per cent to 90 per  cent of their warriors before they stopped trying to drive us off the surface.

Then we would start the unpeeling, killing surviving warriors as we went down and trying to capture “royalty” alive. We knew what the brain caste looked like; we had seen them dead (in photographs) and we knew they could not run—barely functional legs, bloated bodies that were mostly nervous system. Queens no human had ever seen, but Bio War Corps had prepared sketches of what they should look like—obscene monsters larger than a horse and utterly immobile.

Besides brains and queens there might be other “royalty” castes. As might be—encourage their warriors to come out and die, then capture alive anything but warriors and workers.

A necessary plan and very pretty, on paper. What it meant to me was that I had an area 17 × 40 miles which might be riddled with unstopped Bug holes. I wanted co-ordinates on each one.

If there were too many . . . well, I might accidentally plug a few and let my boys concentrate on watching the rest. A private in a marauder suit can cover a lot of terrain, but he can look at only one thing at a time; he is not superhuman.

I bounced several miles ahead of the first squad, still calling the Cherub platoon leader, varying it by calling any Cherub officer and describing the pattern of my transponder beacon (dah-di-dah-dah).

No answer—

At last I got a reply from my boss: “Johnnie! Knock off the noise. Answer me on conference circuit.”

So I did, and Blackie told me crisply to quit trying to find the Cherub leader for Square Black One; there wasn’t one. Oh, there might be a non- com alive somewhere but the chain of command had broken.

By the book, somebody always moves up. But it does happen if too many links are knocked out. As Colonel Nielssen had once warned me, in the dim past . . . almost a month ago.

Captain Chang had gone into action with three officers besides himself; there was one left now (my classmate, Abe Moise) and Blackie was trying to find out from him the situation. Abe wasn’t much help. When I joined the conference and identified myself, Abe thought I was his battalion commander and made a report almost heartbreakingly precise, especially as it made no sense at all.

Blackie interrupted and told me to carry on. “Forget about a relief briefing. The situation is whatever you see that it is—so stir around and see.” “Right, Boss!” I slashed across my own area toward the far corner, the anchor corner, as fast as I could move, switching circuits on my first

bounce. “Sarge! How about that beacon?”

“No place on that corner to put it, sir. A fresh crater there, about scale six.”

I whistled to myself. You could drop the Tours into a size six crater. One of the dodges the Bugs used on us when we were sparring, ourselves on the surface, Bugs underground, was land mines. (They never seemed to use missiles, except from ships in space.) If you were near the spot, the ground shock got you; if you were in the air when one went off, the concussion wave could tumble your gyros and throw your suit out of control.

I had never seen larger than a scale-four crater. The theory was that they didn’t dare use too big an explosion because of damage to their troglodyte habitats, even if they cofferdammed around it.

“Place an offset beacon,” I told him. “Tell section and squad leaders.”

“I have, sir. Angle one one oh, miles one point three. Da-di-dit. You should be able to read it, bearing about three three five from where you are.” He sounded as calm as a sergeant-instructor at drill and I wondered if I were letting my voice get shrill.

I found it in my display, above my left eyebrow—long and two shorts. “Okay. I see Cunha’s first squad is nearly in position. Break off that squad, have it patrol the crater. Equalize the areas—Brumby will have to take four more miles of depth.” I thought with annoyance that each man already had to patrol fourteen square miles; spreading the butter so thin meant seventeen square miles per man—and a Bug can come out of a hole less than five feet wide.

I added, “How ‘hot’ is that crater?”

“Amber-red at the edge. I haven’t been in it, sir.”

“Stay out of it. I’ll check it later.” Amber-red would kill an unprotected human but a trooper in armor can take it for quite a time. If there was that much radiation at the edge, the bottom would no doubt fry your eyeballs. “Tell Naidi to pull Malan and Bjork back to amber zone, and have them set

up ground listeners.” Two of my five recruits were in that first squad—and recruits are like puppies; they stick their noses into things.

“Tell Naidi that I am interested in two things: movement inside the crater . . . and noises in the ground around it.” We wouldn’t send troopers out through a hole so radioactive that mere exit would kill them. But Bugs would, if they could reach us that way. “Have Naidi report to me. To you and me, I mean.”

“Yes, sir.” My platoon sergeant added, “May I make a suggestion?” “Of course. And don’t stop to ask permission next time.”

“Navarre can handle the rest of the first section. Sergeant Cunha could take the squad at the crater and leave Naidi free to supervise the ground- listening watch.”

I knew what he was thinking. Naidi, so newly a corporal that he had never before had a squad on the ground, was hardly the man to cover what looked like the worst danger point in Square Black One; he wanted to pull Naidi back for the same reasons I had pulled the recruits back.

I wondered if he knew what I was thinking? That “nutcracker”—he was using the suit he had worn as Blackie’s battalion staffer, he had one more circuit than I had, a private one to Captain Blackstone.

Blackie was probably patched in and listening via that extra circuit. Obviously my platoon sergeant did not agree with my disposition of the platoon. If I didn’t take his advice, the next thing I heard might be Blackie’s voice cutting in: “Sergeant, take charge. Mr. Rico, you’re relieved.”

But—Confound it, a corporal who wasn’t allowed to boss his squad wasn’t a corporal . . . and a platoon leader who was just a ventriloquist’s dummy for his platoon sergeant was an empty suit!

I didn’t mull this. It flashed through my head and I answered at once. “I can’t spare a corporal to baby-sit with two recruits. Nor a sergeant to boss four privates and a lance.”

“But—”

“Hold it. I want the crater watch relieved every hour. I want our first patrol sweep made rapidly. Squad leaders will check any hole reported and get beacon bearings so that section leaders, platoon sergeant and platoon leader can check them as they reach them. If there aren’t too many, we’ll put a watch on each—I’ll decide later.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second time around, I want a slow patrol, as tight as possible, to catch holes we miss on the first sweep. Assistant squad leaders will use snoopers on that pass. Squad leaders will get bearings on any troopers—or suits—on the ground; the Cherubs may have left some live wounded. But no one is to stop even to check physicals until I order it. We’ve got to know the Bug situation first.”

“Yes, sir.” “Suggestions?”

“Just one,” he answered. “I think the squad chasers should use their snoopers on that first fast pass.”

“Very well, do it that way.” His suggestion made sense as the surface air temperature was much lower than the Bugs use in their tunnels; a camouflaged vent hole should show a plume like a geyser by infrared vision. I glanced at my display. “Cunha’s boys are almost at limit. Start your parade.”

“Very well, sir!”

“Off.” I clicked over to the wide circuit and continued to make tracks for the crater while I listened to everybody at once as my platoon sergeant revised the pre-plan—cutting out one squad, heading it for the crater, starting the rest of the first section in a two-squad countermarch while keeping the second section in a rotational sweep as pre-planned but with four miles increased depth; got the sections moving, dropped them and caught

the first squad as it converged on the anchor crater, gave it its instructions; cut back to the section leaders in plenty of time to give them new beacon bearings at which to make their turns.

He did it with the smart precision of a drum major on parade and he did it faster and in fewer words than I could have done it. Extended-order powered suit drill, with a platoon spread over many miles of countryside, is much more difficult than the strutting precision of parade—but it has to be exact, or you’ll blow the head off your mate in action . . . or, as in this case, you sweep part of the terrain twice and miss another part.

But the drillmaster has only a radar display of his formation; he can see with his eyes only those near him. While I listened I watched it in my own display—glowworms crawling past my face in precise lines, “crawling” because even forty miles an hour is a slow crawl when you compress a formation twenty miles across into a display a man can see.

I listened to everybody at once because I wanted to hear the chatter inside the squads.

There wasn’t any. Cunha and Brumby gave their secondary commands—and shut up. The corporals sang out only as squad changes were necessary; section and squad chasers called out occasional corrections of interval or alignment—and privates said nothing at all.

I heard the breathing of fifty men like muted sibilance of surf, broken only by necessary orders in the fewest possible words. Blackie had been right; the platoon had been handed over to me “tuned like a violin.”

They didn’t need me! I could go home and my platoon would get along just as well. Maybe better—

I wasn’t sure I had been right in refusing to cut Cunha out to guard the crater; if trouble broke there and those boys couldn’t be reached in time,   the excuse that I had done it “by the book” was worthless. If you get killed, or let someone else get killed, “by the book” it’s just as permanent as any other way.

I wondered if the Roughnecks had a spot open for a buck sergeant.

Most of Square Black One was as flat as the prairie around Camp Currie and much more barren. For this I was thankful; it gave us our only chance  of spotting a Bug coming up from below and getting him first. We were spread so widely that four-mile intervals between men and about six minutes between waves of a fast sweep was as tight a patrol as we could manage. This isn’t tight enough; any one spot would remain free of observation

for at least three or four minutes between patrol waves—and a lot of Bugs can come out of a very small hole in three to four minutes. Radar can see farther than the eye, of course, but it cannot see as accurately.

In addition we did not dare use anything but short-range selective weapons—our own mates were spread around us in all directions. If a Bug popped up and you let fly with something lethal, it was certain that not too far beyond that Bug was a cap trooper; this sharply limits the range and force of the frightfulness you dare use. On this operation only officers and platoon sergeants were armed with rockets and, even so, we did not expect to use them. If a rocket fails to find its target, it has a nasty habit of continuing to search until it finds one . . . and it cannot tell a friend from foe; a brain that can be stuffed into a small rocket is fairly stupid.

I would happily have swapped that area patrol with thousands of M.I. around us, for a simple one-platoon strike in which you know where your own people are and anything else is an enemy target.

I didn’t waste time moaning; I never stopped bouncing toward that anchor-corner crater while watching the ground and trying to watch the radar picture as well. I didn’t find any Bug holes but I did jump over a dry wash, almost a canyon, which could conceal quite a few. I didn’t stop to see; I simply gave its co-ordinates to my platoon sergeant and told him to have somebody check it.

That crater was even bigger than I had visualized; the Tours would have been lost in it. I shifted my radiation counter to directional cascade, took readings on floor and sides—red to multiple red right off the scale, very unhealthy for long exposure even to a man in armor; I estimated its width and depth by helmet range finder, then prowled around and tried to spot openings leading underground.

I did not find any but I did run into crater watches set out by adjacent platoons of the Fifth and First Regiments, so I arranged to split up the watch by sectors such that the combined watch could yell for help from all three platoons, the patch-in to do this being made through First Lieutenant Do Campo of the “Head Hunters” on our left. Then I pulled out Naidi’s lance and half his squad (including the recruits) and sent them back to platoon, reporting all this to my boss, and to my platoon sergeant.

“Captain,” I told Blackie, “we aren’t getting any ground vibrations. I’m going down inside and check for holes. The readings show that I won’t get too much dosage if I—”

“Youngster, stay out of that crater.” “But Captain, I just meant to—”

“Shut up. You can’t learn anything useful. Stay out.” “Yes, sir.”

The next nine hours were tedious. We had been preconditioned for forty hours of duty (two revolutions of Planet P) through forced sleep, elevated

blood sugar count, and hypno indoctrination, and of course the suits are self-contained for personal needs. The suits can’t last that long, but each man was carrying extra power units and super H.P. air cartridges for recharging. But a patrol with no action is dull, it is easy to goof off.

I did what I could think of, having Cunha and Brumby take turns as drill sergeant (thus leaving platoon sergeant and leader free to rove around): I gave orders that no sweeps were to repeat in pattern so that each man would always check terrain that was new to him. There are endless patterns to cover a given area, by combining the combinations. Besides that, I consulted my platoon sergeant and announced bonus points toward honor squad for first verified hole, first Bug destroyed, etc.—boot camp tricks, but staying alert means staying alive, so anything to avoid boredom.

Finally we had a visit from a special unit: three combat engineers in a utility air car, escorting a talent—a spatial senser. Blackie warned me to expect them. “Protect them and give them what they want.”

“Yes, sir. What will they need?”

“How should I know? If Major Landry wants you to take off your skin and dance in your bones, do it!” “Yes, sir. Major Landry.”

I relayed the word and set up a bodyguard by subareas. Then I met them as they arrived because I was curious; I had never seen a special talent at work. They landed beside my right flank and got out. Major Landry and two officers were wearing armor and hand flamers but the talent had no armor and no weapons—just an oxygen mask. He was dressed in a fatigue uniform without insignia and he seemed terribly bored by everything. I was not introduced to him. He looked like a sixteen-year-old boy . . . until I got close and saw a network of wrinkles around his weary eyes.

As he got out he took off his breathing mask. I was horrified, so I spoke to Major Landry, helmet to helmet without radio. “Major—the air around here is ‘hot.’ Besides that, we’ve been warned that—”

“Pipe down,” said the Major. “He knows it.”

I shut up. The talent strolled a short distance, turned and pulled his lower lip. His eyes were closed and he seemed lost in thought. He opened them and said fretfully, “How can one be expected to work with all those silly people jumping around?”

Major Landry said crisply, “Ground your platoon.”

I gulped and started to argue—then cut in the all-hands circuit: “First Platoon Blackguards—ground and freeze!

It speaks well for Lieutenant Silva that all I heard was a double echo of my order, as it was repeated down to squad. I said, “Major, can I let them

move around on the ground?” “No. And shut up.”

Presently the senser got back in the car, put his mask on. There wasn’t room for me, but I was allowed—ordered, really—to grab on and be towed; we shifted a couple of miles. Again the senser took off his mask and walked around. This time he spoke to one of the other combat engineers, who kept nodding and sketching on a pad.

The special-mission unit landed about a dozen times in my area, each time going through the same apparently pointless routine; then they moved on into the Fifth Regiment’s grid. Just before they left, the officer who had been sketching pulled a sheet out of the bottom of his sketch box and handed it to me. “Here’s your sub map. The wide red band is the only Bug boulevard in your area. It is nearly a thousand feet down where it enters but it climbs steadily toward your left rear and leaves at about minus four hundred fifty. The light blue network joining it is a big Bug colony; the only places where it comes within a hundred feet of the surface I have marked. You might put some listeners there until we can get over there and handle it.”

I stared at it. “Is this map reliable?”

The engineer officer glanced at the senser, then said very quietly to me, “Of course it is, you idiot! What are you trying to do? Upset him?”

They left while I was studying it. The artist-engineer had done double sketching and the box had combined them into a stereo picture of the first thousand feet under the surface. I was so bemused by it that I had to be reminded to take the platoon out of “freeze”—then I withdrew the ground listeners from the crater, pulled two men from each squad and gave them bearings from that infernal map to have them listen along the Bug highway and over the town.

I reported it to Blackie. He cut me off as I started to describe the Bug tunnels by co-ordinates. “Major Landry relayed a facsimile to me. Just give me co-ordinates of your listening posts.”

I did so. He said, “Not bad, Johnnie. But not quite what I want, either. You’ve placed more listeners than you need over their mapped tunnels.  String four of them along that Bug race track, place four more in a diamond around their town. That leaves you four. Place one in the triangle formed by your right rear corner and the main tunnel; the other three go in the larger area on the other side of the tunnel.”

“Yes, sir.” I added, “Captain, can we depend on this map?” “What’s troubling you?”

“Well . . . it seems like magic. Uh, black magic.”

“Oh. Look, son, I’ve got a special message from the Sky Marshal to you. He says to tell you that map is official . . . and that he will worry about everything else so that you can give full time to your platoon. Follow me?”

“Uh, yes, Captain.”

“But the Bugs can burrow mighty fast, so you give special attention to the listening posts outside the area of the tunnels. Any noise from those four outside posts louder than a butterfly’s roar is to be reported at once, regardless of its nature.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When they burrow, it makes a noise like frying bacon—in case you’ve never heard it. Stop your patrol sweeps. Leave one man on visual observation of the crater. Let half your platoon sleep for two hours, while the other half pairs off to take turns listening.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may see some more combat engineers. Here’s the revised plan. A sapper company will blast down and cork that main tunnel where it comes nearest the surface, either at your left flank, or beyond in ‘Head Hunter’ territory. At the same time another engineer company will do the same where that tunnel branches about thirty miles off to your right in the First Regiment’s bailiwick. When the corks are in, a long chunk of their main street and a biggish settlement will be cut off. Meanwhile, the same sort of thing will be going on a lot of other places. Thereafter—we’ll see. Either the Bugs break through to the surface and we have a pitched battle, or they sit tight and we go down after them, a sector at a time.”

“I see.” I wasn’t sure that I did, but I understood my part: rearrange my listening posts; let half my platoon sleep. Then a Bug hunt—on the surface if we were lucky, underground if we had to.

“Have your flank make contact with that sapper company when it arrives. Help ’em if they want help.”

“Right, Cap’n,” I agreed heartily. Combat engineers are almost as good an outfit as the infantry; it’s a pleasure to work with them. In a pinch they fight, maybe not expertly but bravely. Or they go ahead with their work, not even lifting their heads while a battle rages around them. They have an unofficial, very cynical and very ancient motto: “First we dig ’em, then we die in ’em,” to supplement their official motto: “Can do!” Both mottoes are literal truth.

“Get on it, son.”

Twelve listening posts meant that I could put a half squad at each post, either a corporal or his lance, plus three privates, then allow two of each group of four to sleep while the other two took turns listening. Navarre and the other section chaser could watch the crater and sleep, turn about, while section sergeants could take turns in charge of the platoon. The redisposition took no more than ten minutes once I had detailed the plan and given out bearings to the sergeants; nobody had to move very far. I warned everybody to keep eyes open for a company of engineers. As soon as each section reported its listening posts in operation I clicked to the wide circuit: “Odd numbers! Lie down, prepare to sleep . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five—sleep!”

A suit is not a bed, but it will do. One good thing about hypno preparation for combat is that, in the unlikely event of a chance to rest, a man can be put to sleep instantly by post-hypnotic command triggered by someone who is not a hypnotist—and awakened just as instantly, alert and ready to fight. It is a life-saver, because a man can get so exhausted in battle that he shoots at things that aren’t there and can’t see what he should be fighting.

But I had no intention of sleeping. I had not been told to—and I had not asked. The very thought of sleeping when I knew that perhaps many thousands of Bugs were only a few hundred feet away made my stomach jump. Maybe that senser was infallible, perhaps the Bugs could not reach us without alerting our listening posts.

Maybe—But I didn’t want to chance it.

I clicked to my private circuit. “Sarge—”

“Yes, sir.”

“You might as well get a nap. I’ll be on watch. Lie down and prepare to sleep . . . one . . . two—” “Excuse me, sir. I have a suggestion.”

“Yes?”

“If I understand the revised plan, no action is expected for the next four hours. You could take a nap now, and then—”

“Forget it, Sarge! I am not going to sleep. I am going to make the rounds of the listening posts and watch for that sapper company.” “Very well, sir.”

“I’ll check number three while I’m here. You stay here with Brumby and catch some rest while I—”

“Johnnie!”

I broke off. “Yes, Captain?” Had the Old Man been listening?

“Are your posts all set?”

“Yes, Captain, and my odd numbers are sleeping. I am about to inspect each post. Then—” “Let your sergeant do it. I want you to rest.”

“But, Captain—”

“Lie down. That’s a direct order. Prepare to sleep . . . one . . . two . . . three—Johnnie!

“Captain, with your permission, I would like to inspect my posts first. Then I’ll rest, if you say so, but I would rather remain awake. I—”

Blackie guffawed in my ear. “Look, son, you’ve slept for an hour and ten minutes.”

Sir?

“Check the time.” I did so—and felt foolish. “You wide-awake, son?”

“Yes, sir. I think so.”

“Things have speeded up. Call your odd numbers and put your even numbers to sleep. With luck, they may get an hour. So swap ’em around, inspect your posts, and call me back.”

I did so and started my rounds without a word to my platoon sergeant. I was annoyed at both him and Blackie—at my company commander because I resented being put to sleep against my wishes; and as for my platoon sergeant, I had a dirty hunch that it wouldn’t have been done if he weren’t the real boss and myself just a figurehead.

But after I had checked posts number three and one (no sounds of any sort, both were forward of the Bug area), I cooled down. After all, blaming a sergeant, even a fleet sergeant, for something a captain did was silly. “Sarge—”

“Yes, Mr. Rico?”

“Do you want to catch a nap with the even numbers? I’ll wake you a minute or two before I wake them.” He hesitated slightly. “Sir, I’d like to inspect the listening posts myself.”

“Haven’t you already?”

“No, sir. I’ve been asleep the past hour.”

Huh?

He sounded embarrassed. “The Captain required me to do so. He placed Brumby temporarily in charge and put me to sleep immediately after

he relieved you.”

I started to answer, then laughed helplessly. “Sarge? Let’s you and I go off somewhere and go back to sleep. We’re wasting our time; Cap’n Blackie is running this platoon.”

“I have found, sir,” he answered stiffly, “that Captain Blackstone invariably has a reason for anything he does.”

I nodded thoughtfully, forgetting that I was ten miles from my listener. “Yes. You’re right, he always has a reason. Mmm . . . since he had us both sleep, he must want us both awake and alert now.”

“I think that must be true.” “Mmm . . . any idea why?”

He was rather long in answering. “Mr. Rico,” he said slowly, “if the Captain knew he would tell us; I’ve never known him to hold back information. But sometimes he does things a certain way without being able to explain why. The Captain’s hunches—well, I’ve learned to respect them.”

“So? Squad leaders are all even numbers; they’re asleep.” “Yes, sir.”

“Alert the lance of each squad. We won’t wake anybody . . . but when we do, seconds may be important.” “Right away.”

I checked the remaining forward post, then covered the four posts bracketing the Bug village, jacking my phones in parallel with each listener. I

had to force myself to listen, because you could hear them, down there below, chittering to each other. I wanted to run and it was all I could do not to let it show.

I wondered if that “special talent” was simply a man with incredibly acute hearing.

Well, no matter how he did it, the Bugs were where he said they were. Back at O.C.S. we had received demonstrations of recorded Bug noises; these four posts were picking up typical nest noises of a large Bug town—that chittering which may be their speech (though why should they need to talk if they are all remotely controlled by the brain caste?), a rustling like sticks and dry leaves, a high background whine which is always heard at a settlement and which had to be machinery—their air conditioning perhaps.

I did not hear the hissing, cracking noise they make in cutting through rock.

The sounds along the Bug boulevard were unlike the settlement sounds—a low background rumble which increased to a roar every few moments, as if heavy traffic were passing. I listened at post number five, then got an idea—checked it by having the stand-by man at each of the

four posts along the tunnel call out “Mark!” to me each time the roaring got loudest. Presently I reported. “Captain—”

“Yeah, Johnnie?”

“The traffic along this Bug race is all moving one way, from me toward you. Speed is approximately a hundred and ten miles per hour, a load goes past about once a minute.”

“Close enough,” he agreed. “I make it one-oh-eight with a headway of fifty-eight seconds.” “Oh.” I felt dashed, and changed the subject. “I haven’t seen that sapper company.”

“You won’t. They picked a spot in the middle rear of ‘Head Hunter’ area: Sorry, I should have told you. Anything more?”

“No, sir.” We clicked off and I felt better. Even Blackie could forget . . . and there hadn’t been anything wrong with my idea. I left the tunnel zone to inspect the listening post to right and rear of the Bug area, post twelve.

As with the others, there were two men asleep, one listening, one stand-by, I said to the stand-by, “Getting anything?” “No, sir.”

The man listening, one of my five recruits, looked up and said, “Mr. Rico, I think this pickup has just gone sour.” “I’ll check it,” I said. He moved to let me jack in with him.

“Frying bacon” so loud you could smell it!

I hit the all-hands circuit. “First platoon up! Wake up, call off, and report!”

—And clicked over to officers’ circuit. “Captain! Captain Blackstone! Urgent!” “Slow down, Johnnie. Report.”

“‘Frying bacon’ sounds, sir,” I answered, trying desperately to keep my voice steady. “Post twelve at co-ordinates Easter Nine, Square Black One.”

“Easter Nine,” he agreed. “Decibels?”

I looked hastily at the meter on the pickup. “I don’t know, Captain. Off the scale at the max end. It sounds like they’re right under my feet!” “Good!” He applauded—and I wondered how he could feel that way. “Best news we’ve had today! Now listen, son. Get your lads awake—” “They are, sir!”

“Very well. Pull back two listeners, have them spot-check around post twelve. Try to figure where the Bugs are going to break out. And stay away from that spot! Understand me?”

“I hear you, sir,” I said carefully. “But I do not understand.”

He sighed. “Johnnie, you’ll turn my hair gray yet. Look, son, we want them to come out, the more the better. You don’t have the firepower to handle them other than by blowing up their tunnel as they reach the surface—and that is the one thing you must not do! If they come out in force, a regiment can’t handle them. But that’s just what the General wants, and he’s got a brigade of heavy weapons in orbit, waiting for it. So you spot that

breakthrough, fall back and keep it under observation. If you are lucky enough to have a major breakthrough in your area, your reconnaissance will be patched through all the way to the top. So stay lucky and stay alive! Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Spot the breakthrough. Fall back and avoid contact. Observe and report.” “Get on it!”

I pulled back listeners nine and ten from the middle stretch of “Bug Boulevard” and had them close in on co-ordinates Easter Nine from right and left, stopping every half mile to listen for “frying bacon.” At the same time I lifted post twelve and moved it toward our rear, while checking for a dying away of the sound.

In the meantime my platoon sergeant was regrouping the platoon in the forward area between the Bug settlement and the crater—all but twelve men who were ground-listening. Since we were under orders not to attack, we both worried over the prospect of having the platoon spread too widely for mutual support. So he rearranged them in a compact line five miles long, with Brumby’s section on the left, nearer the Bug settlement. This placed the men less than three hundred yards apart (almost shoulder to shoulder for cap troopers), and put nine of the men still on listening stations within support distance of one flank or the other. Only the three listeners working with me were out of reach of ready help.

I told Bayonne of the Wolverines and Do Campo of the Head Hunters that I was no longer patrolling and why, and I reported our regrouping to Captain Blackstone.

He grunted. “Suit yourself. Got a prediction on that breakthrough?”

“It seems to center about Easter Ten, Captain, but it is hard to pin down. The sounds are very loud in an area about three miles across—and it seems to get wider. I’m trying to circle it at an intensity level just barely on scale.” I added, “Could they be driving a new horizontal tunnel just under the surface?”

He seemed surprised. “That’s possible. I hope not—we want them to come up.” He added, “Let me know if the center of the noise moves. Check on it.”

“Yes, sir. Captain—” “Huh? Speak up.”

“You told us not to attack when they break out. If they break out. What are we to do? Are we just spectators?”

There was a longish delay, fifteen or twenty seconds, and he may have consulted “upstairs.” At last he said, “Mr. Rico, you are not to attack at or

near Easter Ten. Anywhere else—the idea is to hunt Bugs.” “Yes, sir,” I agreed happily. “We hunt Bugs.”

“Johnnie!” he said sharply. “If you go hunting medals instead of Bugs—and I find out—you’re going to have a mighty sad-looking Form Thirty- One!”

“Captain,” I said earnestly. “I don’t ever want to win a medal. The idea is to hunt Bugs.” “Right. Now quit bothering me.”

I called my platoon sergeant, explained the new limits under which we would work, told him to pass the word along and to make sure that each man’s suit was freshly charged, air and power.

“We’ve just finished that, sir. I suggest that we relieve the men with you.” He named three reliefs.

That was reasonable, as my ground listeners had had no time to recharge. But the reliefs he named were all scouts.

Silently I cussed myself for utter stupidity. A scout’s suit is as fast as a command suit, twice the speed of a marauder. I had been having a nagging feeling of something left undone, and had checked it off to the nervousness I always feel around Bugs.

Now I knew. Here I was, ten miles away from my platoon with a party of three men—each in a marauder suit. When the Bugs broke through, I was going to be faced with an impossible decision . . . unless the men with me could rejoin as fast as I could. “That’s good,” I agreed, “but I no longer need three men. Send Hughes, right away. Have him relieve Nyberg. Use the other three scouts to relieve the listening posts farthest forward.”

“Just Hughes?” he said doubtfully.

“Hughes is enough. I’m going to man one listener myself. Two of us can straddle the area; we know where they are now.” I added, “Get Hughes down here on the bounce.”

For the next thirty-seven minutes nothing happened. Hughes and I swung back and forth along the forward and rear arcs of the area around Easter Ten, listening five seconds at a time, then moving on. It was no longer necessary to seat the microphone in rock; it was enough to touch it to the ground to get the sound of “frying bacon” strong and clear. The noise area expanded but its center did not change. Once I called Captain Blackstone to tell him the sound had abruptly stopped, and again three minutes later to tell him it had resumed; otherwise I used the scouts’ circuit and let my platoon sergeant take care of the platoon and the listening posts near the platoon.

At the end of this time everything happened at once.

A voice called out on the scouts’ circuit, “‘Bacon Fry’! Albert Two!”

I clicked over and called out, “Captain! ‘Bacon Fry’ at Albert Two, Black One! ”—clicked over to liaison with the platoons surrounding me: “Liaison flash! ‘Bacon frying’ at Albert Two, Square Black One”—and immediately heard Do Campo reporting: “‘Frying bacon’ sounds at Adolf Three, Green Twelve.”

I relayed that to Blackie and cut back to my own scouts’ circuit, heard: “Bugs! Bugs! HELP!” “Where?”

No answer. I clicked over. “Sarge! Who reported Bugs?”

He rapped back, “Coming up out of their town—about Bangkok Six.”

Hit ’em!” I clicked over to Blackie. “Bugs at Bangkok Six, Black One—I am attacking!” “I heard you order it,” he answered calmly. “How about Easter Ten?”

“Easter Ten is—” The ground fell away under me and I was engulfed in Bugs.

I didn’t know what had happened to me. I wasn’t hurt; it was a bit like falling into the branches of a tree—but those branches were alive and kept jostling me while my gyros complained and tried to keep me upright. I fell ten or fifteen feet, deep enough to be out of the daylight.

Then a surge of living monsters carried me back up into the light—and training paid off; I landed on my feet, talking and fighting: “Breakthrough at Easter Ten—no, Easter Eleven, where I am now. Big hole and they’re pouring up. Hundreds. More than that.” I had a hand flamer in each hand and was burning them down as I reported.

“Get out of there, Johnnie!” “Wilco! ”—and I started to jump.

And stopped. Checked the jump in time, stopped flaming, and really looked—for I suddenly realized that I ought to be dead. “Correction,” I said, looking and hardly believing. “Breakthrough at Easter Eleven is a feint. No warriors.”

“Repeat.”

“Easter Eleven, Black One. Breakthrough here is entirely by workers so far. No warriors. I am surrounded by Bugs and they are still pouring out, but not a one of them is armed and those nearest me all have typical worker features. I have not been attacked.” I added, “Captain, do you think this could be just a diversion? With their real breakthrough to come somewhere else?”

“Could be,” he admitted. “Your report is patched through right to Division, so let them do the thinking. Stir around and check what you’ve reported. Don’t assume that they are all workers—you may find out the hard way.”

“Right, Captain.” I jumped high and wide, intending to get outside that mass of harmless but loathsome monsters.

That rocky plain was covered with crawly black shapes in all directions. I overrode my jet controls and increased the jump, calling out, “Hughes!

Report!”

“Bugs, Mr. Rico! Zillions of ’em! I’m a-burnin’ ’em down!”

“Hughes, take a close look at those Bugs. Any of them fighting back? Aren’t they all workers?” “Uh—” I hit the ground and bounced again. He went on, “Hey! You’re right, sir! How did you know?”

“Rejoin your squad, Hughes.” I clicked over. “Captain, several thousand Bugs have exited near here from an undetermined number of holes. I have not been attacked. Repeat, I have not been attacked at all. If there are any warriors among them, they must be holding their fire and using workers as camouflage.”

He did not answer.

There was an extremely brilliant flash far off to my left, followed at once by one just like it but farther away to my right front; automatically I noted time and bearings. “Captain Blackstone—answer!” At the top of my jump I tried to pick out his beacon, but that horizon was cluttered by low hills in Square Black Two.

I clicked over and called out, “Sarge! Can you relay to the Captain for me?” At that very instant my platoon sergeant’s beacon blinked out.

I headed on that bearing as fast as I could push my suit. I had not been watching my display closely, my platoon sergeant had the platoon and I had been busy, first with ground-listening and, most lately, with a few hundred Bugs. I had suppressed all but the non-com’s beacons to allow me to see better.

I studied the skeleton display, picked out Brumby and Cunha, their squad leaders and section chasers. “Cunha! Where’s the platoon sergeant?” “He’s reconnoitering a hole, sir.”

“Tell him I’m on my way, rejoining.” I shifted circuits without waiting. “First Platoon Blackguards to second platoon—answer!” “What do you want?” Lieutenant Khoroshen growled.

“I can’t raise the Captain.” “You won’t, he’s out.” “Dead?”

“No. But he’s lost power—so he’s out.” “Oh. Then you’re company commander?”

“All right, all right, so what? Do you want help?” “Uh . . . no. No, sir.”

“Then shut up,” Khoroshen told me, “until you do need help. We’ve got more than we can handle here.”

“Okay.” I suddenly found that I had more than I could handle. While reporting to Khoroshen, I shifted to full display and short range, as I was almost closed with my platoon—and now I saw my first section disappear one by one, Brumby’s beacon disappearing first.

“Cunha! What’s happening to the first section?”

His voice sounded strained. “They are following the platoon sergeant down.”

If there’s anything in the book that covers this, I don’t know what it is. Had Brumby acted without orders? Or had he been given orders I hadn’t heard? Look, the man was already down a Bug hole, out of sight and hearing—is this a time to go legal? We would sort such things out tomorrow. If any of us had a tomorrow—

“Very well,” I said. “I’m back now. Report.” My last jump brought me among them; I saw a Bug off to my right and I got him before I hit. No worker, this—it had been firing as it moved.

“I’ve lost three men,” Cunha answered, gasping. “I don’t know what Brumby lost. They broke out three places at once—that’s when we took the casualties. But we’re mopping them—”

A tremendous shock wave slammed me just as I bounced again, slapped me sideways. Three minutes thirty-seven seconds—call it thirty miles. Was that our sappers “putting down their corks”? “First section! Brace yourselves for another shock wave!” I landed sloppily, almost on top of a group of three or four Bugs. They weren’t dead but they weren’t fighting; they just twitched. I donated them a grenade and bounced again. “Hit ’em

now!” I called out. “They’re groggy. And mind that next—”

The second blast hit as I was saying it. It wasn’t as violent. “Cunha! Call off your section. And everybody stay on the bounce and mop up.”

The call-off was ragged and slow—too many missing files as I could see from my physicals display. But the mop-up was precise and fast. I ranged around the edge and got half a dozen Bugs myself—the last of them suddenly became active just before I flamed it. Why did concussion daze them more than it did us? Because they were unarmored? Or was it their brain Bug, somewhere down below, that was dazed?I

The call-off showed nineteen effectives, plus two dead, two hurt, and three out of action through suit failure—and two of these latter Navarre was repairing by vandalizing power units from suits of dead and wounded. The third suit failure was in radio & radar and could not be repaired, so Navarre assigned the man to guard the wounded, the nearest thing to pickup we could manage until we were relieved.

In the meantime I was inspecting, with Sergeant Cunha, the three places where the Bugs had broken through from their nest below. Comparison with the sub map showed, as one could have guessed, that they had cut exits at the places where their tunnels were closest to the surface.

One hole had closed; it was a heap of loose rock. The second one did not show Bug activity; I told Cunha to post a lance and a private there with orders to kill single Bugs, close the hole with a bomb if they started to pour out—it’s all very well for the Sky Marshal to sit up there and decide that holes must not be closed, but I had a situation, not a theory.

Then I looked at the third hole, the one that had swallowed up my platoon sergeant and half my platoon.

Here a Bug corridor came within twenty feet of the surface and they had simply removed the roof for about fifty feet. Where the rock went, what caused that “frying bacon” noise while they did it, I could not say. The rocky roof was gone and the sides of the hole were sloped and grooved. The map showed what must have happened; the other two holes came up from small side tunnels, this tunnel was part of their main labyrinth—so the other two had been diversions and their main attack had come from here.

Can those Bugs see through solid rock?

Nothing was in sight down that hole, neither Bug nor human. Cunha pointed out the direction the second section had gone. It had been seven minutes and forty seconds since the platoon sergeant had gone down, slightly over seven since Brumby had gone after him. I peered into the darkness, gulped and swallowed my stomach. “Sergeant, take charge of your section,” I said, trying to make it sound cheerful. “If you need help, call Lieutenant Khoroshen.”

“Orders, sir?”

“None. Unless some come down from above. I’m going down and find the second section—so I may be out of touch for a while.” Then I jumped down in the hole at once, because my nerve was slipping.

Behind me I heard: “Section!

“First squad! ”—“Second squad! ”—“Third squad!”

“By squads! Followme!”—and Cunha jumped down, too. It’s not nearly so lonely that way.

I had Cunha leave two men at the hole to cover our rear, one on the floor of the tunnel, one at surface level. Then I led them down the tunnel the second section had followed, moving as fast as possible—which wasn’t fast as the roof of the tunnel was right over our heads. A man can move in sort of a skating motion in a powered suit without lifting his feet, but it is neither easy nor natural; we could have trotted without armor faster.

Snoopers were needed at once—whereupon we confirmed something that had been theorized: Bugs see by infrared. That dark tunnel was well lighted when seen by snoopers. So far it had no special features, simply glazed rock walls arching over a smooth, level floor.

We came to a tunnel crossing the one we were in and I stopped short of it. There are doctrines for how you should dispose a strike force underground—but what good are they? The only certainty was that the man who had written the doctrines had never himself tried them . . . because, before Operation Royalty, nobody had come back up to tell what had worked and what had not.

One doctrine called for guarding every intersection such as this one. But I had already used two men to guard our escape hole; if I left 10 per cent of my force at each intersection, mighty soon I would be ten-percented to death.

I decided to keep us together . . . decided, too, that none of us would be captured. Not by Bugs. Far better a nice, clean real estate deal . . . and

with that decision a load was lifted from my mind and I was no longer worried.

I peered cautiously into the intersection, looked both ways. No Bugs. So I called out over the non-coms’ circuit: “Brumby!”

The result was startling. You hardly hear your own voice when using suit radio, as you are shielded from your output. But here, underground in a network of smooth corridors, my output came back to me as if the whole complex were one enormous wave guide:

“BRRRRUMMBY!”

My ears rang with it.

And then rang again: “MR. RRRICCCO!”

“Not so loud,” I said, trying to talk very softly myself. “Where are you?” Brumby answered, not quite so deafeningly, “Sir, I don’t know. We’re lost.”

“Well, take it easy. We’re coming to get you. You can’t be far away. Is the platoon sergeant with you?” “No, sir. We never—”

“Hold it.” I clicked in my private circuit. “Sarge—”

“I read you, sir.” His voice sounded calm and he was holding the volume down. “Brumby and I are in radio contact but we have not been able to make rendezvous.”

“Where are you?”

He hesitated slightly. “Sir, my advice is to make rendezvous with Brumby’s section—then return to the surface.” “Answer my question.”

“Mr. Rico, you could spend a week down here and not find me . . . and I am not able to move. You must—” “Cut it, Sarge! Are you wounded?”

“No, sir, but—”

“Then why can’t you move? Bug trouble?”

“Lots of it. They can’t reach me now . . . but I can’t come out. So I think you had better—”

“Sarge, you’re wasting time! I am certain you know exactly what turns you took. Now tell me, while I look at the map. And give me a vernier reading on your D.R. tracer. That’s a direct order. Report.”

He did so, precisely and concisely. I switched on my head lamp, flipped up the snoopers, and followed it on the map. “All right,” I said presently. “You’re almost directly under us and two levels down—and I know what turns to take. We’ll be there as soon as we pick up the second section. Hang on.” I clicked over. “Brumby—”

“Here, sir.”

“When you came to the first tunnel intersection, did you go right, left, or straight ahead?” “Straight ahead, sir.”

“Okay. Cunha, bring ’em along. Brumby, have you got Bug trouble?”

“Not now, sir. But that’s how we got lost. We tangled with a bunch of them . . . and when it was over, we were turned around.”

I started to ask about casualties, then decided that bad news could wait; I wanted to get my platoon together and get out of there. A Bug town with no bugs in sight was somehow more upsetting than the Bugs we had expected to encounter. Brumby coached us through the next two choices and I tossed tanglefoot bombs down each corridor we did not use. “Tanglefoot” is a derivative of the nerve gas we had been using on Bugs in the past— instead of killing, it gives any Bug that trots through it a sort of shaking palsy. We had been equipped with it for this one operation, and I would have swapped a ton of it for a few pounds of the real stuff. Still, it might protect our flanks.

In one long stretch of tunnel I lost touch with Brumby—some oddity in reflection of radio waves, I guess, for I picked him up at the next intersection. But there he could not tell me which way to turn. This was the place, or near the place, where the Bugs had hit them.

And here the Bugs hit us.

I don’t know where they came from. One instant everything was quiet. Then I heard the cry of “Bugs! Bugs!” from back of me in the column, I turned—and suddenly Bugs were everywhere. I suspect that those smooth walls are not as solid as they look; that’s the only way I can account for the way they were suddenly all around us and among us.

We couldn’t use flamers, we couldn’t use bombs; we were too likely to hit each other. But the Bugs didn’t have any such compunctions among themselves if they could get one of us. But we had hands and we had feet—

It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, then there were no more Bugs, just broken pieces of them on the floor . . . and four cap troopers down.

One was Sergeant Brumby, dead. During the ruckus the second section had rejoined. They had been not far away, sticking together to keep from getting further lost in that maze, and had heard the fight. Hearing it, they had been able to trace it by sound, where they had not been able to locate  us by radio.

Cunha and I made certain that our casualties were actually dead, then consolidated the two sections into one of four squads and down we went— and found the Bugs that had our platoon sergeant besieged.

That fight didn’t last any time at all, because he had warned me what to expect. He had captured a brain Bug and was using its bloated body as a shield. He could not get out, but they could not attack him without (quite literally) committing suicide by hitting their own brain.

We were under no such handicap; we hit them from behind.

Then I was looking at the horrid thing he was holding and I was feeling exultant despite our losses, when suddenly I heard close up that “frying bacon” noise. A big piece of roof fell on me and Operation Royalty was over as far as I was concerned.

I woke up in bed and thought that I was back at O.C.S. and had just had a particularly long and complicated Bug nightmare. But I was not at

O.C.S.; I was in a temporary sick bay of the transport Argonne, and I really had had a platoon of my own for nearly twelve hours.

But now I was just one more patient, suffering from nitrous oxide poisoning and overexposure to radiation through being out of armor for over an hour before being retrieved, plus broken ribs and a knock in the head which had put me out of action.

It was a long time before I got everything straight about Operation Royalty and some of it I’ll never know. Why Brumby took his section underground, for example. Brumby is dead and Naidi bought the farm next to his and I’m simply glad that they both got their chevrons and were wearing them that day on Planet P when nothing went according to plan.

I did learn, eventually, why my platoon sergeant decided to go down into that Bug town. He had heard my report to Captain Blackstone that the “major breakthrough” was actually a feint, made with workers sent up to be slaughtered. When real warrior Bugs broke out where he was, he had concluded (correctly and minutes sooner than Staff reached the same conclusion) that the Bugs were making a desperation push, or they would not expend their workers simply to draw our fire.

He saw that their counterattack made from Bug town was not in sufficient force, and concluded that the enemy did not have many reserves—and decided that, at this one golden moment, one man acting alone might have a chance of raiding, finding “royalty” and capturing it. Remember, that was the whole purpose of the operation; we had plenty of force simply to sterilize Planet P, but our object was to capture royalty castes and to learn how to go down in. So he tried it, snatched that one moment—and succeeded on both counts.

It made it “mission accomplished” for the First Platoon of the Blackguards. Not very many platoons, out of many, many hundreds, could say that; no queens were captured (the Bugs killed them first) and only six brains. None of the six were ever exchanged, they didn’t live long enough. But the Psych Warfare boys did get live specimens, so I suppose Operation Royalty was a success.

My platoon sergeant got a field commission. I was not offered one (and would not have accepted)—but I was not surprised when I learned that he had been commissioned. Cap’n Blackie had told me that I was getting “the best sergeant in the fleet” and I had never had any doubt that Blackie’s opinion was correct. I had met my platoon sergeant before. I don’t think any other Blackguard knew this—not from me and certainly not from him. I doubt if Blackie himself knew it. But I had known my platoon sergeant since my first day as a boot.

His name is Zim.

My part in Operation Royalty did not seem a success to me. I was in the Argonne more than a month, first as a patient, then as an unattached casual, before they got around to delivering me and a few dozen others to Sanctuary; it gave me too much time to think—mostly about casualties, and what a generally messed-up job I had made out of my one short time on the ground as platoon leader. I knew I hadn’t kept everything juggled the way the Lieutenant used to—why, I hadn’t even managed to get wounded still swinging; I had let a chunk of rock fall on me.

And casualties—I didn’t know how many there were; I just knew that when I closed ranks there were only four squads where I had started with six. I

didn’t know how many more there might have been before Zim got them to the surface, before the Blackguards were relieved and retrieved.

I didn’t even know whether Captain Blackstone was still alive (he was—in fact he was back in command about the time I went underground) and I had no idea what the procedure was if a candidate was alive and his examiner was dead. But I felt that my Form Thirty-One was sure to make me a buck sergeant again. It really didn’t seem important that my math books were in another ship.

Nevertheless, when I was let out of bed the first week I was in the Argonne, after loafing and brooding a day I borrowed some books from one of the junior officers and got to work. Math is hard work and it occupies your mind—and it doesn’t hurt to learn all you can of it, no matter what rank you are; everything of any importance is founded on mathematics.

When I finally checked in at O.C.S. and turned in my pips, I learned that I was a cadet again instead of a sergeant. I guess Blackie gave me the benefit of the doubt.

My roommate, Angel, was in our room with his feet on the desk—and in front of his feet was a package, my math books. He looked up and looked surprised. “Hi, Juan! We thought you had bought it!”

“Me? The Bugs don’t like me that well. When do you go out?”

“Why, I’ve been out,” Angel protested. “Left the day after you did, made three drops and been back a week. What took you so long?” “Took the long way home. Spent a month as a passenger.”

“Some people are lucky. What drops did you make?” “Didn’t make any,” I admitted.

He stared. “Some people have all the luck!”

Perhaps Angel was right; eventually I graduated. But he supplied some of the luck himself, in patient tutoring. I guess my “luck” has usually been people—Angel and Jelly and the Lieutenant and Carl and Lieutenant Colonel Dubois, yes and my father, and Blackie . . . and Brumby . . . and Ace

—and always Sergeant Zim. Brevet Captain Zim, now, with permanent rank of First Lieutenant. It wouldn’t have been right for me to have wound up senior to him.

Bennie Montez, a classmate of mine, and I were at the Fleet landing field the day after graduation, waiting to go up to our ships. We were still such brand-new second lieutenants that being saluted made us nervous and I was covering it by reading the list of ships in orbit around Sanctuary

—a list so long that it was clear that something big was stirring, even though they hadn’t seen fit to mention it to me. I felt excited. I had my two dearest wishes, in one package—posted to my old outfit and while my father was still there, too. And now this, whatever it was, meant that I was about to have the polish put on me by “makee-learnee” under Lieutenant Jelal, with some important drop coming up.

I was so full of it all that I couldn’t talk about it, so I studied the lists. Whew, what a lot of ships! They were posted by types, too many to locate otherwise. I started reading off the troop carriers, the only ones that matter to an M.I.

There was the Mannerheim! Any chance of seeing Carmen? Probably not, but I could send a dispatch and find out.

Big ships—the new Valley Forge and the new Ypres, Marathon, El Alamein, Iwo, Gallipoli, Leyte, Marne, Tours, Gettysburg, Hastings, Alamo, Waterloo—all places where mud feet had made their names to shine.

Little ships, the ones named for foot sloggers: Horatius , Alvin York, Swamp Fox, the Rog herself, bless her heart, Colonel Bowie, Devereux, Vercingetorix, Sandino, Aubrey Cousens, Kamehameha, Audie Murphy, Xenophon, Aguinaldo

I said, “There ought to be one named Magsaysay.”

Bennie said, “What?”

“Ramón Magsaysay,” I explained. “Great man, great soldier—probably be chief of psychological warfare if he were alive today. Didn’t you ever study any history?”

“Well,” admitted Bennie, “I learned that Simón Bolívar built the Pyramids, licked the Armada, and made the first trip to the moon.” “You left out marrying Cleopatra.”

“Oh, that. Yup. Well, I guess every country has its own version of history.”

“I’m sure of it.” I added something to myself and Bennie said, “What did you say?”

“Sorry, Bernardo. Just an old saying in my own language. I suppose you could translate it, more or less, as: ‘Home is where the heart is.’” “But what language was it?”

“Tagalog. My native language.”

“Don’t they talk Standard English where you come from?”

“Oh, certainly. For business and school and so forth. We just talk the old speech around home a little. Traditions. You know.”

“Yeah, I know. My folks chatter in Español the same way. But where do you—” The speaker started playing “Meadowland”; Bennie broke into a grin. “Got a date with a ship! Watch yourself, fellow! See you.”

“Mind the Bugs.” I turned back and went on reading ships’ names: Pal Maleter, Montgomery, Tchaka, Geronimo— Then came the sweetest sound in the world: “—shines the name, shines the name of Rodger Young!

I grabbed my kit and hurried. “Home is where the heart is”—I was going home.

CH:14

Am I my brother’s keeper?

Genesis IV:9

Howthink ye? If a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?

Matthew XII:12

Howmuch then is a man better than a sheep?

Matthew XVIII:12

In the Name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful . . . whoso saveth the life of one, it shall be as if he had saved the life of all mankind.

Each year we gain a little. You have to keep a sense of proportion.

The Koran, Sûrah V, 32

“Time, sir.” My j.o. under instruction, Candidate or “Third Lieutenant” Bearpaw, stood just outside my door. He looked and sounded awfully young, and was about as harmless as one of his scalp-hunting ancestors.

“Right, Jimmie.” I was already in armor. We walked aft to the drop room. I said, as we went, “One word, Jimmie. Stick with me and keep out of my way. Have fun and use up your ammo. If by any chance I buy it, you’re the boss—but if you’re smart, you’ll let your platoon sergeant call the signals.”

“Yes, sir.”

As we came in, the platoon sergeant called them to attention and saluted. I returned it, said, “At ease,” and started down the first section while Jimmie looked over the second.

Then I inspected the second section, too, checking everything on every man. My platoon sergeant is much more careful than I am, so I didn’t find anything, I never do. But it makes the men feel better if their Old Man scrutinizes everything—besides, it’s my job.

Then I stepped out in the middle. “Another Bug hunt, boys. This one is a little different, as you know. Since they still hold prisoners of ours, we can’t use a nova bomb on Klendathu—so this time we go down, stand on it, hold it, take it away from them. The boat won’t be down to retrieve us; instead it’ll fetch more ammo and rations. If you’re taken prisoner, keep your chin up and follow the rules—because you’ve got the whole outfit

behind you, you’ve got the whole Federation behind you; we’ll come and get you. That’s what the boys from the Swamp Fox and the Montgomery

have been depending on. Those who are still alive are waiting, knowing that we will show up. And here we are. Now we go get ’em.

“Don’t forget that we’ll have help all around us, lots of help above us. All we have to worry about is our one little piece, just the way we rehearsed

it.

“One last thing. I had a letter from Captain Jelal just before we left. He says that his new legs work fine. But he also told me to tell you that he’s got

you in mind . . . and he expects your names to shine!

“And so do I. Five minutes for the Padre.”

I felt myself beginning to shake. It was a relief when I could call them to attention again and add: “By sections . . . port and starboard . . . prepare for drop!”

I was all right then while I inspected each man into his cocoon down one side, with Jimmie and the platoon sergeant taking the other. Then we buttoned Jimmie into the No. 3 center-line capsule. Once his face was covered up, the shakes really hit me.

My platoon sergeant put his arm around my armored shoulders. “Just like a drill, Son.” “I know it, Father.” I stopped shaking at once. “It’s the waiting, that’s all.”

“I know. Four minutes. Shall we get buttoned up, sir?”

“Right away, Father.” I gave him a quick hug, let the Navy drop crew seal us in. The shakes didn’t start up again. Shortly I was able to report: “Bridge! Rico’s Roughnecks . . . ready for drop!”

“Thirty-one seconds, Lieutenant.” She added, “Good luck, boys! This time we take ’em!” “Right, Captain.”

“Check. Now some music while you wait?” She switched it on: “To the everlasting glory of the Infantry—”

The End

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The Elites had it made, living the high life, and then came the fall. A lesson in history.

I love history. It can tell us so much. While others in my school were falling asleep during class, I was getting in and diving deep. I spent my time learning, and researching and enjoying everything that history could tell us. I just loved it.

Alas, it’s not a great way to “put food on the table”. So I migrated to other classes and other studies. Yet, still, history remains a great love of mine.

In particular, the history of “empires before the fall” is of great interest.

I love to read about peoples who blindly “walked” into their very own destruction. Sometimes it was a cocky group of 20,000 knights in state-of-the-art shiny metal armor riding horses to meet 750,000 battle-trained, aggressive Mongol warriors. (Hint: It was a slaughter.) While at other times, it was the corrupt elites living high and well, inside their palaces while unease murmured in the poorer strata of society. (Hint: it did involve death and torture.)

Here we look at ancient Syria.

In a “blink of an eye” the major cities of Syria went from highly developed and prosperous communities, with art and literature, and sustained profitable commerce…

… to a land without written language, epic buildings, or any levels of prosperity. It went feral. The society turned to fallow.

What happened?

This is a reprint of an article titled “The Elites Were Living High. Then Came the Fall.” written on May 11, 2020 in dunyu News, Opinion . Annalee Newitz (@annaleen), a science journalist and contributing opinion writer, is the author of the forthcoming “Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age.” This article was edited to fit this venue, and all credit to the original authors.

About 3,190 years ago, a merchant in Emar, a trading outpost in what is now northern Syria, sent a desperate letter to his boss, Urtenu, who lived in the rich metropolis of Ugarit, a city-state on the coast of Syria. “There is famine,” he wrote. “If you do not quickly arrive here, we ourselves will die of hunger.”

The city Ugarit is shown with a yellow arrow pointing to it. It the city  on the blue territory of the Hittite Empire, on the coast.
The city Ugarit is shown with a yellow arrow pointing to it. It the city on the blue territory of the Hittite Empire, on the coast. It was one of the major cities of the time. All indicated by yellow arrows. (Troy, in Greece. Ur, in Babylon, and Mari.)

A long drought had left the hinterlands around Ugarit in a state of famine, wars were brewing, and there were likely plagues as well. Urtenu may not have realized it, but he was living through the last years of two wealthy cities, Ugarit and Mycenae, that dominated the eastern Mediterranean Sea during what historians call the Bronze Age, from roughly 3000 to 1200 B.C.E.

More than a thousand years before the Greeks invented democracy and the Romans undermined it with imperialism, these city-states of the Bronze Age laid the foundations for what is often called Western civilization. Homer recorded the myths of the Bronze Age in “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey,” and carved stone inscriptions of the pharaohs Hatshepsut and Thutmose III record the machinations of the Bronze Age elites. Although the rulers of the Bronze Age sometimes went to war, the true source of their power, like that of today’s biggest cities, was economic power secured through trade. The final decades of Ugarit and Mycenae tell us a lot about why cities fail — and who survives amid the ashes.

The "Bronze Age" lasted from around 3000 BC to around 1200 BC. Those cities that profited during this period experienced a long series of wars, upsets and famines at this time.
The “Bronze Age” lasted from around 3000 BC to around 1200 BC. Those cities that profited during this period experienced a long series of wars, upsets and famines at this time.

Ugarit and the Greek city-state of Mycenae were two of the most prosperous kingdoms in a thriving international economy that grew along coastal trade routes linking today’s Greece, Turkey, Syria, Lebanon and Egypt. Their markets sold everything from imported olive oil to local grain, while artisans crafted sculptures and weapons from the metal alloy that gave this period its name. Made with tin from Afghanistan and copper from Crete, bronze was the ultimate achievement of long-distance trade as well as technical know-how.

Temple of Baal in Ugarit.
Temple of Baal in Ugarit.

But the Bronze Age was also a time of extreme inequality.

Cities were ruled by wealthy urban aristocrats who controlled trade, relied on various kinds of forced labor, and placed heavy tax burdens on their client states and agricultural villages. When times got hard, the commoners in Ugarit and Mycenae felt the squeeze.

Historians and archaeologists don’t know all the reasons these cities collapsed. But there is evidence that both burned to the ground in the 1100s B.C.E., their sumptuous palaces toppled and abandoned. (There are signs of earthquakes, too.)

For centuries after these events, there are almost no written records. It was as if literacy and culture evaporated along with the kingdoms themselves.

The Spearmen of the Hittite Army.
The Spearmen of the Hittite Army.

Until recently, historians blamed this collapse on marauders known as the Sea People. Supposedly these Sea People sacked the cities, leaving the once-great kingdoms of the Mediterranean to be menaced by pirates or worse.

New research has challenged this whole story.

Eric Cline, a classicist at George Washington University and author of “1177 B.C.: The Year Civilization Collapsed,” explained that there’s no evidence of invaders coming from the outside at Mycenae, so violence must have come from within.

If revolution came from within the cities, then we can well expect the military and the police to round up dissidents and provide hefty fees and punishments.
If revolution came from within the cities, then we can well expect the military and the police to round up dissidents and provide hefty fees and punishments.

Given what’s known about these societies, he concludes that the city’s lower classes may have gotten fed up and just burned it all down.

Josephine Quinn, an archaeologist at University of Oxford, agrees. “The whole Bronze Age system produces a lot of discontent,” she told me.

Mr. Cline and Ms. Quinn’s work puts the achievements of the Bronze Age in a new light. The kings of Mycenae and Ugarit worked hand-in-hand with the wealthiest merchants to get rich. They consolidated economic and political power, to stamp out competition from smaller city-states or independent merchants.

Mr. Cline described a letter from an Ugarit merchant named Sinaranu, who reported that he didn’t have to pay any import tax when his boats returned from Crete loaded up with grain, beer and olive oil. Apparently, tax breaks for the rich are one of the oldest tricks ever invented by the ruling class.

We know what went on in the region by the written records left behind prior to the fall of the empire.
We know what went on in the region by the written records left behind prior to the fall of the empire.

When their cities were swallowed by fire, the Bronze Age ruling classes lost everything, including the subjects they once controlled.

Greece’s population dropped by roughly 50 percent during this time, probably because of a combination of war, drought and migration, according to Sarah Murray, a classics professor at the University of Toronto and author of “The Collapse of the Mycenaean Economy.” Mr. Cline believes that plagues may have driven people into the hinterlands, too.

Still, it’s unlikely that many of these people missed the old ways. “Were they ever concerned about whether the king was adequately supplied with fancy jewelry and ostrich eggs from Egypt?” Ms. Murray asked. “I’d bet that they were not. If anything, the demise of the palaces could have made life easier for them.”

After the uprisings, the Mediterranean was no longer dominated by cities like Ugarit and Mycenae.

Things were different during the Bronze Age. The earth was greener, the air purer, and people lived a pleasant pastoral life.
Things were different during the Bronze Age. The earth was greener, the air purer, and people lived a pleasant pastoral life.

Smaller cities such as Tyre and Sidon, which still stand in Lebanon today, emerged from the Bronze Age unscathed and became centers of culture in the region. It was as if the fall of New York and San Francisco left room for Philadelphia and Oakland to take up the slack.

The merchants of Tyre and Sidon thrived in this new world. They were local business owners with no formal affiliations or political ties. With the collapse of the old kingdoms, they had the freedom to sail unknown seas. Tyre’s traders ventured much further than the representatives of Ugarit ever had, and settled in the territory that became Spain, Morocco and Tunisia.

During the Bronze Age, cities grew. People became prosperous. Rich people emerged and they became powerful. They eventually used their power and wealth to control others.
During the Bronze Age, cities grew. People became prosperous. Rich people emerged and they became powerful. They eventually used their power and wealth to control others.

In other words, the demise of Bronze Age civilization was not an all-out collapse. More accurately, it transformed the nature of political power in cities. Instead of a rigid, international power structure that controlled the whole eastern Mediterranean, there were local governments for each city-state.

One of the reasons historians call this transition period a “collapse” is that writing all but disappeared.

Ms. Quinn said that may have been another sign of the anti-state protests. The kings of Ugarit and Mycenae kept a tight leash on their client states by using written records to track their wealth and levy taxes. Farmers and merchants, she said, might have stopped writing things down to evade the kings’ control.

Writing was important for commerce. How could you conduct trade or commerce over multiple borders? The collapse of all writing implies a collapse of cities, as well as education, and of course, commerce.
Writing was important for commerce. How could you conduct trade or commerce over multiple borders? The collapse of all writing implies a collapse of cities, as well as education, and of course, commerce.

Writing returned to the region a few centuries after the fall of Ugarit, thanks to traders from Tyre and other independent cities. They used a form of writing that was phonetic, based on sounds rather than logographs like Egyptian hieroglyphs. This script, dubbed Phoenician, was easy to learn, easy to adapt to local languages, and became the basis for the modern Roman alphabet we use today.

As we live through what could be the first big cataclysm of the third millennium, the people of the late Bronze Age have something to teach us.

“Invest in the local community, because no matter who is in charge at the top, local business are likely to survive,” said Ms. Quinn.

Of course, she added, the ultrarich companies will survive, too.

The biggest traders of Ugarit didn’t disappear, because they had political connections in the surviving cities like Tyre. Their fancy homes may have burned down, but they could afford to buy new ones.

Typical Bronze Age farming community in the region.
Typical Bronze Age farming community in the region.

Will we face a violent uprising in the wake of economic collapse?

Perhaps, but today’s 1 percent might not suffer the way Bronze Age kings did. For one thing, local trade networks are no longer as robust as the ones that existed in 1000 B.C.E., when merchants from Tyre traded with nearby villages, who then traded with other neighboring towns.

“We really have demolished local manufacturing and supply systems,” Ms. Murray said. “It is a bit sad to reflect on the contrast between the Bronze Age case, in which a few elites bore the brunt of the suffering.”

During the collapse of the Bronze Age, those with strong local connections and relationships survived. It is those that made things, or provided a tangible service that survived the complete collapse of civilization during the Bronze Age.
During the collapse of the Bronze Age, those with strong local connections and relationships survived. It is those that made things, or provided a tangible service that survived the complete collapse of civilization during the Bronze Age.

These days, local traders and small towns depend on international supply chains as much as the kings of Ugarit did. One thing remains certain. Our survival still depends on sustainable local networks, and not tax breaks granted by kings.

Conclusion

The collapse of the Bronze Age was a significant collapse of society. It had many contributors. Much of which was apparently instigated by the wealthiest and most powerful of the day. The end result was a collapse of society on all levels.

This included a collapse of commerce, city and urban life, writing and education. What followed was a quiet time that was not recorded. Whether this was a dangerous and barbaric time, or something more peaceful, we do not know.

These kinds of events happen throughout history. We owe it to ourselves to strengthen our local regional relationships, and become skilled in practical physical construction, farming or services. Just because societal collapse is an infrequent event, does not mean that it does not happen. It does.

Be alert and know your neighbors.

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Predictions on the collapse of America based upon the theory of the “fourteen contradictions”.

American hegemony is in the decline. Are you listening? Every now and then I meet people from various countries. They make fun of America and the way the US president behaves and talks and, of course, tweets. The country`s  reputation is in doldrums. It is retreating from all parts of the world. It is abandoning many international treaties including the Paris Accord on Environment. We are rapidly entering into a post-American world.  The American decline had started since 9/11. However, the next two presidents tried to slow down the process. But, President Donald Trump has sped up the American decline. Now the world is fast learning to live without America as the sole super power of the world.

According to a recent Pew Research Center survey of 37 countries, people around the globe no longer see the US as the sole guarantor of the world peace.  They rightly think that they can do without America. Now the country is increasingly becoming irrelevant in many of the global issues and crises. America is no longer willing to bear the burden of global leadership.

Now the world is looking at China and other emerging powers of the world o fill the vacuum created by the American retreat from so many parts of the world.

-maha Affairs

My God! This is a good read.

In 2004, Johan Galtung predicted that the United States would collapse in 2025. The made this prediction based on trending “contradictions”. These “contradictions” were such that they clearly pointed towards a rapid period of social upheaval in the Untied States. He then, in 2001 after the election of GW Bush, revised the date forward to 2020. There is no way that he could have predicted the coronavirus or COVID-19 global outbreak.

What is so amazing about his predictions is that they have all come to pass. And at that, he should be given every consideration and his writings pondered.

Professor JWC in SF: Johan Galtung, who has been a rather shrewd predictor of historical trends, predicted the US Empire would collapse in 2025. He advanced the date to 2020 with the election of GW Bush. He stands by his date. Would that the Empire had the palindromic good sense of Napoleon.
Professor LCW in SF: It is pretty incredible that Johan Galtung, a Norwegian scholar, made his bold and dire prediction on Dec. 7, 2016 that, with the election of Donald Trump, the decline of U.S. power will speed up and the U.S.. will stop being a global power by 2020. He could not have foreseen the coronavirus and the collapse of the U.S. economy in 2020. Nevertheless, what has been happening since his election and what has been happening since January this year seem to confirm his prediction.

The following article was written a little over two years into the GW Bush Presidency. In it, he accurately predicts what America went through, and has some rather disturbing predictions of what will follow in the following years. It is worth a read.

On the Coming Decline and Fall of the US Empire

By Johan Galtung the Director and Founder of TRANSCEND. Article written and published on January 28, 2004. (Over fifteen years ago.) Reprinted from TFF. With only minor editing to fit this venue.

1. Definitions and Hypotheses: An Overview

Definition:

An empire is a trans-border Center-Periphery system, in macro-space and in macro-time.

With a culture legitimizing a structure of unequal exchange between center and periphery:

  • Economically, between exploiters and exploited, as inequity;
  • Militarily, between killers and victims, as enforcement.
  • Politically, between dominators and dominated, as repression;
  • Culturally, between alienators and alienated, as conditioning.

Empires have different profiles.

The US Empire has a complete configuration, articulated in a statement by a Pentagon planner:

"The de facto role of the United States Armed Forces will be to keep the world safe for our economy and open to our cultural assault. To those ends, we will do a fair amount of killing". 

In other words, direct violence to protect structural violence legitimized by cultural violence.

The Center is the continental USA and the Periphery much of the world.

Like any system it has a life-cycle reminiscent of an organism, with conception, gestation, birth, infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, senescence and death.

Seeded by the British Empire, the maturing colonies honed their imperial skills on indigenous populations, ventured abroad in military interventions defining zones of interest, took over the Spanish Empire, expanding with world, even space hegemony as goal, now in the aging phase with overwhelming control tasks quickly overtaking the expansion tasks.

Decline and fall is to be expected as for anything human; the question is what-why-how-when-where-by whom-against whom.

Answers:

  • What: the four unequal, non-sustainable, exchange patterns above;
  • Why: because they cause unbearable suffering and resentment;
  • How: through the synergies in the synchronic maturation of 14 contradictions, followed by demoralization of system elites;
  • When: within a time frame of, say, 20 years, counting from Y2000;
  • Where: depending on the maturation level of the contradictions.
  • By Whom: the exploited/bereaved/dominated/alienated, the solidary, and those who fight the US Empire to set up their own.
  • Against Whom: the exploiters/killers/dominators/alienators, and those who support the US Empire because of perceived benefits.

The Hypothesis

The hypothesis is not that the fall and decline of the US Empire implies a fall and decline of the US Republic (continental USA).

To the contrary, relief from the burden of Empire control and maintenance when it outstrips the gains from unequal exchange, and expansion increases rather than decreases the deficit, could lead to a blossoming of the US Republic.

This author admits an anti-Empire bias because of enormous periphery suffering outside and inside the Republic; and a pro-US Republic bias because of the creative genius and generosity of the USA.

“Anti-American” makes no such distinction between the US Republic and the US Empire.

The USA compared to Britain

There is no dearth of predictions of economic disaster for the US Republic in the wake of decline and fall of the system “to keep the world safe for our economy and open to our cultural assault”, also from Marxists who (still) believe that Empire-building can be reduced to economic greed satisfied by flagrant inequity.

But this is only one component in a complete imperial syndrome with components attracting and repelling different niches in societies and persons…

  • Economists blind to externalities design theories legitimizing inequity,
  • Unrealistic “realists” enforce “order”,
  • Liberals guide and dominate political choices of others, and
  • Missionaries, religious and secular, try to convert anybody.

All together an enormous drain of resources.

The case of England indicates that an empire can be a burden.

The decline of the British Empire started long before, but the fall of the crown jewel, India, due to a combination of nonviolent (Gandhi) and violent struggle, and the incompatibility of imperialism with the Atlantic Charter, was decisive. The Empire unraveled very quickly over a period of 15 years from 1947, obviously unstable.

And England? Today richer than ever in history.

Welcome, USA.

2. The US Empire: A bird’s-eye view

“At some point, America’s short-term Crisis psychology will catch up to the long-term post-Unraveling fundamentals. This might result in a Great Devaluation, a severe drop in the market price of most financial and real assets. This devaluation could be a short but horrific panic, a free-falling price in a market with no buyers. Or it could be a series of downward ratchets linked to political events that sequentially knock the supports out from under the residual popular trust in the system. As assets devalue, trust will further disintegrate, which will cause assets to devalue further, and so on. Every slide in asset prices, employment, and production will give every generation cause to grow more alarmed.” 

Strauss & Howe – The Fourth Turning

Right after the mass murder in New York and Washington on September 11 2001 Zoltan Grossman circulated a list.

This list was based on Congressional Records and The Library of Congress Congressional Research Service.

There were 133 American military interventions during the111 years, from 1890-2001.

This included everything from the brutal murder of the indigenous population at Wounded Knee in Dakota to the punishment expedition to Afghanistan.

Six of them are the First and Second World Wars, and the Korea, Vietnam, Gulf and Yugoslavian wars.

Democrats started five of them (Bush senior and junior are the exceptions among isolationist Republicans who usually focus more on the exploitation of their own population).

An acceleration in conflict.

  • The average conflicts per year is 1.15 before the second world war, and 1.29 after the Second World War.

Or, in other words, an increase in military intervention.

  • And after the Cold War, from late 1989 on, a heavy increase up to 2.0 conflicts per year.

Which is compatible with the hypothesis that wars increase as empires grow, with more privileges to protect; more unrest to quell, revolts to crush.

Enormous Suffering

William Blum has 300 pages of solid documentation in his Rogue State: A Guide to the World’s Only Superpower (Monroe MA: Common Courage Press, 2000).

The total suffering is enormous:

The victims, the bereaved, the damaged nature, structure (through verticalization)…

… and culture (through brutalization, myths of revenge and honor).

Most of it fits into one single pattern:

Building a US Empire based on economic exploitation of other countries and other peoples. By using direct violence and indirect violence Open violence (Pentagon) and overt indirect violence (CIA). All with open and covert support from US allies.

A polarization of classes and the creation of caste systems

The result is the international class structure with increasing gaps between the poor and rich countries, and between poor and rich people.

Missionary zeal for “democracy”

There is no sign of any clash of civilizations, nor any sign of territorial expansion.

But there is enormous missionary zeal and enormous self-righteousness.

And the rhetoric changes: containment of Soviet expansion, fight against Communism, drugs, intervention for democracy and human rights, against terrorism.

67 Fully Documented Examples

Blum’s list of interventions up to the year 2000 covers 67 cases since 1945 (Grossman has 56, the criteria differ somewhat):

  • China 45-51,
  • France 47,
  • Marshall Islands 46-58,
  • Italy 47-70s,
  • Greece 47-49,
  • Philippines 45-53,
  • Korea 45-53,
  • Albania 49-53,
  • Eastern Europe 48-56,
  • Germany 50s,
  • Iran 53,
  • Guatemala 53-90s,
  • Costa Rica 50s, 70-71,
  • Middle East 56-58,
  • Indonesia 57-58,
  • Haiti 59,
  • Western Europe 50s-60s,
  • British Guiana 53-64,
  • Iraq 58-63,
  • Soviet Union 40s-60s,
  • Vietnam 45-73,
  • Cambodia 55-73,
  • Laos 57-73,
  • Thailand 65-73,
  • Ecuador 60-63,
  • Congo-Zaire 77-78,
  • France-Algeria 60s,
  • Brazil 61-63,
  • Peru 65,
  • Dominican Republic 63-65,
  • Cuba 59-,
  • Indonesia 65,
  • Ghana 66,
  • Uruguay 69-72,
  • Chile 64-73,
  • Greece 67-74,
  • South Africa 60s-80s,
  • Bolivia 64-75,
  • Australia 72-75,
  • Iraq 72-75,
  • Portugal 74-76,
  • East Timor 75-99,
  • Angola 75-80s,
  • Jamaica 76,
  • Honduras 80s,
  • Nicaragua 78-90s,
  • Philippines 70s,
  • Seychelles 79-81,
  • South Yemen 79-84,
  • South Korea 80,
  • Chad 81-2,
  • Grenada 79-83,
  • Suriname 82-84,
  • Libya 81-89,
  • Fiji 87,
  • Panama 89,
  • Afghanistan 79-92,
  • El Salvador 80-92,
  • Haiti 87-94,
  • Bulgaria 90-91,
  • Albania 91-92,
  • Somalia 93,
  • Iraq 90s,
  • Peru 90s,
  • Mexico 90s,
  • Colombia 90s,
  • Yugoslavia 95-99.

There was bombing in 25 cases (for details, read the book):

  • China 45-46,
  • Korea/China 50-53,
  • Guatemala 54,
  • Indonesia 58,
  • Cuba 60-61,
  • Guatemala 60,
  • Vietnam 61-73,
  • Congo 64,
  • Peru 65,
  • Laos 64-73,
  • Cambodia 69-70,
  • Guatemala 67-69,
  • Grenada 83,
  • Lebanon-Syria 83-84,
  • Libya 86,
  • El Salvador 80s,
  • Nicaragua 80s,
  • Iran 87,
  • Panama 89,
  • Iraq 91-,
  • Kuwait 91,
  • Somalia 93,
  • Sudan 98,
  • Afghanistan 98,
  • Yugoslavia 99.

Assassination of foreign leaders, among them heads of state, was attempted in 35 countries, and assistance with torture in 11 countries:

  • Greece,
  • Iran,
  • Germany,
  • Vietnam,
  • Bolivia,
  • Uruguay,
  • Brazil,
  • Guatemala,
  • El Salvador,
  • Honduras,
  • Panama

On top of this come 23 countries where the United States has intervened in elections or has prevented elections:

  • Italy 48-70s,
  • Lebanon 50s,
  • Indonesia 55,
  • Vietnam 55,
  • Guayana 53-64,
  • Japan 58-70s,
  • Nepal 59,
  • Laos 60,
  • Brazil 62,
  • Dominican Republic 62,
  • Guatemala 63,
  • Bolivia 66,
  • Chile 64-70,
  • Portugal 74-5,
  • Australia 74-5,
  • Jamaica 76,
  • Panama 84, 89,
  • Nicaragua 84,90,
  • Haiti 87-88,
  • Bulgaria 91-92,
  • Russia 96,
  • Mongolia 96,
  • Bosnia 98.

161 examples of violence outside the USA

35 (attempted) assassinations + 11 countries with torture + 25 bombings + 67 interventions + 23 interferences with other people’s elections give 161 forms of aggravated political violence only since the Second World War. A world record.

Trends

Increase over time comes with shift in civilization target:

Phase I – Eastern Asia, Confucian-Buddhist
Phase II – Eastern Europe, Orthodox Christian
Phase III – Latin America, Catholic Christian
Phase IV – Western Asia, Islam

The phases overlap, but this is the general picture.

The Phases of Military Empire Excursions

In the first phase the focus was above all on people in Korea, south and north, wanting reunification of their nation, and on poor peasants in Viêt Nam wanting independence.

In the second phase there was the Cold, not Hot, War for containment of communism.

In the third phase the targets were poor people, small and indigenous populations supported by “maoist” students.

And in the fourth phase, which is dominating the picture today, the focus was on Islamic countries and movements, Palestinians being an important example.

American priorities

All the time we find that the USA supports those who favor US business and growth, and works against those who give higher priority to distribution and basic needs of the most needy. They die, 100,000 per day, underfed, underclothed, undersheltered, undercared, underschooled; jobless, hopeless and futureless.

Satisfiers for their needs cannot be bought with the money they do not have, and cannot be bought with labor because that requires jobs or land (seeds, water, manure) they do not have.

A cruel world built on a world trade headed by the USA, supported by US dominated military and allied governments, and often populations who benefit from cheap resources and food products.

Religion

What is new in the fourth phase has something to do with religion. Islam is just as concerned with sin and guilt and expiation, with crime and punishment, as Christianity. But they do not place God and his country, and particularly “God’s Own Country”, the USA, higher than Allah and his countries, particularly not Allah’s own holy country, Saudi Arabia.

A United Nations Security Council with a nucleus of four Christian and one Confucian country have little authority in Islam, as opposed to the authority enjoyed in the Christian countries in Eastern Europe and Latin America. And buddhist, East Asian countries are perhaps more inclined to change a bad joint karma than to issue certificates of guilt to the USA.

In other words, the real resistance had to come in the fourth phase with a new Pearl Harbor that many see as the introduction to a long-lasting Third World War.

The Buildup to World War III

Of that we should not be so certain.

But one thing is clear: Anybody who was the least bit surprised 11 September was ignorant, naive or both.

The bottomless, limitless state terrorism of the United States got a very unsurprising answer: terrorism against the United States.

With an estimated 12-16 million killed, and an average of 10 bereaved for each one, with pain and sorrow, lust for revenge and revanche growing, no act of revenge would be inconceivable. But the deeper roots lie not in the never-ending chain of “blowback” violence. They are in the numerous unresolved conflicts built into the US Empire.

The way to solution for sure passes through US Empire dissolution.

The Pentagon planner’s “to those ends we will do a fair amount of killing” reflects imperial reality. The when-where- against whom has just been explored.

And then what?

3. On the decline and fall of empires: the Soviet Empire case

In a comparative study of the decline (of ten) and fall (of nine, No. 10 is the US Empire) in 1995 , with an economic focus, the conclusion was that no single factor, but a combination of factors in a syndrome was the general cause:

  • A division of labor whereby foreign countries, and/or foreigners inside one’s own country, take over the most challenging and interesting and developing tasks, given the historical situation;
  • A deficit in creativity related to a deficit in technology and good management, including foresight and innovation;
  • One or several sectors of the economy neglected or lagging;
  • And, at the same time, expansionism as ideology/cosmology, exploiting foreign countries and/or one’s own people inviting negative, destructive reactions.

Rome and Russia as examples

The syndrome idea came from an earlier study of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire where many authors have come up with many single factor theories. The idea was then applied to the Soviet Empire in 1980 , focusing on five factors referred to as contradictions, tensions, like the four points above:

In the society:

  • A top-heavy, centralized, non-participatory society run by the Russian nation controlling other nations,
  • The city controlling the countryside,
  • The socialist bourgeoisie the socialist proletariat,
  • The socialist bourgeoisie having nothing to buy because the processing level was too low;

In the world: a confrontational foreign policy run by the Soviet Union controlling and intervening in satellite countries.

The prediction, made many times by this author in 1980, was that the Soviet Empire would crumble not because of any single factor but because of “synchronic maturation of contradictions, followed by demoralization of Center and Periphery elites”, with the Berlin Wall crumbling in an early phase, within 10 years.

The Mechanism.

The mechanism was not the big bang of war, but the whimper of demoralized elites…

… who after lashing out violently become corrupt, alcoholized, overfed, sometimes charming, ego-maniacs.

4. On the contradictions of the US Empire.

The prediction of the decline and fall of the Soviet Empire was based on the synergy of five contradictions, and the time span for the contradictions to work their way through decline to fall was estimated at 10 years in 1980.

1980 Prediction = Fall of Russia in 10 years = 1990.

Sometimes I added a No. 5: between myth, the massive Soviet propaganda, and reality – to some extent dissolved in marvelous jokes.

The prediction of the decline and fall of the US Empire is based on the synergy of 14 contradictions, and the time span for the contradictions to work their way through decline to fall was estimated at 25 years in the year 2000.

2000 Prediction = Fall of the US Empire in 25 years = 2025.

There are more contradictions because the US Empire is more complex, and the time span is longer also because it is more sophisticated.

After the first months of President George W. Bush (selected) the time span was reduced to 20 years because of the way in which he sharpened so many of the contradictions posited the year before, and because his extreme singlemindedness made him blind to the negative, complex synergies. He just continued.

Revised Prediction = Fall of the US Empire in 20 years = 2020

President William J. Clinton (elected, twice) was seen in a different light.

Confronted with a pattern of contradictions, no doubt with significant differences in terminology and numbers, his violence was an intervention in Somalia that he canceled, a war against Serbia of which he evidenced heavy doubts and never any enthusiasm, and a couple of missiles fired in anger.

Being superintelligent, demoralization in high places, and sex in strange places, might have been the consequences.

Hypothesis: they tried to impeach him not so much for the latter as for the former – using the latter as pretext. The effort misfired, but a highly non-demoralized George Bush captured the US Presidency.

Here is the list of 14 contradictions posited in 2000:

I. Economic Contradictions (US led system WB/IMF/WTO NYSE Pentagon)

1. Between growth and distribution: overproduction relative to demand, 1.4 billion below $ 1/day, 100.000 die/day, 1/4 of hunger

2. Between productive and finance economy (currency, stocks,bonds) overvalued, hence crashes, unemployment, contract work

3. Between production/distribution/consumption and nature: ecocrisis, depletion/pollution, global warming

II. Military Contradictions (US led system NATO/TIAP/USA-Japan)

4. Between US state terrorism and terrorism: Blowback

5. Between US and allies (except UK, D, Japan), saying enough

6. Between US hegemony in Eurasia and the Russia India China triangle, with 40% of humanity

7. Between US led NATO and EU army: The Tindemans follow-up

III. Political Contradictions (US exceptionalism under God)

8. Between USA and the UN: The UN hitting back

9. Between USA and the EU: vying for Orthodox/Muslim support

IV. Cultural Contradictions (US triumphant plebeian culture)

10. Between US Judeo-Christianity and Islam (25% of humanity; UNSC nucleus has four Christian and none of the 56 Muslim countries).

11. Between US and the oldest civilizations (Chinese, Indian, Mesopotamian, Aztec/Inca/Maya)

12. Between US and European elite culture: France, Germany, etc.

V. Social Contradictions (US led world elites vs the rest: World Economic Forum, Davos vs World Social Forum, Porto Alegre)

13. Between state corporate elites and working classes of unemployed and contract workers. The middle classes?

14. Between older generation and youth: Seattle, Washington, Praha, Genova and ever younger youth. The middle generation?

15. To this could be added: Between myth and reality.

The list was a simple reading of the US Empire situation. More sophisticated discourses are certainly possible, keeping the key ideas of syndromes, synergies and demoralization.

5. The maturation of contradictions: An update after 3 years

We shall use the same formulations as above, drop the small explanatory remarks in the above list, and add some kind of, hopefully informed, running commentary on contemporary affairs.

Obviously, the US Empire as a functioning, dynamic reality, not as a static structure, with the 14 contradictions in its wake is a very complex system.

In such systems linearities are rare, causal chains split and unite; loops, spirals, any curve shape, are ubiquitous. Quantum jumps when two factors are strongly coupled, one changes and the other remains constant, will be frequent.

But the prediction is that within twenty years the four types of unequal exchange with the USA in the Center will wither away, whether what comes is more equal exchange or less exchange, in other words isolation. Or both.

I. Economic Contradictions

1. Between growth and distribution:

Generally growth is sluggish with the possible exception of China, and the distribution often worsening, both between and within countries.

However, the basic concern is with livelihood at the bottom of world society, the preventable mortality and the suffering due to near-death morbidity from hunger or easily preventable/curable diseases.

That syndrome is with us, and the analysis in terms of overproduction leading to unemployment leading to under-demand leading oversupply leading to more unemployment etc. stands.

At the same time monetization of land/seeds/water/manure impedes the conversion of labor into food by tilling one’s own land.

The US Empire pursues growth but neglects and prevents distribution, thereby undercutting itself since a key aspect of growth in increased demand, meaning increased consumption, all over.

2. between productive and finance economy.

Domestic and global market turnover being high even if the growth is sluggish in the productive economy in many countries, and distribution being low there will be heavy accumulation of liquidity high up searching for an outlet.

Luxury consumption and productive investment being limited the obvious outlet is buying and selling in the finance economy, also known as speculation.

The productive economy responds by putting up bogus, virtual enterprises like ENRON and WORLDCOM that the growth in the finance economy quickly gets out of synch with growth in the productive economy.

Thus, the 2001 sharpening of his contradiction into a crash for some stocks and depreciation of the US dollar was as expected, indicative of a chronic pathology.

One basic cure for that pathology is the distribution that the US Empire, through its use of the WB/IMF/WTO NYSE Pentagon system is impeding. As that cure is at present unavailable the underlying pathology will produce new increases in financial goods values and new crashes.

3. between production/distribution/consumption and nature:

The Bush administration’s unilateral exit from the Kyoto Protocol sharpened this contradiction considerably and was a key factor behind the banner at the 2002 summit in South Africa: Thank you, Mr Bush, you have made the world hate America.

The explanation given was that the Protocol impeded US economic growth (meaning unacceptable to powerful corporations).

This move endangers the planet and is an expression of contempt for global regimes based on negotiating ratifiable treaties.

The USA could have demanded re-negotiation. But the US Empire had other priorities and mobilized millions in the movement for sustainable development against the USA.

II. Military Contradictions

4. Between US state terrorism and terrorism:

This contradiction underwent a quantum jump on 11 September 2001 although the number killed was less than the number killed in the aftermath of the other 11 September, in 1973.

The USA supported coup against the socialist government of Salvador Allende (one of the now 68 interventions after the Second World War, counting Iraq). 

Highly predictable, as predictable as its repetition unless the US Empire itself exits from the cycle of violence and decides to understand “that the enemy may be us/US”.

But the US Empire now talks about interventions in more than 60 countries, lasting more than a lifetime. A heavy price for the failure to try to, or the effort to avoid to, solve conflicts/contradictions.

At this point an obvious remark:

An effort to explain 9/11, for instance as a “reaction to the US Empire by hitting two major instruments for economic and military operation”…

…or the short-hand as “revenge” and “unresolved conflict” in no way justifies the gruesome act.

Nor is the US intervention in Afghanistan and Iraq justified.

But like Kosova they can both be partly explained as efforts to maintain and expand the US Empire, for more control of the world oil market, and “to keep the world safe for our economy” by establishing military bases.

Violence hits the Empire at their strongest point, is as wrong, ineffective and counterproductive as the US violence and mobilizes against the perpetrators.

Ruling out explanation as justification runs against Enlightenment rationality: solve problems by identifying causal chains, then removing causes like violence cycles and unresolved conflicts.

But the US Empire stands in the way and will ultimately have to yield.

5. between US and allies:

Very fluid. The US Empire does not want to be seen as the US Empire but as something generally supported by “advanced societies”, “civilized” as against “evil”, “chaotic” and “terrorist”. Washington builds coalitions with Allies in the NATO/TIAP/US-Japan systems, and others.

This contradiction (and many others) has never surfaced so clearly as in connection with the war against Iraq, but there were also tensions budding in connection with the Yugoslavia and Afghanistan operations.

Public opinion is not an important variable here.

Washington deals with governments and for that reason is very concerned with who are the members.

The three ways of exercising power, persuasion, bargaining and threats, are best exercised behind closed doors so as not to be exposed to anything like the German Foreign Minister’s devastating remark to the US Secretary of Defense in München February 2003:

"In a democracy you have to present arguments for your position, and your arguments are not convincing." 

If the public knew what goes on behind closed doors, like supporting an attack on Iraq in return for having somebody inscribed on the US list of terrorist organization, the opposition would increase.

In 2000 UK, Germany and Japan were seen as reliable allies.

This failed to predict the German position, linked to the Social Democratic Party having been pressed already against its inner conviction over Yugoslavia and Afghanistan.

Australia, however, was highly predictable as an Anglo-Saxon country , and Japan behaved as predicted.

The cost-benefit analysis of the countries varies, but the trend is against unconditional support for the US Empire. A very sensitive contradiction that will sharpen if people exercise much more pressure on governments.

6. Between US hegemony in Eurasia and Russia India China:

These are enormous countries, unconquerable so the USA has approached them through their fear of Muslim populations, in Chechnya, in Kashmir (and all over) and Xinjiang respectively.

After the NATO expansion eastward and the USA-Japan alliance (with Taiwan and South Korea as de facto members) expansion westward from 1995, the three countries resolved most of their problems, came closer together (although not in a formal alliance).

But those moves were temporarily stopped by the USA aligning them against Islamic terrorism, meaning Muslims fighting for more autonomy/independence in the three places mentioned.

The attack on Iraq seems to have sharpened the contradiction again as they do not participate in the occupation (knowing something about Islamic guerrillas). But the USA still has considerable market access and investment economic clout with all three governments.

7. Between USA led NATO and an EU army:

This is not the same as the two preceding points which are more about abstaining from support, and countries feeling the pincer movement of the US Empire, possibly creating an alliance.

Here we are dealing with a new multinational army of a potential superpower, creating identity problems for some members.

The question, "why do they need this army when they have NATO?" has an answer in dualist logic: "this shows they are not entirely with us, hence they are against us."

There will be much maneuvering behind closed doors concerning this contradiction.

But the general move will be in the direction of an EU Army for some members, building on the present Eurocorps, with a line of command that does not end in Washington, nor passes through Washington except for some exchange of information. For defensive purposes or a coming EU Empire? To take over the spoils?

III. Political Contradictions

8. Between USA and the UN:

The most powerful country in the world also uses the veto in the Security Council most frequently and has close to a de facto economic veto by withholding or withdrawing support for programs not to their liking.

In addition to the US Empire clout on many UN members, like changing the conditions for loans according to voting pattern.

That this behavior is resented stands to reason and that resentment came out in the open when the Anglo-Saxon USA/UK alliance failed to get their second resolution on Iraq accepted by the UNSC.

However, very energetic US diplomacy and again US Empire clout prevented what Washington was afraid of using the Uniting for Peace resolution to lift an issue that has gotten stuck in the UNSC into the General Assembly.

A UNGA debate and vote would make the limited support for an attack on Iraq rather than the French-German approach of deep UN inspection clear.

9. Between USA and the EU:

This goes far beyond EU army vs NATO.

The EU has today 15 members, by May 2004 there will be 25, with more to come. If the EU, very much in their own interest, decided to bridge the basic fault-lines in the whole European construction, between Orthodox and Catholic/Protestant Christianity, and between Islam and Christianity (from 1054 and 1095 respectively) by opening the EU for Russian and Turkish membership, well, then the USA would be very far behind indeed.

We would be talking of 750 million+ inhabitants.

The process of membership might have to be gradual, like X% increase per year in access to EU labor market against X% increase per year in access to resources.

The relation to East Asia may be problematic, but the EU is also doing good work on this fault-line.And a giant EU could only gain from abstaining from any imitation of the US Empire, signing up for UN support instead.

IV. Cultural Contradictions

10. Between US Judeo-Christianity and Islam:

These are the abrahamitic religions, and the expression Judeo-Christianity, so frequent in the USA, draws a wedge among them.

With the recent fundamentalist alliance based on the idea that Armageddon is near and that the first coming of the Messiah and the second coming of Christ could be the same person, this contradiction has become very sharp indeed.

But Islam is expanding very quickly, Christianity is not and the Jews are a small minority.

This rift will mark clear borders against US Empire penetration.

The young Saudi Wahhabite perpetrators on 9/11 may have acted more than they dreamt of on behalf of 1.3 billion Muslims, and not only 300 million Arabs. And this warlike relation will limit US Empire expansion considerably.

11. Between US and the oldest civilizations:

When people talk of fundamentalism they usually mean the religious articulation of old cultures.

But cultures are many-dimensional, including language and other forms of expression, and sacred times and sacred places in history and geography, anything.

There are awakenings all over the world, seeing ancient non-Western cultures not as exotic museum objects to be observed but not lived.

The destruction of artifacts from Sumer/Babylon in Iraq was seen as an effort to make the Iraqis governable by destroying other foci of identification. A typical example of a contradiction in an early, infant stage, but filled with potential for rapid maturation and powerful articulation.

12. Between US and European elite culture:

The world, or so the West thinks, has four major geo-cultural Centers:

  • The USA.
  • The UK.
  • France.
  • Germany.

Others can learn to imitate or produce exotica. France and Germany continue the struggle for cultural prevalence relative to the USA, with Anglo-Saxon UK being somewhere in between.

V. Social Contradictions

13. Between state corporate elites and working classes of unemployed and contract workers:

The powerful US trade union complex, the AFL/CIO, voted for the first time against a war: Iraq.

But the working classes are today kept in line by the threat of unemployment and the inferiority of contract work relative to that vanishing category, the real position, with security.

The state-corporate elites are better organized and at making themselves insubstitutable. They can make hire and fire become easy, with the ultimate threat of automation (“modernization”) settling issues.

The postmodern economy can do without workers, but not without customers.

Firing workers they fire customers by reducing their acquisitive power.

The world middle classes can join by boycotting the products of the US Empire, like oil from Iraq, Boeing aircraft (one of the major death factories in the world); in general boycotting US consumer goods, capital goods and financial goods, like US dollars, stock and bonds – but keeping personal contacts.

14. Between older generation and youth:

Younger than ever, not only college students against the Viêt Nam war but high school students, easily mobilized through the Internet as long as that lasts.

Maybe an element of myth versus reality in this: they have been served propaganda that seems very remote from reality.

The same may apply to women, but here Washington has played the cards well:`”homeland security” drives the issue home and women into the ranks defending the defenders of the home and the family.

But the other nations in the USA, the Inuits, Hawai’ians, First Nations, Chicanos, African Americans, could be pitted against the Anglo-Saxon, Southern Baptist, militarized Deep South, now in command.

Hopefully they will not create an emergency to cancel elections they may not win.

7. And the decline and fall?

Have a look at the 14 contradictions, and then a look at the definition of an empire. The way of solving these contradictions eating at the heart of the system is very simple:

For the 3 economic contradictions: reduce, even stop exploiting!
For the 4 military contradictions: reduce, even stop killing!
For the 2 political contradictions: reduce, even stop dominating!
For the 3 cultural contradictions: reduce, even stop alienating!
For the 2 social contradictions: reduce, even stop all the above!

For each reduction, the US Empire is, by definition, declining.

For each stop the US Empire is falling.

Stop all four, and the US Empire is gone, although some may survive in residual forms like the Russian Empire in Chechnya and the British Empire in Iraq.

The most dramatic recent example.

The most dramatic recent example is possibly the dissolution of the French Empire: de Gaulle had the incredible personal grandeur to terminate the whole empire (except for the Pacific and some other places) and like for the Soviet and British Empires a number of independent countries were born.

Global capitalism, however, has a tendency to recreate trans-border exploitation, and there are, as mentioned, residuals.

A new world was born, however, in the 1960s from the Western empires, in the 1990s from the Soviet Empire.

Only the naive will assume that new world to be paradise on earth.

New systems emerge with their contradictions.

The tradeoffs

The rulers of the British, French and Soviet empires had concluded that the costs by far outrun the gains.

Some others sometimes come to the conclusion that the costs of the fall, including for the Periphery, by far outrun the gains.

That, of course, depends on the successor system, the alternative.

This author favors United Nations global governance, and not an EU Empire. But that is another story.

Confusions

The British and French empires were based on “overseas” colonies, the Soviet empire on contiguous, Czarist/Bolshevik, “union”, and the US Empire is based on what the Pentagon planner said, with the non-US Periphery being “independent” countries.

This confuses some whose empire concept is linked to “colonies” and not to independent countries; and others whose concept is linked to “overseas”, not to contiguous territory.

Still others got confused because three of these Centers are Western democracies, beyond the suspicion of ever committing major wrongs.

As for the ending…

The definition opening this essay is based on a relation of unequal exchange between Center and Periphery, not on Periphery geography or Center polity.

That unequal exchange, divided into four components, is the root contradiction of the empire as a system.

From the four deep contradictions flow the fourteen surface contradictions, visible to everybody, the subject of journalism. The deep contradictions almost never are.

So the basic model explored so far is: 4 deep contradictions imply 14 surface contradictions.

As the 14 mature, synchronize and synergize the Center may loosen the grip on the Periphery…

  • In one conscious, enlightened act (de Gaulle) or,
  • See the Empire dissolve, slowly (UK) or,
  • Quickly (the Soviet Union).

USA, the choice is yours.

The USA today

But the USA now behaves like a wounded elephant, lashing out in all directions.

This is the boiling stage of demoralization, with emotions impeding rational thinking about is and ought, to be followed by a frozen stage, a “let go”, more like the Soviet Union, or Clinton.

Demoralization is oscillating before it stabilizes.

Like individual pathologies, healing is related to the ability to come on top of the pathology rather than the other way round. Like now, with the USA driven by a conflict mainly of its own making.

The current contradictions

The model above can now be expanded: [4] implies [14] implies Demoralization implies -[4] implies -[14] The 4 deep lead to 14 surface contradictions and demoralization which leads to a let go of Empire and the dissolution of the 14.

However: the 4 may have deeper roots.

Thus, where does the inequity come from? From an unfettered capitalism so inequitable that it needs some military protection.

But where does capitalism come from?

And all that violence?

The cultural superiority complex with missionary right and duty, and no duty to understand other cultures, may be related to the sense of exceptionalism as God’s Chosen People and Country. But where does that idea come from?

And so on and so forth.

The 4 defining the US Empire are not uncaused, not unconditioned.

But the focus here is on their removal and not on removing even deeper, but very evasive causes. This can happen through negative feedback loops via waning faith in the viability of the Empire as a system, in other words demoralization.

The 14 may have other roots. The economic contradictions come from capitalism; the USA was violent before the US Empire; some EU members may hate the US Empire because it stands in the way of their own ambitions; the same applies to competitive cultures such as an Islam that wants an expanding dar-al-Islam, the abode of Islam, as successor to the battlefield, the dar-al-harb.

But the world is better off under USA than under EU or Islam, some say.

There is some truth to all of that. But the problem is not only the US share of the world capitalist pie but how it implies killing, domination and alienation. This has to decline, fall and go, while paying attention to all the other contradictions.

There will be class, generation, gender, nation struggle also without the US Empire. True, but today that is the major problem.

The 14 may strengthen the resolve to maintain the 4. In the beginning, and one at the time, yes. Cosmetics may be applied, bland compromises entered, people articulating the contradictions silenced, ridiculed, persecuted, killed.

It is the synergy of several contradictions that leads to demoralization and ultimate decline.

Contradictions between dominant and dominated nations within a country tend to bounce back and find new outlets. The dominated face brutal force but not nagging doubts about viability.

Their national home is a dream untested by contradictions whereas the empire has been tested and found nonviable at any speed.

Demoralization may not negate the 4.

What we expect to happen…

What we are talking about is decreasing faith in the viability…

… even decreasing faith in the legitimacy, of the Empire.

With boiling anger at first, then a frozen let go.

With the possibility of an autonomous let go.

Either the Center deliberately looses the grip, or the Periphery slips out its clammy, feeble claws.

Either way, decline and fall.

However, after a phase of demoralization a new political class may decide not to let go but just the contrary, to strengthen the grip, like the USA is trying right now.

Given the obvious, the impermanence of everything, this will only postpone the inevitable.

Negating the 4 may not negate the 14.

This is certainly more true than untrue. As explored below, we may even talk about an objective contradiction having lost, or even crushed, its subject in search of a new subject.

There are many other roots for many of the contradictions. That one contradiction (syndrome) may conceal another, the latter blossoming when the former is wilting, is clear.

But that daoist insight will not stop contradictions from maturing.

As to the US Empire, there is light at the end of a long and twisting tunnel. But after that tunnel there are new tunnels.

8. On contradictions in general

The concept itself harbors contradictions in the sense of tensions among meanings. The common factor seems to be a whole, a holon, a system, with at least two forces operating.

The tension is between the forces.

There is no assumption of only two forces, nor that they are exactly opposite, nor that they are of the same size. Newton’s Third Law is written that way, expressing a contradiction. But that is a special case and should not distort our ideas of social systems.

We need a more general discourse.

General discussion on systems

Before two or more forces let us explore the cases of 0 or 1.

Even with the vagueness of “force” it is not unreasonable to attribute the property “dead” to a system with no force, no movement, tendency, inclination. The objection may be that much happens to a buried corpse: “to” yes, but not “in”. The forces are exogenous to the system, not endogenous, like in a live organism.

Introduce one force, like running.

The body spends energy. And the counterforce is not slow in announcing itself as fatigue, trying to change a motion into a non-motion referred to as “rest”. The mechanical analogue brings up the idea of R, a dynamically changing resultant force that reflects magnitude and direction of all forces. The system will move or rest with the resultant. R>0 means move, R=0 means equilibrium, R<0 means rest deficit.

Is a force always accompanied by a counterforce? Is there always a reactio with an actio? And in systems with foresight, could there even be a proactio for any expected actio? And a pro-proactio? I find this a very useful an axiom in the analysis of social and personal systems. But I see no reason to assume that reactio and proactio are necessarily opposed. They could also be aligned with actio and, at least to start with, reinforce actio.

The idea of force-counterforce twins might lead us to an even number of forces as they come in pairs. We do not say that one is producing or generating the other since that leads to an infinite number. Rather, we assume synchronicity; they are “co-arising” as buddhist epistemology will have it rather than one force generating the next, generating the next, etc. And there is no reason to land on an even number. Another metaphor might be a bundle of forces somehow accounting for the tensions in the system.

Practical Discussion

Let us move from general talk about “systems” and “forces” to more specific social and personal systems. In the conceptual neighborhood is the idea of “conflict” as tension in goal-seeking systems because of incompatibility between the goals.

Goals are then associated with life even when attributed metaphorically to non-life as in “mountains striving upward”.

If incompatible goals are in the same system we have a dilemma, if in different systems we have a dispute.

A goal-holder conscious of the goal is an actor, if not conscious a party. And that brings in the major distinction between subjective and objective contradictions.

A subjective contradiction passes through and is reflected by the human brain; as thought/consciousness, as speech/articulation as action/mobilization. But not necessarily in that order, intellectualized like a philosopher who first reflects, then writes and then – maybe does nothing.

We could just as well assume the opposite order, the actor mobilizing for action out of old habit, then saying what he feels he thinks and thinking what he feels. Or any other sequence. But sooner or later there is consciousness.

With two goals we get two goal-seeking forces, A and B, and three possibilities for the resultant: R=A (A wins), R=B (B wins) or R=0, an in-between equilibrium, also known as a compromise.

At that point the mechanical analogy breaks down.

The three cases do not exhaust the possibilities. Moreover, they do not eliminate the contradiction. A or B wins does not mean that the dissatisfied loser no longer has the same or some other goal incompatible with the winner’s goal.

The contradiction is still there, under the lid of the boiling cauldron of a defeat. And a compromise may leave both of them semi-dissatisfied. If we use the term “sharp” to describe the contradiction as it was, “blunt” may apply to a compromise. But how do we transcend the contradiction?

Since the three possibilities exhaust the logic of opposing forces within a system, the answer is “by changing the system”.

Changing the System

This is what Gorbachev faced in the contradiction between the Soviet Empire and the social forces wanting basic change in the DDR: he let the DDR go.

The contradiction now being between people and party elites in the DDR, the latter then yielded to West Germany, BRD, eventually to be absorbed by them. As a result the Soviet Empire declined and fell and BRD absorbed DDR. The contradiction is still there, but finds other articulations.

And this is what Gorbachev’s successors never managed to do with Chechnya. All they could do was to prevent them from winning, not to transcend the contradiction. For that to happen they would have to let Chechnya go, which will happen sooner or later anyhow.

For the contradiction to be transcended, and the tension to be released, system change is needed, and more so the deeper the contradiction is in the system.

An empire is not changed by suppressing, winning, over some party or even actor; that only makes the empire more imperial.

An empire is changed by becoming less imperial. And that is also known as a decline from the empire’s point of view. At the end of that road is its fall.

The stages in the contradiction life-cycle can be summarized:

[0] Objective contradiction independent of consciousness

[1] Consciousness-formation through THOUGHT (intrasubjective)

[2] Articulation through SPEECH (intersubjective)

[3] Mobilization through ACTION (private and/or public)

[4] Struggle among mobilized actors

violent or nonviolent
quick or slow
without or with outside parties mediating
with less or more polarization = decoupling
[5] Outcomes of struggle

[a] prevalence or compromise - back to [0]-[4]
[b] transcendence = a new reality
- negative transcendence under a new actor
- positive transcendence as new coupling

Through the [1]-[2]-[3] sequence a party becomes an actor pursuing goals by more or less adequate tactics chosen from [4].

[5a] does not end the lifecycle of a contradiction, only a lid on it or a blunting of it, as has been argued above.

[5b], transcendence, is the end of that contradiction lifecycle. This does not mean the end/death of the system as it may harbor other contradictions at various lifecycle stages.

Transcendence, going beyond, is the creation of a new reality: -negative transcendence, neither-nor; goals not achieved -positive transcendence, both-and; goals achieved, with a twist.

Ecuador-Peru conflict

Take the Ecuador-Peru conflict over where to draw the border in a contested 500km2 zone up in the Andes, with three wars to settle the issue.

  • Military victory for one of them, annexing the zone to their national territory, is “prevalence”.
  • Drawing a border, for instance along a ceasefire line, is “compromise”. Negative transcendence could be to give the zone to the UN or the OEA, creating a new social reality.
  • And positive transcendence could be a binational zone, owning it together, with the twist that neither country has monopoly. A new reality. And both new realities, systems, would in turn produce their own contradictions.

Time has then come to explore the problematic relations between objective and subjective contradictions.

A social system comes with differences between categories– like genders, generations, races, classes, nations, territories– which then become relations in an interaction system; which then become fault-lines, usually because the interaction is on unequal terms; which then may lead to polarization and a structure of discrimination accompanied by a culture of prejudice. All known societies harbor more or less of these inequalities and inequities.

An empire uses such structures and cultures as building blocks, and can be seen as a two (or multi-)tier system linking domestic and global faultlines. There is a Center and a Periphery in the global system of countries. Inside the Center, and inside the Periphery, there is also a center and a periphery. All three systems may be based on the logic of quadruple inequity (for killers-killed sometimes substitute the softer guards-prisoners).

The linchpin

The linchpin in the system is the harmony between the center in the Center and the center in the Periphery.

The USA is right now (Summer 2003) trying to construct an Iraqi center in harmony of interest with the USA state/corporate center. The Iraqi center must do the four jobs locally and deliver the fruits of unequal exchange such as economic value, wanted terrorists, obedience, conditioning to the center in the (USA/UK) Center, keeping a commission.

They are rewarded with material living standard at a US elite level.

What has just been described is a simple empire linking three systems of unequal exchange, two domestic and one global.

The US empire is complex; being a world hegemon no domestic system is entirely delinked from that empire. The EU empire links 15 (soon 25) Center countries to 100+ Periphery countries, but softly so.

There are also other divisions than the faultlines in domestic and global society, like among political parties in more or less democratic societies, and groups of countries in an undemocratic global system.

Social movements, the subjective contradictions, more or less conscious, articulated and mobilized across some primordial or newly created dividing lines, prepolarize the system, and are ready for [4], struggle. But for what?

Ideally for the objective contradiction, with an unresolved issue at the center which then has to become the cause of the movement. And that gives rise to basic problem of adequacy in the coupling between subjective and objective contradictions, between the causes and the issues. Both are parts of social reality. But the movements may have an inadequate consciousness and cut the issues wrongly. And the issue may be an orphan, waiting to be picked up by a movement with adequate consciousness. There may be a contradiction between movement contradiction and issue contradiction. And the result is bad, derailed politics.

Myanmar/Burma

Thus, the subjective contradiction in Myanmar/Burma between the autocratic military government SLORC and the pro-democracy movement headed by a woman. A woman, identified with one nation in a multi-national society, one upper/middle class in a very poor society. However, married to a Westerner in a country developing its own identity may be inadequate for the objective contradictions of the country.

From a Western point of view the basic contradictions are autocracy vs (Western) democracy and closure vs openness of the country to economic and cultural penetration.

The subjective contradiction is adequate for those issues. But there are other issues. Inadequacy may derail the process. The objective and the subjective must somehow mirror each other.

India

Thus, Gandhi had literally speaking to divest himself of his Westernness and his high caste paraphernalia, become very Hindu and share the living conditions of the lower castes and untouchables before he could lead Indian masses toward freedom and democracy.

The leader of Free India, however, Jawaharlal Nehru, was very Western, very high caste, very secular and steered India exactly in that direction.

Gandhi wanted an India based on the “oceanic circles” of autonomous, self-reliant villages; Nehru a modern, secular, industrial, socialist India. The subjective matters.

Liberals tend to study the subjective movements and Marxists the objective issues. The argument here is for both-and, and more particularly for the contradiction between the two contradictions.

Norway

An example from Norway: the objective contradiction a century ago between the “well conditioned” and the majority “populace”, in steep livelihood gradients, and the subjective contradictions in the party system.

The populace lived on farming, fishing, hunting, and as employees; the well conditioned from fortune, as employers or self-employed.

There were grey zones.

The Labor Party, through an act of political genius, created an alliance of farmers, fishermen and industrial workers, very adequately posited against the well conditioned.

They won the elections, prevailed for two generations, and created a new social reality, the welfare state.

That society had its own objective contradictions, positing a minority of aged-women-frail/handicapped-foreign workers against the rest. Uncarried by adequate subjective contradictions the objective contradiction deepens in the midst of plenty. The Labor Party was totally inadequate. And the issue remains unsolved.

Movements against the US Empire: social reality is complex. Only when cause and issue coincide will the movements be adequate.

Conclusions

Now, this piece was written over fifteen years ago. So it is dated. Issues of the day then seem trivial now, with modern issues and conditions quite different.

Never the less, this individual has a fine track record of predicting global events related to empires.

He uses a unique system of “contradictions” to come to his conclusions. It tends to be wordy and confusing, but it works. And at this stage that is all that matters.

He predicts that the USA will go into a state of upheaval starting in 2020. The duration for this period of change is unknown. What we do know is that the COVID-19 coronavirus has completely changed the global Geo-political situation, and the United States is in a state of chaos as a result. It appears that whether it was the COVID-19 or something else, the United States would still be in this messy situation.

Independent on who would be in the Presidency.

Independent on the particular situations all over the world.

I know that he tended to ramble on, and the post is long. But the fact remains that all the indicators that he listed back in 2000 are still present and worsening in 2020.

Sven Henrich, NorthmanTrader - Reality check: By the time this is all over the poor will be poorer, the middle class smaller, the country horrifically in debt, unemployment much higher than before and the top 1% will be largely fine. Do not underestimate the long term impacts of this ever increasing divide.

Right or wrong. Future prophecy or not, one thing is certain, all Geo-Political indicators are pointing to a collapse of the United States Empire in some form. It depends on who will be at the Presidential Helm during the collapse…

  • Donald Trump and his neocon advisors and their MAGA plan.
  • A weak leader under Biden.
  • A radical progressive / Marxist.
  • An Obama strategy of “managed empire reduction“.

What will happen? A war? Internal domestic conflict? Internal strife resulting from the collapse of established systems? Who knows?

From the Burning Platform Blog

If you don’t feel the mood of the country turning towards confrontation and civil chaos, you are either a lackey for the establishment, a government paid drone, or propagandized to such an extent you have chosen to be willfully ignorant of your surroundings. 

This Fourth Turning seemed somewhat dormant since 2012, but government, corporate, and consumer debt continued to balloon; the divide between left and right grew as the Deep State conducted a coup against a duly elected president; and global disorder accelerated in the Middle East, Europe, Asia and South America.

The core elements of debt, civic decay, and global disorder are now coalescing into a perfect storm of consequences for a nation and world built upon a teetering edifice of unpayable debt, unfulfilled promises, the unbridled greed of a blood thirsty ruling class, and the unbelievable delusions of people who think a world built upon borrowing to consume is sustainable.

The dichotomy between what is happening in the real world and what is happening in the world of the financiers will lead to violent upheaval on a timeline not anticipated by the ruling class. 

There is a good reason gun stores were overwhelmed with business at the outset of this over-hyped flu pandemic. 

As Strauss and Howe pointed out twenty three years ago, trust in the government, central bankers, the corporate media, and “experts” is disintegrating rapidly. The anger and disillusionment grows by the day and pockets of resistance are propagating throughout the country.

The un-Constitutional destruction of rights and liberties by overbearing governors, mayors and Federal bureaucrats is pushing desperate citizens towards insurrection. The police who carry out the unlawful orders of their superiors for a paycheck should realize they live among those they are bullying and pushing around. 

There is blowback coming and they should act accordingly. 

When people have lost everything they had and any hope for the future, while witnessing the privileged continuing to reap the benefits of a rigged financial system, civil disobedience will increase and blood will begin to be shed. 

This bubble of abnormalcy will be popped.

It is weirdly fascinating to watch a Fourth Turning unfold, while in the midst of it, and knowing we are entering the phase where people have died in numbers that put this pandemic fatality count to shame during the previous two American Crisis periods. 

From 1861 to 1865 almost 5% of the male population of the country were killed. That would equate to about 8 million today. From 1939 to 1945 an estimated 65 million people were killed.

The 100,000 or so who will die in 2020 from this virus is just a prelude to the death and destruction to follow. 

The trigger for the climactic phase of this Fourth Turning is not a virus that will not kill 99.97% of the American population, but the economic consequences of the over-reaction and authoritarian response to the virus. I’ve lost respect for numerous bloggers who desperately try to paint Sweden’s response as disastrous in an effort to support their own narrative of doom.

Sweden’s decision to allow its people and businesses to use reasonable precautions and not lock down their country in the dictatorial Chinese way, has resulted in cases per million being in line with the rest of European countries and lower than the U.S. The louder these bloggers scream, the surer you can be they have been proven wrong.

It is mesmerizing to watch those on the left, along with the Republican “Never Trumpers”, flail about as the Obama/Clinton attempted coup against Trump unravels before their very eyes. The reaction of these people, along with their toadies at CNN, MSNBC and the other left wing media, reveals an unbridgeable chasm between those believing in the rule of law and people who are willing to do anything for power.

The pure hatred from those on the left for Trump and his followers can not be contained. 

They despise the deplorables in flyover country with such a passion, the spittle foaming on their lips as they describe them as gun toting, uneducated, white racists, is an indication of their fury and hate. What these entitled, suit wearing, botox injected, arrogant idiot yet idiot establishment whores fail to realize is we despise them equally and we’re armed and ready. 

While psychopaths in suits, worthless politicians, government errand boys and remote working white collar parasites of the establishment continue to get paid, they continue to prohibit the lowly wage earner from making a living. 

A price will be paid.

Trump is not a nice guy. Grey Champions (Lincoln, FDR) use their power in ways not conducive to making everyone happy. They are leading during a time of crisis and will use any means necessary to win. The coup attempt by Obama, Clinton, Comey, Clapper, Brennan, Mueller, and their minions has failed and now the tables will be turned. Trump, Barr, Grennell and Durham have the power to prosecute some of the most powerful left wing politicians and Deep State operatives on the planet.

How this plays out before November will ignite further civil strife and discontent. People have already begun taking to the streets and as this unnecessary shutdown further impoverishes the masses, things will turn nasty. Government attempting to have neighbors rat on neighbors for not obeying the Nanny State commands will backfire on the rats. Animosities and grudges will sway the actions of many, once the gloves come off.

The majority of rule following sheep believe what they are being told by their elected leaders, non-elected self proclaimed medical “experts” and the feckless shills on their boob tube. They do not see what is coming, just over the horizon. 

The divergence of opinion on how we should proceed from this point onward is immense, with biases, delusions, and inability to grasp the unintended consequences of the actions taken thus far, driving the narratives. Listening to Trump bloviate about the tremendous economic boom which will occur when we re-open the country is laughable. He sounds like a carnival barker.

He allowed himself to be bamboozled by medical “expert” hacks and their immensely flawed garbage in-garbage out models into destroying our economy, and he may end up paying the price in November as the economy is mired in a 2nd Great Depression. 

But the Dow should be at 50,000 by then, so he’s got that going for him. Trump thinks you can turn the economy on again and things will be as good as new. 

He evidently has never read Bastiat or Hazlitt. The broken window fallacy now can be called the broken country fallacy. The financial gurus crow about the fantastic job Powell and Mnuchin have done, based upon what they have seen (31% increase in S&P 500), while that which is unseen has yet to reveal itself.

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Citizen of the Galaxy (full text) by Robert Heinlein

Once upon a time I pulled this book from the shelf of my middle school library and fell into an enveloping world. I read it over and over, and discovered Science Fiction. I think I read all of Heinlein’s “juveniles” that year.

In the Far Future, young Thorby is sold in a slave market to an old beggar who is more than he seems to be; and Thorby takes part in many adventures as he climbs the ladders of power and learns the truth of his own identity. A suspenseful tale of adventure, coming-of-age and interstellar conflict by science fiction’s Grand Master.

Read this fifty years ago. Reread several times. Still special. I did not know why I was touched then, now I (maybe) understand.

The characters, like many of Heinlein's, have stayed with me. This work focuses on personal free will (as do most of Heinlein's books) and the contrast of group submission. Heinlein, like Dick Francis, writes from a moral, ethical base.

Book can be divided into three sections; Thorby as a slave begger, then adopted into a merchant family traveling in space, then found as heir of riches. Each situation reveals the challenge of combining individual freedom with group submission. Where does one stop and the other begin?

Baslim the cripple, buys Thorby in a slave market, on the first page. We learn this is to save him. Thorby feels free as a beggar and then a slave when he is a free trader on ship. Thereafter, as overwhelmingly wealthy, feels totally controlled. Fascinating!

As he released, Thorby is told. - ''There . . . congratulations and welcome to the ranks of free men. I’ve been free a parcel of years now and I predict that you will find it looser but not always more comfortable.” Precious.

This is so skillfully done the reader does not notice the message, just enjoys the story. Great!

-Clay Garner

Citizen of the Galaxy

By Robert Heinlein

CHAPTER 1

“Lot ninety-seven,” the auctioneer announced. “A boy.”

The boy was dizzy and half sick from the feel of ground underfoot. The slave ship had come more than forty light-years; it carried in its holds the stink of all slave ships, a reek of crowded unwashed bodies, of fear and vomit and ancient grief. Yet in it the boy had been someone, a recognized member of a group, entitled to his meal each day, entitled to fight for his right to eat it in peace. He had even had friends.

Now he was again nothing and nobody, again about to be sold.

A lot had been knocked down on the auction block, matched blonde girls, alleged to be twins; the bidding had been brisk, the price high. The auctioneer turned with a smile of satisfaction and pointed at the boy. “Lot ninety-seven. Shove him up here.”

The boy was cuffed and prodded onto the block, stood tense while his feral eyes darted around, taking in what he had not been able to see from the pen. The slave market lies on the spaceport side of the famous Plaza of Liberty, facing the hill crowned by the still more famous Praesidium of the Sargon, capitol of the Nine Worlds. The boy did not recognize it; he did not even know what planet he was on. He looked at the crowd.

  Closest to the slave block were beggars, ready to wheedle each buyer as he claimed his property. Beyond them, in a semi-circle, were seats for the rich and privileged. On each flank of this elite group waited their slaves, bearers, and bodyguards and drivers, idling near the ground cars of the rich and the palanquins and sedan chairs of the still richer. Behind the lords and ladies were commoners, idlers and curious, freedmen and pickpockets and vendors of cold drinks, an occasional commoner merchant not privileged to sit but alert for a bargain in a porter, a clerk, a mechanic, or even a house servant for his wives.

  “Lot ninety-seven,” the auctioneer repeated. “A fine, healthy lad, suitable as page or tireboy. Imagine him, my lords and ladies, in the livery of your house. Look at—” His words were lost in the scream of a ship, dopplering in at the spaceport behind him.

  The old beggar Baslim the Cripple twisted his half-naked body and squinted his one eye over the edge of the block. The boy did not look like a docile house servant to Baslim; he looked a hunted animal, dirty, skinny, and bruised. Under the dirt, the boy’s back showed white scar streaks, endorsements of former owners’ opinions.

  The boy’s eyes and the shape of his ears caused Baslim to guess that he might be of unmutated Earth ancestry, but not much could be certain save that he was small, scared, male, and still defiant. The boy caught the beggar staring at him and glared back.

  The din died out and a wealthy dandy seated in front waved a kerchief lazily at the auctioneer. “Don’t waste our time, you rascal. Show us something like that last lot.”

  “Please, noble sir. I must dispose of the lots in catalog order.”

  “Then get on with it! Or cuff that starved varmint aside and show us merchandise.”

  “You are kind, my lord.” The auctioneer raised his voice. “I have been asked to be quick and I am sure my noble employer would agree. Let me be frank. This beautiful lad is young; his new owner must invest instruction in him. Therefore—” The boy hardly listened. He knew only a smattering of this language and what was said did not matter anyhow. He looked over the veiled ladies and elegant men, wondering which one would be his new problem.

  “—a low starting price and a quick turnover. A bargain! Do I hear twenty stellars?”

  The silence grew awkward. A lady, sleek and expensive from sandalled feet to lace-veiled face, leaned toward the dandy, whispered and giggled. He frowned, took out a dagger and pretended to groom his nails. “I said to get on with it,” he growled.

  The auctioneer sighed. “I beg you to remember, gentlefolk, that I must answer to my patron. But we’ll start still lower. Ten stellars—yes, I said, ‘Ten.’ Fantastic!”

  He looked amazed. “Am I growing deaf? Did someone lift a finger and I fail to see it? Consider, I beg you. Here you have a fresh young lad like a clean sheet of paper; you can draw any design you like. At this unbelievably low price you can afford to make a mute of him, or alter him as your fancy pleases.”

  “Or feed him to the fish!”

  ” ‘Or feed him—’ Oh, you are witty, noble sir!”

  “I’m bored. What makes you think that sorry item is worth anything? Your son, perhaps?”

  The auctioneer forced a smile. “I would be proud if he were. I wish I were permitted to tell you this lad’s ancestry—”

  “Which means you don’t know.”

  “Though my lips must be sealed, I can point out the shape of his skull, the perfectly rounded curve of his ears.” The auctioneer nipped the boy’s ear, pulled it.

  The boy twisted and bit his hand. The crowd laughed.

  The man snatched his hand away. “A spirited lad. Nothing a taste of leather won’t cure. Good stock, look at his ears. The best in the Galaxy, some say.”

  The auctioneer had overlooked something; the young dandy was from Syndon IV. He removed his helmet, uncovering typical Syndonian ears, long, hairy, and pointed. He leaned forward and his ears twitched. “Who is your noble protector?”

  The old beggar Baslim scooted near the corner of the block, ready to duck. The boy tensed and looked around, aware of trouble without understanding why. The auctioneer went white—no one sneered at Syndonians face to face . . . not more than once. “My lord,” he gasped, “you misunderstood me.”

  “Repeat that crack about ‘ears’ and ‘the best stock.’ “

  Police were in sight but not close. The auctioneer wet his lips. “Be gracious, gentle lord. My children would starve. I quoted a common saying—not my opinion. I was trying to hasten a bid for this chattel . . . as you yourself urged.”

  The silence was broken by a female voice saying, “Oh, let him go, Dwarol. It’s not his fault how the slave’s ears are shaped; he has to sell him.”

  The Syndonian breathed heavily. “Sell him, then!”

  The auctioneer took a breath. “Yes, my lord.” He pulled himself together and went on, “I beg my lords’ and ladies’ pardons for wasting time on a minor lot. I now ask for any bid at all.”

  He waited, said nervously, “I hear no bid, I see no bid. No bid once . . . if you do not bid, I am required to return this lot to stock and consult my patron before continuing. No bid twice. There are many beautiful items to be offered; it would be a shame not to show them. No bid three—”

  “There’s your bid,” the Syndonian said.

  “Eh?” The old beggar was holding up two fingers. The auctioneer stared. “Are you offering a bid?”

  “Yes,” croaked the old man, “if the lords and ladies permit.”

  The auctioneer glanced at the seated circle. Someone in the crowd shouted, “Why not? Money is money.”

  The Syndonian nodded; the auctioneer said quickly, “You offer two stellars for this boy?”

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Baslim screamed. “Two minims!”

  The auctioneer kicked at him; the beggar jerked his head aside. The auctioneer shouted, “Get out! I’ll teach you to make fun of your betters!”

  “Auctioneer!”

  “Sir? Yes, my lord?”

  The Syndonian said, “Your words were ‘any bid at all.’ Sell him the boy.”

  “But—”

  “You heard me.”

  “My lord, I cannot sell on one bid. The law is clear; one bid is not an auction. Nor even two unless the auctioneer has set a minimum. With no minimum, I am not allowed to sell with less than three bids. Noble sir, this law was given to protect the owner, not my unhappy self.”

  Someone shouted, “That’s the law!”

  The Syndonian frowned. “Then declare the bid.”

  “Whatever pleases my lords and ladies.” He faced the crowd. “For lot ninety-seven: I hear a bid of two minims. Who’ll make it four?”

  “Four,” stated the Syndonian.

  “Five!” a voice called out.

  The Syndonian motioned the beggar to him. Baslim moved on hands and one knee, with the stump of the other leg dragging and was hampered by his alms bowl. The auctioneer started droning, “Going at five minims once . . . five minims twice . . .”

  “Six!” snapped the Syndonian, glanced into the beggar’s bowl, reached in his purse and threw him a handful of change.

  “I hear six. Do I hear seven?”

  “Seven,” croaked Baslim.

  “I’m bid seven. You, over there, with your thumb up. You make it eight?”

  “Nine!” interposed the beggar.

  The auctioneer glared but put the bid. The price was approaching one stellar, too expensive a joke for most of the crowd. The lords and ladies neither wanted the worthless slave nor wished to queer the Syndonian’s jest.

  The auctioneer chanted, “Going once at nine . . . going twice at nine . . . going three times—sold at nine minims!” He shoved the boy off the block almost into the beggar’s lap. “Take him and get out!”

  “Softly,” cautioned the Syndonian. “The bill of sale.”

>   Restraining himself, the auctioneer filled in price and new owner on a form already prepared for lot ninety-seven. Baslim paid over nine minims—then had to be subsidized again by the Syndonian, as the stamp tax was more than the selling price. The boy stood quietly by. He knew that he had been sold again and he was getting it through his head that the old man was his new master—not that it mattered; he wanted neither of them. While all were busy with the tax, he made a break.

  Without appearing to look the old beggar made a long arm, snagged an ankle, pulled him back. Then Baslim heaved himself erect, placed an arm across the boy’s shoulders and used him for a crutch. The boy felt a bony hand clutch his elbow in a strong grip and relaxed himself to the inevitable—another time; they always got careless if you waited.

  Supported, the beggar bowed with great dignity. “My lord,” he said huskily, “I and my servant thank you.”

  “Nothing, nothing.” The Syndonian flourished his kerchief in dismissal.

  From the Plaza of Liberty to the hole where Baslim lived was less than a li, no more than a half mile, but it took them longer than such distance implies. The hopping progress the old man could manage using the boy as one leg was even slower than his speed on two hands and one knee, and it was interrupted frequently by rests for business—not that business ceased while they shuffled along, as the old man required the boy to thrust the bowl under the nose of every pedestrian.

  Baslim accomplished this without words. He had tried Interlingua, Space Dutch, Sargonese, half a dozen forms of patois, thieves’ kitchen, cant, slave lingo, and trade talk—even System English—without result, although he suspected that the boy had understood him more than once. Then he dropped the attempt and made his wishes known by sign language and a cuff or two. If the boy and he had no words in common, he would teach him—all in good time, all in good time. Baslim was in no hurry. Baslim was never in a hurry; he took the long view.

  Baslim’s home lay under the old amphitheater. When Sargon Augustus of imperial memory decreed a larger circus only part of the old one was demolished; the work was interrupted by the Second Cetan War and never resumed. Baslim led the boy into these ruins. The going was rough and it was necessary for the old man to resume crawling. But he never let go his grip. Once he had the boy only by breechclout; the boy almost wriggled out of his one bit of clothing before the beggar snatched a wrist. After that they went more slowly.

  They went down a hole at the dark end of a ruined passage, the boy being forced to go first. They crawled over shards and rubble and came into a night-black but smooth corridor. Down again . . . and they were in the performers’ barracks of the old amphitheater, under the old arena.

  They came in the dark to a well-carpentered door. Baslim shoved the boy through, followed him and closed it, pressed his thumb to a personal lock, touched a switch; light came on. “Well, lad, we’re home.”

  The boy stared. Long ago he had given up having expectations of any sort. But what he saw was not anything he could have expected. It was a modest decent small living room, tight, neat, and clean. Ceiling panels gave pleasant glareless light. Furniture was sparse but adequate. The boy looked around in awe; poor as it was, it was better than anything he remembered having lived in.

  The beggar let go his shoulder, hopped to a stack of shelves, put down his bowl, and took up a complicated something. It was not until the beggar shucked his clout and strapped the thing in place that the boy figured out what it was: an artificial leg, so well articulated that it rivaled the efficiency of flesh and blood. The man stood up, took trousers from a chest, drew them on, and hardly seemed crippled. “Come here,” he said, in Interlingua.

  The boy did not move. Baslim repeated it in other languages, shrugged, took the boy by an arm, led him into a room beyond. It was small, both kitchen and wash room; Baslim filled a pan, handed the boy a bit of soap and said, “Take a bath.” He pantomimed what he wanted.

  The boy stood in mute stubbornness. The man sighed, picked up a brush suitable for floors and started as if to scrub the boy. He stopped with stiff bristles touching skin and repeated, “Take a bath. Wash yourself,” saying it in Interlingua and System English.

  The boy hesitated, took off his clout and started slowly to lather himself.

  Baslim said, “That’s better,” picked up the filthy breech clout, dropped it in a waste can, laid out a towel, and, turning to the kitchen side, started preparing a meal.

  A few minutes later he turned and the boy was gone.

  Unhurriedly he walked into the living room, found the boy naked and wet and trying very hard to open the door. The boy saw him but redoubled his futile efforts. Baslim tapped him on the shoulder, hooked a thumb toward the smaller room. “Finish your bath.”

  He turned away. The boy slunk after him.

  When the boy was washed and dry, Baslim put the stew he had been freshening back on the burner, turned the switch to “simmer” and opened a cupboard, from which he removed a bottle and daubs of vegetable flock. Clean, the boy was a pattern of scars and bruises, unhealed sores and cuts and abrasions, old and new. “Hold still.”

  The stuff stung; the boy started to wiggle. “Hold still!” Baslim repeated in a pleasant firm tone and slapped him. The boy relaxed, tensing only as the medicine touched him. The man looked carefully at an old ulcer on the boy’s knee, then, humming softly, went again to the cupboard, came back and injected the boy in one buttock—first acting out the idea that he would slap his head off his shoulders if he failed to take it quietly. That done, he found an old cloth, motioned the boy to wrap himself a clout, turned back to his cooking.

  Presently Baslim placed big bowls of stew on the table in the living room, first moving chair and table so that the boy might sit on the chest while eating. He added a handful of fresh green lentils and a couple of generous chunks of country bread, black and hard. “Soup’s on, lad. Come and get it.”

  The boy sat down on the edge of the chest but remained poised for flight and did not eat.

  Baslim stopped eating. “What’s the matter?” He saw the boy’s eyes flick toward the door, then drop. “Oh, so that’s it.” He got up, steadying himself to get his false leg under him, went to the door, pressed his thumb in the lock. He faced the boy. “The door is unlocked,” he announced. “Either eat your dinner, or leave.” He repeated it several ways and was pleased when he thought that he detected understanding on using the language he surmised might be the slave’s native tongue.

  But he let the matter rest, went back to the table, got carefully into his chair and picked up his spoon.

  The boy reached for his own, then suddenly was off the chest and out the door. Baslim went on eating. The door remained ajar, light streaming into the labyrinth.

  Later, when Baslim had finished a leisurely dinner, he became aware that the boy was watching him from the shadows. He avoided looking, lounged back, and started picking his teeth. Without turning, he said in the language he had decided might be the boy’s own, “Will you come eat your dinner? Or shall I throw it away?”

  The boy did not answer. “All right,” Baslim went on, “if you won’t, I’ll have to close the door. I can’t risk leaving it open with the light on.” He slowly got up, went to the door, and started to close it. “Last call,” he announced. “Closing up for the night.”

  As the door was almost closed the boy squealed, “Wait!” in the language Baslim expected, and scurried inside.

  “Welcome,” Baslim said quietly. “I’ll leave it unlocked, in case you change your mind.” He sighed. “If I had my way, no one would ever be locked in.”

  The boy did not answer but sat down, huddled himself over the food and began wolfing it as if afraid it might be snatched away. His eyes flicked from right to left. Baslim sat down and watched.

  The extreme pace slowed but chewing and gulping never ceased until the last bit of stew had been chased with the last hunk of bread, the last lentil crunched and swallowed. The final bites appeared to go down by sheer will power, but swallow them he did, sat up, looked Baslim in the eye and smiled shyly. Baslim smiled back.

  The boy’s smile v
anished. He turned white, then a light green. A rope of drool came willy-nilly from a corner of his mouth—and he was disastrously sick.

  Baslim moved to avoid the explosion. “Stars in heaven, I’m an idiot!” he exclaimed, in his native language. He went into the kitchen, returned with rags and pail, wiped the boy’s face and told him sharply to quiet down, then cleaned the stone floor.

  After a bit he returned with a much smaller ration, only broth and a small piece of bread. “Soak the bread and eat it.”

  “I better not.”

  “Eat it. You won’t be sick again. I should have known better, seeing your belly against your backbone, than to give you a man-sized meal. But eat slowly.”

  The boy looked up and his chin quivered. Then he took a small spoonful. Baslim watched while he finished the broth and most of the bread.

  “Good,” Baslim said at last. “Well, I’m for bed, lad. By the way, what’s your name?”

  The boy hesitated. “Thorby.”

  ” ‘Thorby’—a good name. You can call me ‘Pop.’ Good night.” He unstrapped his leg, hopped to the shelf and put it away, hopped to his bed. It was a peasant bed, a hard mattress in a corner. He scrunched close to the wall to leave room for the boy and said, “Put out the light before you come to bed.” Then he closed his eyes and waited.

  There was long silence. He heard the boy go to the door; the light went out. Baslim waited, listening for noise of the door opening. It did not come; instead he felt the mattress give as the boy crawled in. “Good night,” he repeated.

  “G’night.”

  He had almost dozed when he realized that the boy was trembling violently. He reached behind him, felt skinny ribs, patted them; the boy broke into sobs.

  He turned over, eased his stump into a comfortable position, put an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders and pulled his face against his own chest. “It’s all right, Thorby,” he said gently, “it’s all right. It’s over now. It’ll never happen again.”

  The boy cried out loud and clung to him. Baslim held him, speaking softly until the spasms stopped. Then he held still until he was sure that Thorby was asleep.

CHAPTER 2

  Thorby’s wounds healed, those outside quickly, those inside more slowly. The old beggar acquired another mattress and stuck it in the other corner. But Baslim would sometimes wake to find a small warm bundle snuggled against his spine and know thereby that the boy had had another nightmare. Baslim was a light sleeper and hated sharing a bed. But he never forced Thorby to go back to his own bed when this happened.

  Sometimes the boy would cry out his distress without waking. Once Baslim was jerked awake by hearing Thorby wail, “Mama, Mama!” Without making a light he crawled quickly to the boy’s pallet and bent over him. “There, there, son, it’s all right.”

  “Papa?”

  “Go back to sleep, son. You’ll wake Mama.” He added, “I’ll stay with you—you’re safe. Now be quiet. We don’t want to wake Mama . . . do we?”

  “All right, Papa.”

  The old man waited, almost without breathing, until he was stiff and cold and his stump ached. When he was satisfied that the boy was asleep he crawled to his own bed.

  That incident caused the old man to try hypnosis. A long time earlier, when Baslim had had two eyes, two legs, and no reason to beg, he had learned the art. But he had never liked hypnosis, even for therapy; he had an almost religious concept of the dignity of the individual; hypnotizing another person did not fit his basic evaluations.

  But this was an emergency.

  He was sure that Thorby had been taken from his parents so young that he had no conscious memory of them. The boy’s notion of his life was a jumbled recollection of masters, some bad, some worse, all of whom had tried to break the spirit of a “bad” boy. Thorby had explicit memories of some of these masters and described them in gutter speech vivid and violent. But he was never sure of time or place—”place” was some estate, or household, or factor’s compound, never a particular planet or sun (his notions of astronomy were mostly wrong and he was innocent of galactography) and “time” was simply “before” or “after,” “short” or “long.” While each planet has its day, its year, its own method of dating, while they are reconciled for science in terms of the standard second as defined by radioactive decay, the standard year of the birthplace of mankind, and a standard reference date, the first jump from that planet, Sol III, to its satellite, it was impossible for an illiterate boy to date anything that way. Earth was a myth to Thorby and a “day” was the time between two sleeps.

  Baslim could not guess the lad’s age. The boy looked like unmutated Earth stock and was pre-adolescent, but any guess would be based on unproved assumption. Vandorians and Italo-Glyphs look like the original stock, but Vandorians take three times as long to mature—Baslim recalled the odd tale about the consular agent’s daughter whose second husband was the great grandson of her first and she had outlived them both. Mutations do not necessarily show up in appearance.

  It was conceivable that this boy was “older” in standard seconds than Baslim himself; space is deep and mankind adapted itself in many ways to many conditions. Never mind!—he was a youngster and he needed help.

  Thorby was not afraid of hypnosis; the word meant nothing to him, nor did Baslim explain. After supper one evening the old man simply said, “Thorby, I want you to do something.”

  “Sure, Pop. What?”

  “Lie down on your bed. Then I’m going to make you sleepy and we’ll talk.”

  “Huh? You mean the other way around, don’t you?”

  “No. This is a different sort of sleep. You’ll be able to talk.”

  Thorby was dubious but willing. The old man lighted a candle, switched off the glow plates. Using the flame to focus attention he started the ancient routines of monotonous suggestion, of relaxation, drowsiness . . . sleep.

  “Thorby, you are asleep but you can hear me. You can answer.”

  “Yes, Pop.”

  “You will stay asleep until I tell you to wake. But you will be able to answer any question I ask.”

  “Yes, Pop.”

  “You remember the ship that brought you here. What was its name?”

  “The Merry Widow. Only that wasn’t what we called it.”

  “You remember getting into that ship. Now you are in it—you can see it. You remember all about it. Now go back to where you were when you went aboard.”

  The boy stiffened without waking. “I don’t want to!”

  “I’ll be right with you. You’ll be safe. Now what is the name of the place? Go back to it. Look at it.”

  An hour and a half later Baslim still squatted beside the sleeping boy. Sweat poured down wrinkles in his face and he felt badly shaken. To get the boy back to the time he wanted to explore it had been necessary to force him back through experiences disgusting even to Baslim, old and hardened as he was. Repeatedly Thorby had fought against it, nor could Baslim blame him—he felt now that he could count the scars on the boy’s back and assign a villain to each.

  But he had achieved his purpose: to delve farther back than the boy’s waking memory ran, back into his very early childhood, and at last to the traumatic moment when the baby manchild had been taken from his parents.

  He left the boy in deep coma while he collected his shattered thoughts. The last few moments of the quest had been so bad that the old man doubted his judgment in trying to dig out the source of the trouble.

  Well, let’s see . . . what had he found out?

  The boy was born free. But he had always been sure of that.

  The boy’s native language was System English, spoken with an accent Baslim could not place; it had been blurred by baby speech. That placed him inside the Terran Hegemony; it was even possible (though not likely) that the boy had been born on Earth. That was a surprise; he had thought the boy’s native language was Interlingua, since he spoke it better than he did the other three he knew.

  What else? Well, the boy’s parents were certainly dead, if the confused and terror-ridden memory he had pried out of the boy’s skull could be trusted. He had been unable to dig out their family name nor any way of identifying them—they were just “Papa” and “Mama”—so Baslim gave up a half-formed plan of trying to get word to relatives of the boy.

  Well, now to make this ordeal he had put the lad through worth the cost—

  “Thorby?”

  The boy moaned and stirred. “Yes, Pop?”

  “You are asleep. You won’t wake up until I tell you to.”

  “I won’t wake up until you tell me to.”

  “When I tell you, you will wake at once. You will feel fine and you won’t remember anything we’ve talked about.”

  “Yes, Pop.”

  “You will forget. But you will feel fine. About half an hour later you will feel sleepy again. I’ll tell you to go to bed and you will go to bed and go right to sleep. You’ll sleep all night, good sleep and pleasant dreams. You won’t have any more bad dreams. Say it.”

  “I won’t have any more bad dreams.”

  “You won’t ever have any more bad dreams. Not ever.”

  “Not ever.”

  “Papa and Mama don’t want you to have any bad dreams. They’re happy and they want you to be happy. When you dream about them, it will always be happy dreams.”

  “Happy dreams.”

  “Everything is all right now, Thorby. You are starting to wake. You’re waking up and you can’t remember what we’ve been talking about. But you’ll never have bad dreams again. Wake up, Thorby.”

  The boy sat up, rubbed his eyes, yawned, and grinned. “Gee, I fell asleep. Guess I played out on you, Pop. Didn’t work, huh?”

  “Everything’s all right, Thorby.”

  It took more than one session to lay those ghosts, but the nightmares dwindled and stopped. Baslim was not technician enough to remove the bad memories; they were still there. All he did was to implant suggestions to keep them from making Thorby unhappy. Nor would Baslim have removed memories had he been skilled enough; he had a stiff-necked belief that a man’s experiences belonged to him and that even the worst should not be taken from him without his consent.

  Thorby’s days were as busy as his nights had become peaceful. During their early partnership Baslim kept the boy always with him. After breakfast they would hobble to the Plaza of Li
berty, Baslim would sprawl on the pavement and Thorby would stand or squat beside him, looking starved and holding the bowl. The spot was always picked to obstruct foot traffic, but not enough to cause police to do more than growl. Thorby learned that none of the regular police in the Plaza would ever do more than growl; Baslim’s arrangements with them were beneficial to underpaid police.

  Thorby learned the ancient trade quickly—learned that men with women were generous but that the appeal should be made to the woman, that it was usually a waste of time to ask alms of unaccompanied women (except unveiled women), that it was an even bet between a kick and a gift in bracing a man alone, that spacemen hitting dirt gave handsomely. Baslim taught him to keep a little money in the bowl, neither smallest change nor high denominations.

  At first Thorby was just right for the trade; small, half-starved, covered with sores, his appearance alone was enough. Unfortunately he soon looked better. Baslim repaired that with make-up, putting shadows under his eyes and hollows in his cheeks. A horrible plastic device stuck on his shinbone provided a realistic large “ulcer” in place of the sores he no longer had; sugar water made it attractive to flies—people looked away even as they dropped coins in the bowl.

  His better-fed condition was not as easy to disguise but he shot up fast for a year or two and continued skinny, despite two hearty meals a day and a bed to doss on.

  Thorby soaked up a gutter education beyond price. Jubbulpore, capital of Jubbul and of the Nine Worlds, residence in chief of the Great Sargon, boasts more than three thousand licensed beggars, twice that number of street vendors, more grog shops than temples and more temples than any other city in the Nine Worlds, plus numbers uncountable of sneak thieves, tattoo artists, griva pushers, doxies, cat burglars, back-alley money changers, pickpockets, fortune tellers, muggers, assassins, and grifters large and small. Its inhabitants brag that within a li of the pylon at the spaceport end of the Avenue of Nine anything in the explored universe can be had by a man with cash, from a starship to ten grains of stardust, from the ruin of a reputation to the robes of a senator with the senator inside.

  Technically Thorby was not part of the underworld, since he had a legally recognized status (slave) and a licensed profession (beggar). Nevertheless he was in it, with a worm’s-eye view. There were no rungs below his on the social ladder.

  As a slave he had learned to lie and steal as naturally as other children learn company manners, and much more quickly. But he discovered that these common talents were raised to high art in the seamy underside of the city. As he grew older, learned the language and the streets, Baslim began to send him out on his own, to run errands, to shop for food, and sometimes to make a pitch by himself while the old man stayed in. Thus he “fell into evil company” if one can fall from elevation zero.

  He returned one day with nothing in his bowl. Baslim made no comment but the boy explained. “Look, Pop, I did all right!” From under his clout he drew a fancy scarf and proudly displayed it.

  Baslim did not smile and did not touch it. “Where did you get that?”

  “I inherited it!”

  “Obviously. But from whom?”

  “A lady. A nice lady, pretty.”

  “Let me see the house mark. Mmm . . . probably Lady Fascia. Yes, she is pretty, I suppose. But why aren’t you in jail?”

  “Why, gee, Pop, it was easy! Ziggie has been teaching me. He knows all the tricks. He’s smooth—you should see him work.”

  Baslim wondered how one taught morals to a stray kitten? He did not consider discussing it in abstract ethical terms; there was nothing in the boy’s background, nothing in his present environment, to make it possible to communicate on such a level.

  “Thorby, why do you want to change trades? In our business you pay the police their commission, pay your dues to the guild, make an offering at the temple on holy day, and you’ve no worries. Have we ever gone hungry?”

  “No, Pop—but look at it! It must have cost almost a stellar!”

  “At least two stellars, I’d say. But a fence would give you two minims—if he was feeling generous. You should have brought more than that back in your bowl.”

  “Well . . . I’ll get better at it. And it’s more fun than begging. You ought to see how Ziggie goes about it.”

  “I’ve seen Ziggie work. He’s skillful.”

  “He’s the best!”

  “Still, I suppose he could do better with two hands.”

  “Well, maybe, though you only use one hand. But he’s teaching me to use either hand.”

  “That’s good. You might need to know—some day you might find yourself short one, the way Ziggie is. You know how Ziggie lost his hand?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know the penalty? If they catch you?”

  Thorby did not answer. Baslim went on, “One hand for the first offense—that’s what it cost Ziggie to learn his trade. Oh, he’s good, for he’s still around and plying his trade. You know what the second offense carries? Not just the other hand. You know?”

  Thorby gulped. “I’m not sure.”

  “I think you must have heard; you don’t want to remember.” Baslim drew his thumb across his throat. “That’s what Ziggie gets next time—they shorten him. His Serenity’s justices figure that a boy who can’t learn once won’t learn twice, so they shorten him.”

  “But, Pop, I won’t be caught! I’ll be awful careful . . . just like today. I promise!”

  Baslim sighed. The kid still believed that it couldn’t happen to him. “Thorby, get your bill of sale.”

  “What for, Pop?”

  “Get it.”

  The boy fetched it; Baslim examined it—”one male child, registered number (left thigh) 8XK40367″— nine minims and get out of here, you! He looked at Thorby and noted with surprise that he was a head taller than he had been that day. “Get my stylus. I’m going to free you. I’ve always meant to, but there didn’t seem to be any hurry. But we’ll do it now and tomorrow you go to the Royal Archives and register it.”

  Thorby’s jaw dropped. “What for, Pop?”

  “Don’t you want to be free?”

  “Uh . . . well . . . , Pop, I like belonging to you.”

  “Thanks, lad. But I’ve got to do it.”

  “You mean you’re kicking me out?”

  “No. You can stay. But only as a freedman. You see, son, a master is responsible for his bondservant. If I were a noble and you did something, I’d be fined. But since I’m not . . . well, if I were shy a hand, as well as a leg and an eye, I don’t think I could manage. So if you’re going to learn Ziggie’s trade, I had better free you; I can’t afford the risk. You’ll have to take your own chances; I’ve lost too much already. Any more and I’d be better off shortened.”

  He put it brutally, never mentioning that the law in application was rarely so severe—in practice, the slave was confiscated, sold, and his price used in restitution, if the master had no assets. If the master were a commoner, he might also get a flogging if the judge believed him to be actually as well as legally responsible for the slave’s misdeed. Nevertheless Baslim had stated the law: since a master exercised high and low justice over a slave, he was therefore liable in his own person for his slave’s acts, even to capital punishment.

  Thorby started to sob, for the first time since the beginning of their relationship. “Don’t turn me loose. Pop—please don’t! I’ve got to belong to you!”

  “I’m sorry, son. I told you you don’t have to go away.”

  “Please, Pop. I won’t ever swipe another thing!”

  Baslim took his shoulder. “Look at me, Thorby. I’ll make you a bargain.”

  “Huh? Anything you say, Pop. As long as—”

  “Wait till you hear it. I won’t sign your papers now. But I want you to promise two things.”

  “Huh? Sure! What?”

  “Don’t rush. The first is that you promise never again to steal anything, from anybody. Neither from fine ladies in sedan chairs, nor from poor people like ourselves—one is too dangerous and the other . . . well, it’s disgraceful, though I don’t expect you to know what that means. The second is to promise that you will never lie to me about anything . . . not anything.”

  Thorby said slowly, “I promi
se.”

  “I don’t mean just lying about the money you’ve been holding out on me, either. I mean anything. By the way, a mattress is no place to hide money. Look at me, Thorby. You know I have connections throughout the city.”

  Thorby nodded. He had delivered messages for the old man to odd places and unlikely people. Baslim went on, “If you steal, I’ll find out . . . eventually. If you lie to me, I’ll catch you . . . eventually. Lying to other people is your business, but I tell you this: once a man gets a reputation as a liar, he might as well be struck dumb, for people do not listen to the wind. Never mind. The day I learn that you have stolen anything . . . or the day I catch you lying to me . . . I sign your papers and free you.”

  “Yes, Pop.”

  “That’s not all. I’ll kick you out with what you had when I bought you—a breechclout and a set of bruises. You and I will be finished. If I set eyes on you again, I’ll spit on your shadow.”

  “Yes, Pop. Oh, I never will, Pop!”

  “I hope not. Go to bed.”

  Baslim lay awake, worrying, wondering if he had been too harsh. But, confound it, it was a harsh world; he had to teach the kid to live in it.

  He heard a sound like a rodent gnawing; he held still and listened. Presently he heard the boy get up quietly and go to the table; there followed a muted jingle of coins being placed on wood and he heard the boy return to his pallet.

  When the boy started to snore he was able to drop off to sleep himself.

  CHAPTER 3

  Baslim had long since taught Thorby to read and write Sargonese and Interlingua, encouraging him with cuffs and other inducements since Thorby’s interest in matters intellectual approached zero. But the incident involving Ziggie and the realization that Thorby was growing up reminded Baslim that time did not stand still, not with kids.

  Thorby was never able to place the time when he realized that Pop was not exactly (or not entirely) a beggar. The extremely rigorous instruction he now received, expedited by such unlikely aids as a recorder, a projector, and a sleep instructor, would have told him, but by then nothing Pop could do or say surprised him—Pop knew everything and could manage anything. Thorby had acquired enough knowledge of other beggars to see discrepancies; he was not troubled by them—Pop was Pop, like the sun and the rain.

  They never mentioned outside their home anything that happened inside, nor even where it was; no guest was ever there. Thorby acquired friends and Baslim had dozens or even hundreds and seemed to know the whole city by sight. No one but Thorby had access to Baslim’s hide-away. But Thorby was aware that Pop had activities unconnected with begging. One night they went to sleep as usual; Thorby awakened about dawn to hear someone stirring and called out sleepily, “Pop?”

  “Yes. Go back to sleep.”

  Instead the boy got up and switched on the glow plates. He knew it was hard for Baslim to get around in the dark without his leg; if Pop wanted a drink of water or anything, he’d fetch it. “You all right, Pop?” he asked, turning away from the switch.

  Then he gasped in utter shock. This was a stranger, a gentleman!

  “It’s all right, Thorby,” the stranger said with Pop’s voice. “Take it easy, son.”

  “Pop?”

  “Yes, son. I’m sorry I startled you—I should have changed before I came back. Events pushed me.” He started stripping off fine clothing.

  When Baslim removed the evening head dress, he looked more like Pop . . . except for one thing. “Pop . . . your eye.”

  “Oh, that. It comes out as easily as it went in. I look better with two eyes, don’t I?”

  “I don’t know.” Thorby stared at it worriedly. “I don’t think I like it.”

  “So? Well, you won’t often see me wear it. As long as you are awake you can help.”

  Thorby was not much help; everything Pop did was new to him. First Baslim dug tanks and trays from a food cupboard which appeared to have an extra door in its back. Then he removed the false eye and, handling it with great care, unscrewed it into two parts and removed a tiny cylinder, using tweezers.

  Thorby watched the processing that followed but did not understand, except that he could see that Pop was working with extreme care and exact timing. At last Baslim said, “All done. Now we’ll see if I got any pictures.”

  Baslim inserted the spool in a microviewer, scanned it, smiled grimly and said, “Get ready to go out. Skip breakfast. You can take along a piece of bread.”

  “Huh?”

  “Get moving. No time to waste.”

  Thorby put on his make-up and clout and dirtied his face. Baslim was waiting with a photograph and a small flat cylinder about the size of a half-minim bit. He shoved the photo at Thorby. “Look at it. Memorize it.”

  “Why?”

  Baslim pulled it back. “Would you recognize that man?”

  “Uh . . . let me see it again.”

  “You’ve got to know him. Look at it well this time.”

  Thorby did so, then said, “All right, I’ll know him.”

  “He’ll be in one of the taprooms near the port. Try Mother Shaum’s first, then the Supernova and the Veiled Virgin. If you don’t hit, work both sides of Joy Street until you do. You’ve got to find him before the third hour.”

  “I’ll find him, Pop.”

  “When you do, put this thing in your bowl along with a few coins. Then tell him the tale but be sure to mention that you are the son of Baslim the Cripple.”

  “Got it, Pop.”

  “Get going.”

  Thorby wasted no time getting down to the port. It was the morning following the Feast of the Ninth Moon and few were stirring; he did not bother to pretend to beg en route, he simply went the most direct way, through back courts, over fences, or down streets, avoiding only the sleepy night patrol. But, though he reached the neighborhood quickly, he had the Old One’s luck in finding his man; he was in none of the dives Baslim had suggested, nor did the rest of Joy Street turn him up. It was pushing the deadline and Thorby was getting worried when he saw the man come out of a place he had already tried.

  Thorby ducked across the street, came up behind him. The man was with another man—not good. But Thorby started in:

  “Alms, gentle lords! Alms for mercy on your souls!”

  The wrong man tossed him a coin; Thorby caught it in his teeth. “Bless you, my lord!” He turned to the other. “Alms, gentle sir. A small gift for the unfortunate. I am the son of Baslim the Cripple and—”

  The first man aimed a kick at him. “Get out.”

  Thorby rolled away from it. “—son of Baslim the Cripple. Poor old Baslim needs soft foods and medicines. I am all alone—”

  The man of the picture reached for his purse. “Don’t do it,” his companion advised. “They’re all liars and I’ve paid him to let us alone.”

  ” ‘Luck for the jump,’ ” the man answered. “Now let me see . . .” He fumbled in his purse, glanced into the bowl, placed something in it.

  “Thank you, my lords. May your children be sons.” Thorby moved on before he looked. The tiny flat cylinder was gone.

  He worked on up Joy Street, doing fairly well, and checked the Plaza before heading home. To his surprise Pop was in his favorite pitch, by the auction block and facing the port. Thorby slipped down beside him. “Done.”

  The old man grunted.

  “Why don’t you go home, Pop? You must be tired. I’ve made us a few bits already.”

  “Shut up. Alms, my lady! Alms for a poor cripple.”

  At the third hour a ship took off with a whoosh! that dopplered away into subsonics; the old man seemed to relax. “What ship was that?” Thorby asked. “Not the Syndon liner.”

  “Free Trader Romany Lass, bound for the Rim . . . and your friend was in her. You go home now and get your breakfast. No, go buy your breakfast, for a treat.”

  Baslim no longer tried to hide his extraprofessional activities from Thorby, although he never explained the why or how. Some days only one of them would beg, in which case the Plaza of Liberty was always the pitch, for it appeared that Baslim was especially interested in arrivals and departures of ships and most especially movements of slave ships and the auction that always followed the arrival of one.

  Thorby was more use to him after his education had progressed. The old man seemed to think that everyone had a perfect memory and he was stubborn enough to impress his belief despite the boy’s grumbles.

  “Aw, Pop, how do you expect me to remember? You didn’t give me a chance to look at it!”

  “I projected that page at least three seconds. Why didn’t you read it?”

  “Huh? There wasn’t time.”

  “I read it. You can, too. Thorby, you’ve seen jugglers in the Plaza. You’ve seen old Mikki stand on his head and keep nine daggers in the air while he spins four hoops with his feet?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “No.”

  “Could you learn to?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t know.”

  “Anyone can learn to juggle . . . with enough practice and enough beatings.” The old man picked up a spoon, a stylus, and a knife and kept them in the air in a simple fountain. Presently he missed and stopped. “I used to do a little, just for fun. This is juggling with the mind . . . and anyone can learn it, too.”

  “Show me how you did that, Pop.”

  “Another time, if you behave yourself. Right now you are learning to use your eyes. Thorby, this mind-juggling was developed a long time ago by a wise man, a Doctor Renshaw, on the planet Earth. You’ve heard of Earth.”

  “Well . . . sure, I’ve heard of it.”

  “Mmm . . . meaning you don’t believe in it?”

  “Uh, I don’t know . . . but all that stuff about frozen water falling from the sky, and cannibals ten feet tall, and towers higher than the Praesidium, and little men no bigger than dolls that live in trees—well, I’m not a fool, Pop.”

  Baslim sighed and wondered how many thousands of times he had sighed since saddling himself with a son. “Stories get mixed up. Someday—when you’ve learned to read—I’ll let you view books you can trust.”

  “But I can read now.”

  “You just think you can. Thorby, there is such a place as Earth and it truly is strange and wonderful—a most unlikely planet. Many wise men have lived and died there—along with the usual proportion of fools and villains—and some of their wisdom has come down to us. Samuel Renshaw was one such wise man. He proved that most people go all their lives only half awake; more than that, he showed how a man coul
d wake up and live—see with his eyes, hear with his ears, taste with his tongue, think with his mind, and remember perfectly what he saw, heard, tasted, thought.” The old man shoved his stump out. “This doesn’t make me a cripple. I see more with my one eye than you do with two. I am growing deaf . . . but not as deaf as you are, because what I hear, I remember. Which one of us is the cripple? But, son, you aren’t going to stay crippled, for I am going to renshaw you if I have to beat your silly head in!”

  As Thorby learned to use his mind, he found that he liked to; he developed an insatiable appetite for the printed page, until, night after night, Baslim would order him to turn off the viewer and go to bed. Thorby didn’t see any use in much of what the old man forced him to learn—languages, for example, that Thorby had never heard. But they were not hard, with his new skill in using his mind, and when he discovered that the old man had spools and reels which could be read or listened to only in these “useless” tongues, he suddenly found them worth knowing. History and galactography he loved; his personal world, light-years wide in physical space, had been in reality as narrow as a slave factor’s pen. Thorby reached for wider horizons with the delight of a baby discovering its fist.

  But mathematics Thorby saw no use in, other than the barbaric skill of counting money. But presently he learned that mathematics need not have use; it was a game, like chess but more fun.

  The old man wondered sometimes what use it all was? That the boy was even brighter than he had thought, he now knew. But was it fair to the boy? Was he simply teaching him to be discontented with his lot? What chance on Jubbul had the slave of a beggar? Zero raised to the nth power remained zero.

  “Thorby.”

  “Yeah, Pop. Just a moment, I’m in the middle of a chapter.”

  “Finish it later. I want to talk with you.”

  “Yes, my lord. Yes, master. Right away, boss.”

  “And keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  “Sorry, Pop. What’s on your mind?”

  “Son, what are you going to do when I’m dead?”

  Thorby looked stricken. “Are you feeling bad, Pop?”

  “No. So far as I know, I’ll last for years. On the other hand, I may not wake up tomorrow. At my age you never know. If I don’t, what are you going to do? Hold down my pitch in the Plaza?”

  Thorby didn’t answer; Baslim went on, “You can’t and we both know it. You’re already so big that you can’t tell the tale convincingly. They don’t give the way they did when you were little.”

  Thorby said slowly, “I haven’t meant to be a burden, Pop.”

  “Have I complained?”

  “No.” Thorby hesitated. “I’ve thought about it . . . some. Pop, you could hire me out to a labor company.”

  The old man made an angry gesture. “That’s no answer! No, son, I’m going to send you away.”

  “Pop! You promised you wouldn’t.”

  “I promised nothing.”

  “But I don’t want to be freed, Pop. If you free me—well, if you do, I won’t leave!”

  “I didn’t exactly mean that.”

  Thorby was silent for a long moment. “You’re going to sell me, Pop?”

  “Not exactly. Well . . . yes and no.”

  Thorby’s face held no expression. At last he said quietly, “It’s one or the other, so I know what you mean . . . and I guess I oughtn’t to kick. It’s your privilege and you’ve been the best . . . master . . . I ever had.”

  “I’m not your master!”

  “Paper says you are. Matches the number on my leg.”

  “Don’t talk that way! Don’t ever talk that way.”

  “A slave had better talk that way, or else keep his mouth shut.”

  “Then, for Heaven’s sake, keep it shut! Listen, son, let me explain. There’s nothing here for you and we both know it. If I die without freeing you, you revert to the Sargon—”

  “They’ll have to catch me!”

  “They will. But manumission solves nothing. What guilds are open to freedmen? Begging, yes—but you’d have to poke out your eyes to do well at it, after you’re grown. Most freedmen work for their former masters, as you know, for the free-born commoners leave mighty slim pickings. They resent an ex-slave; they won’t work with him.”

  “Don’t worry, Pop. I’ll get by.”

  “I do worry. Now you listen. I’m going to arrange to sell you to a man I know, who will ship you away from here. Not a slave ship, just a ship. But instead of shipping you where the bill of lading reads, you’ll—”

  “No!”

  “Hold your tongue. You’ll be dropped on a planet where slavery is against the law. I can’t tell you which one, because I am not sure of the ship’s schedule, nor even what ship; the details have to be worked out. But in any free society I have confidence you can get by.” Baslim stopped to mull a thought he had had many times. Should he send the kid to Baslim’s own native planet? No, not only would it be extremely difficult to arrange but it was not a place to send a green immigrant . . . get the lad to any frontier world, where a sharp brain and willingness to work were all a man needed; there were several within trading distance of the Nine Worlds. He wished tiredly that there were some way of knowing the boy’s own home world. Possibly he had relatives there, people who would help him. Confound it, there ought to be a galaxy-wide method of identification!

  Baslim went on, “That’s the best I can do. You’ll have to behave as a slave between the sale and being shipped out. But what’s a few weeks against a chance—”

  “No!”

  “Don’t be foolish, son.”

  “Maybe I am. But I won’t do it. I’m staying.”

  “So? Son . . . I hate to remind you—but you can’t stop me.”

  “Huh?”

  “As you pointed out, there’s a paper that says I can.”

  “Oh.”

  “Go to bed, son.”

  Baslim did not sleep. About two hours after they had put out the light he heard Thorby get up very quietly. He could follow every move the lad made by interpreting muffled sounds. Thorby dressed (a simple matter of wrapping his clout), he went into the adjoining room, fumbled in the bread safe, drank deeply, and left. He did not take his bowl; he did not go near the shelf where it was kept.

  After he was gone, Baslim turned over and tried to sleep, but the ache inside him would not permit. It had not occurred to him to speak the word that would keep the boy; he had too much self-respect not to respect another person’s decision.

  Thorby was gone four days. He returned in the night and Baslim heard him but again said nothing. Instead he went quietly and deeply asleep for the first time since Thorby had left. But he woke at the usual time and said, “Good morning, son.”

  “Uh, good morning, Pop.”

  “Get breakfast started. I have something to attend to.”

  They sat down presently over bowls of hot mush. Baslim ate with his usual careful disinterest; Thorby merely picked at his. Finally he blurted out, “Pop, when are you going to sell me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Huh?”

  “I registered your manumission at the Archives the day you left. You’re a free man, Thorby.”

  Thorby looked startled, then dropped his eyes to his food. He busied himself building little mountains of mush that slumped as soon as he shaped them. Finally he said, “I wish you hadn’t.”

  “If they picked you up, I didn’t want you to have ‘escaped slave’ against you.”

  “Oh.” Thorby looked thoughtful. “That’s ‘F&B,’ isn’t it? Thanks, Pop. I guess I acted kind of silly.”

  “Possibly. But it wasn’t the punishment I was thinking of. Flogging is over quickly, and so is branding. I was thinking of a possible second offense. It’s better to be shortened than to be caught again after a branding.”

  Thorby abandoned his mush entirely. “Pop? Just what does a lobotomy do to you?”

  “Mmm . . . you might say it makes the thorium mines endurable. But let’s not go into it, not at meal times. Speaking of such, if you are through, get your bowl and let’s not dally. There’s an auction this morning.”

  “You mean I can stay?”

  “This is your home.”

  Baslim never again suggested that Thorby leave him. Manumission made no difference in their routine or relationship. Thorby did go to the Royal Archives, paid the fee and the customary gift and had a line tattooed through his serial number, the Sargon’s seal tattooed beside it with book and page number of the record which declared him to be a free subject of the Sargon, entitled to taxes, military service, and starvation without let or hindrance. The clerk who did the tattooing looked at Thorby’s serial number and said, “Doesn’t look like a birthday job, kid. Your old man go bankrupt? Or did your folks sell you just to get shut of you?”

  “None of your business!”

  “Don’t get smart, kid, or you’ll find that this needle can hurt even more. Now give me a civil answer. I see it’s a factor’s mark, not a private owner’s, and from the way it has spread and faded, you were maybe five or six. When and where was it?”

  “I don’t know. Honest I don’t.”

  “So? That’s what I tell my wife when she asks personal questions. Quit wiggling; I’m almost through. There . . . congratulations and welcome to the ranks of free men. I’ve been free a parcel of years now and I predict that you will find it looser but not always more comfortable.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Thorby’s leg hurt for a couple of days; otherwise manumission left his life unchanged. But he really was becoming inefficient as a beggar; a strong healthy youth does not draw the alms that a skinny child can. Often Baslim would have Thorby place him on his pitch, then send him on errands or tell him to go home and study. However, one or the other was always in the Plaza. Baslim sometimes disappeared, with or without warning; when this happened it was Thorby’s duty to spend daylight hours on the pitch, noting arrivals and departures, keeping mental notes of slave auctions, and picking up information about both traffics through contacts around the port, in the wineshops, and among the unveiled women.

  Once Baslim was gone for a double nineday; he was simply missing when Thorby woke up. It was much longer than he had ever been away before; Thorby kept telling himself that Pop could look out for himself, while having visions of the old man dead in a gutter. But he kept track of the doings at the Plaza, including three auctions, and recorded everything that he had seen and had been able to pick up.

Then Baslim returned. His only comment was, “Why didn’t you memorize it instead of recording?”

  “Well, I did. But I was afraid I would forget something, there was so much.”

  “Hummph!”

  After that Baslim seemed even quieter, more reserved, than he had always been. Thorby wondered if he had displeased him, but it was not the sort of question Baslim answered. Finally one night the old man said, “Son, we never did settle what you are to do after I’m gone.”

  “Huh? But I thought we had decided that, Pop. It’s my problem.”

  “No, I simply postponed it . . . because of your thick-headed stubbornness. But I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got orders for you and you are going to carry them out.”

  “Now, wait a minute, Pop! If you think you can bully me into leaving you—”

  “Shut up! I said, ‘After I’m gone.’ When I’m dead, I mean; not one of these little business trips . . . you are to look up a man and give him a message. Can I depend on you? Not goof off and forget it?”

  “Why, of course, Pop. But I don’t like to hear you talk that way. You’re going to live a long time—you might even outlive me.”

  “Possibly. But will you shut up and listen, then do as I tell you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ll find this man—it may take a while—and deliver this message. Then he will have something for you to do . . . I think. If he does, I want you to do exactly what he tells you to. Will you do that also?”

  “Why, of course, Pop, if that’s what you want.”

  “Count it as one last favor to an old man who tried to do right by you and would have done better had he been able. It’s the very last thing I want from you, son. Don’t bother to burn an offering for me at the temple, just do these two things: deliver a message and one more thing, whatever the man suggests that you do.”

  “I will, Pop,” Thorby answered solemnly.

  “All right. Let’s get busy.”

  The “man” turned out to be any one of five men. Each was skipper of a starship, a tramp trader, not of the Nine Worlds but occasionally picking up cargoes from ports of the Nine Worlds. Thorby thought over the list. “Pop, there’s only one of these ships I recall ever putting down here.”

  “They all have, one time or another.”

  “It might be a long time before one showed up.”

  “It might be years. But when it happens, I want the message delivered exactly.”

  “To any of them? Or all of them?”

  “The first one who shows up.”

  The message was short but not easy, for it was in three languages, depending on who was to receive it, and none of the languages was among those Thorby knew. Nor did Baslim explain the words; he wanted it learned by rote in all three.

  After Thorby had stumbled through the first version of the message for the seventh time Baslim covered his ears. “No, no! It won’t do, son. That accent!”

  “I’m doing my best,” Thorby answered sullenly.

  “I know. But I want the message understood. See here, do you remember a time when I made you sleepy and talked to you?”

  “Huh? I get sleepy every night. I’m sleepy now.”

  “So much the better.” Baslim put him into a light trance—with difficulty as Thorby was not as receptive as he had been as a child. But Baslim managed it, recorded the message in the sleep instructor, set it running and let Thorby listen, with post-hypnotic suggestion that he would be able to say it perfectly when he awakened.

  He was able to. The second and third versions were implanted in him the following night. Baslim tested him repeatedly thereafter, using the name of a skipper and a ship to bring each version forth.

  Baslim never sent Thorby out of the city; a slave required a travel permit and even a freedman was required to check in and out. But he did send him all over the metropolis. Three ninedays after Thorby had learned the messages Baslim gave him a note to deliver in the shipyard area, which was a reserve of the Sargon rather than part of the city. “Carry your freedman’s tag and leave your bowl behind. If a policeman stops you, tell him you’re looking for work in the yards.”

  “He’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “But he’ll let you through. They do use freedmen, as sweepers and such. Carry the message in your mouth. Who are you looking for?”

  “A short, red-haired man,” Thorby repeated, “with a big wart on the left side of his nose. He runs a lunch stand across from the main gate. No beard. I’m to buy a meat pie and slip him the message with the money.”

  “Right.”

  Thorby enjoyed the outing. He did not wonder why Pop didn’t viewphone messages instead of sending him a half day’s journey; people of their class did not use such luxuries. As for the royal mails, Thorby had never sent or received a letter and would have regarded the mails as a most chancy way to send a note.

  His route followed one arc of the spaceport through the factory district. He relished that part of the city; there was always so much going on, so much life and noise. He dodged traffic, with truck drivers cursing him and Thorby answering with interest; he peered in each open door, wondering what all the machines were for and why commoners would stand all day in one place, doing the same thing over and over—or were they slaves? No, they couldn’t be; slaves weren’t allowed to touch power machinery except on plantations—that was what the riots had been about last year and the Sargon had lifted his hand in favor of the commoners.

  Was it true that the Sargon never slept and that his eye could see anything in the Nine Worlds? Pop said that was nonsense, the Sargon was just a man, like anybody. But if so, how did he get to be Sargon?

  He left the factories and skirted the shipyards. He had never been this far before. Several ships were in for overhaul and two small ships were being built, cradled in lacy patterns of steel. Ships made his heart lift and he wished he were going somewhere. He knew that he had traveled by starship twice—or was it three times?—but that was long ago and he didn’t mean traveling in the hold of a slaver, that wasn’t traveling!

  He got so interested that he almost walked past the lunch stand. The main gate reminded him; it was twice as big as the others, had a guard on it, and a big sign curving over it with the seal of the Sargon on top. The lunch stand was across from it; Thorby dodged traffic pouring through the gate and went to it.

  The man behind the counter was not the right man; what little hair he had was black and his nose had no wart.

  Thorby walked up the road, killed a half-hour and came back. There was still no sign of his man. The counterman noticed the inspection, so Thorby stepped forward and said, “Do you have sunberry crush?”

  The man looked him over. “Money?”

  Thorby was used to being required to prove his solvency; he dug out the coin. The man scooped it up, opened a bottle for him. “Don’t drink at the counter, I need the stools.”

  There were plenty of stools, but Thorby was not offended; he knew his social status. He stood back but not so far as to be accused of trying to abscond with the bottle, then made the drink last a long time. Customers came and went; he checked each, on the chance that the red-headed man might have picked this time to eat. He kept his ears cocked.

  Presently the counterman looked up. “You trying to wear that bottle out?”

  “Just through, thanks.” Thorby came up to put the bottle down and said, “Last time I was over this way a red-headed chap was running this place.”

  The man looked at him. “You a friend of Red?”

  “Well, not exactly. I just used to see him here, when I’d stop for a cold drink, or—”

  “Let’s see your permit.”

  “What? I don’t need—” The man grabbed at Thorby’s wrist. But Thorby’s profession had made him adept at dodging kicks, cuffs, canes, and such; the man clutched air.

  The man came around the counter, fast; Thorby ducked into traffic. He was halfway across the street and had had two narrow escapes before he realized that he was running toward the gate—and that the counterman was shouting for the guard there.

  Thorby turned and started dodging traffic endwise. Fortunately it was dense; this road carried the burden of the yards. H
e racked up three more brushes with death, saw a side street that dead-ended into the throughway, ducked between two trucks, down the side street as fast as he could go, turned into the first alley, ran down it, hid behind an outbuilding and waited.

  He heard no pursuit.

  He had been chased many times before, it did not panic him. A chase was always two parts: first breaking contact, second the retiring action to divorce oneself from the incident. He had accomplished the first; now he had to get out of the neighborhood without being spotted—slow march and no suspicious moves. In losing himself he had run away from the city, turned left into the side street, turned left again into the alley; he was now almost behind the lunch stand—it had been a subconscious tactic. The chase always moved away from the center; the lunch stand was one place where they would not expect him to be. Thorby estimated that in five minutes, or ten, the counterman would be back at his job and the guard back at the gate; neither one could leave his post unwatched. Shortly, Thorby could go on through the alley and head home.

  He looked around. The neighborhood was commercial land not yet occupied by factories, jumble of small shops, marginal businesses, hovels, and hopeless minor enterprise. He appeared to be in back of a very small hand laundry; there were poles and lines and wooden tubs and steam came out a pipe in the outbuilding. He knew his location now—two doors from the lunch stand; he recalled a homemade sign: “Majestic Home Laundry—Lowest Prices.”

  He could cut around this building and—but better check first. He dropped flat and stuck an eye around the corner of the outbuilding, sighted back down the alley.

  Oh, oh!—two patrolmen moving up the alley . . . he had been wrong, wrong! They hadn’t dropped the matter, they had sent out the alarm. He pulled back and looked around. The laundry? No. The outbuilding? The patrol would check it. Nothing but to run for it—right into the arms of another patrol. Thorby knew how fast the police could put a cordon around a district. Near the Plaza he could go through their nets, but here he was in strange terrain.

  His eye lit on a worn-out washtub . . . then he was under it. It was a tight fit, with knees to his chin and splinters in his spine. He was afraid that his clout was sticking out but it was too late to correct it; he heard someone coming.

  Footsteps came toward the tub and he stopped breathing. Someone stepped on the tub and stood on it.

  “Hi there, mother!” It was a man’s voice. “You been out here long?”

  “Long enough. Mind that pole, you’ll knock the clothes down.”

  “See anything of a boy?”

  “What boy?”

  “Youngster, getting man-tall. Fuzz on his chin. Breech clout, no sandals.”

  “Somebody,” the woman’s voice above him answered indifferently, “came running through here like his ghost was after him. I didn’t really see him—I was trying to get this pesky line up.”

  “That’s our baby! Where’d he go?”

  “Over that fence and between those houses.”

  “Thanks, mother! Come on, Juby.”

  Thorby waited. The woman continued whatever she was doing; her feet moved and the tub creaked. Then she stepped down and sat on the tub. She slapped it gently. “Stay where you are,” she said softly. A moment later he heard her go away.

  Thorby waited until his bones ached. But he resigned himself to staying under that tub until dark. It would be chancy, as the night patrol questioned everyone but nobles after curfew, but leaving this neighborhood in daylight had become impossible. Thorby could not guess why he had been honored by a turn-out of the guard, but he did not want to find out. He heard someone—the woman?—moving around the yard from time to time.

  At least an hour later he heard the creak of un-greased wheels. Someone tapped on the tub. “When I lift the tub, get into the cart, fast. It’s right in front of you.”

  Thorby did not answer. Daylight hit his eyes, he saw a small pushcart—and was in it and trying to make himself small. Laundry landed on him. But before that blanked out his sight he saw that the tub was no longer nakedly in the open; sheets had been hung on lines so that it was screened.

  Hands arranged bundles over him and a voice said, “Hold still until I tell you to move.”

  “Okay . . . and thanks a million! I’ll pay you back someday.”

  “Forget it.” She breathed heavily. “I had a man once. Now he’s in the mines. I don’t care what you’ve done— I don’t turn anybody over to the patrol.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Shut up.”

  The little cart bumped and wobbled and presently Thorby felt the change to pavement. Occasionally they stopped; the woman would remove a bundle, be gone a few minutes, come back and dump dirty clothes into the cart. Thorby took it with the long patience of a beggar.

  A long time later the cart left pavement. It stopped and the woman said in a low voice, “When I tell you, get out the righthand side and keep going. Make it fast.”

  “Okay. And thanks again!”

  “Shut up.” The cart bumped along a short distance, slowed without stopping, and she said, “Now!”

  Thorby threw off his covering, bounced out and landed on his feet, all in one motion. He was facing a passage between two buildings, a serviceway from alley to street. He started down it fast but looked back over his shoulder.

  The cart was just disappearing. He never did see her face.

  Two hours later he was back in his own neighborhood. He slipped down beside Baslim. “No good.”

  “Why not?”

  “Snoopies. Squads of ’em.”

  “Alms, gentle sir! You swallowed it? Alms for the sake of your parents!”

  “Of course.”

  “Take the bowl.” Baslim got to hands and knee, started away.

  “Pop! Don’t you want me to help you?”

  “You stay here.”

  Thorby stayed, irked that Pop had not waited for a full report. He hurried home as soon as it was dark, found Baslim in the kitchen-washroom, paraphernalia spread around him and using both recorder and book projector. Thorby glanced at the displayed page, saw that he could not read it and wondered what language it was—an odd one; the words were all seven letters, no more, no less. “Hi, Pop. Shall I start supper?”

  “No room . . . and no time. Eat some bread. What happened today?”

  Thorby told him, while munching bread. Baslim simply nodded. “Lie down. I’ve got to use hypnosis on you again. We’ve got a long night ahead.”

  The material Baslim wanted him to memorize consisted of figures, dates, and endless three-syllable nonsense words. The light trance felt dreamily pleasant and the droning of Baslim’s voice coming out of the recorder was pleasant, too.

  During one of the breaks, when Baslim had commanded him to wake up, he said, “Pop, who’s this message for?”

  “If you ever get a chance to deliver it, you’ll know; you won’t have any doubts. If you have trouble remembering it, tell him to put you into a light trance; it’ll come back.”

  “Tell whom?”

  “Him. Never mind. You are going to sleep. You are asleep.” Baslim snapped his fingers.

  While the recorder was droning Thorby was vaguely aware once that Baslim had just come in. He was wearing his false leg, which affected Thorby with dreamy surprise; Pop ordinarily wore it only indoors. Once Thorby smelled smoke and thought dimly that something must be burning in the kitchen and he should go check. But he was unable to move and the nonsense words kept droning into his ears.

  He became aware that he was droning back to Pop the lesson he had learned. “Did I get it right?”

  “Yes. Now go to sleep. Sleep the rest of the night.”

  Baslim was gone in the morning. Thorby was not surprised; Pop’s movements had been even less predictable than usual lately. He ate breakfast, took his bowl and set out for the Plaza. Business was poor—Pop was right; Thorby now looked too healthy and well fed for the profession. Maybe he would have to learn to dislocate his joints like Granny the Snake. Or buy contact lenses with cataracts built into them.

  Midafternoon an unscheduled freighter grounded at the port. Thorby started the usual inquiries, found that it was the Free Tra
der Sisu, registered home port New Finlandia, Shiva III.

  Ordinarily this would have been a minor datum, to be reported to Pop when he saw him. But Captain Krausa of the Sisu was one of the five persons to whom Thorby was someday to deliver a message, if and when.

  It fretted Thorby. He knew that he was not to look up Captain Krausa—that was the distant future, for Pop was alive and well. But maybe Pop would be anxious to know that this ship had arrived. Tramp freighters came and went, nobody knew when, and sometimes they were in port only a few hours.

  Thorby told himself that he could get home in five minutes—and Pop might thank him. At worst he would bawl him out for leaving the Plaza, but, shucks, he could pick up anything he missed, through gossip.

  Thorby left.

  The ruins of the old amphitheater extend around one third of the periphery of the new. A dozen holes lead down into the labyrinth which had served the old slave barracks; an unlimited number of routes ran underground from these informal entrances to that part which Baslim had pre-empted as a home. Thorby and he varied their route in random fashion and avoided being seen entering or leaving.

  This time, being in a hurry, Thorby went to the nearest—and on past; there was a policeman at it. He continued as if his destination had been a tiny greengrocer’s booth on the street rimming the ruins. He stopped and spoke to the proprietress. “Howdy, Inga. Got a nice ripe melon you’re going to have to throw away?”

  “No melons.”

  He displayed money. “How about that big one? Half price and I won’t notice the rotten spot.” He leaned closer. “What’s burning?”

  Her eyes flicked toward the patrolman. “Get lost.”

  “Raid?”

  “Get lost, I said.”

  Thorby dropped a coin on the counter, picked up a bellfruit and walked away, sucking the juice. He did not hurry.

  A cautious reconnaissance showed him that police were staked out all through the ruins. At one entrance a group of ragged troglodytes huddled sadly under the eye of a patrolman. Baslim had estimated that at least five hundred people lived in the underground ruins. Thorby had not quite believed it, as he had rarely seen anyone else enter or heard them inside. He recognized only two faces among the prisoners.

A half-hour later and more worried every minute Thorby located an entrance which the police did not seem to know. He scanned it for several minutes, then darted from behind a screen of weeds and was down it. Once inside he got quickly into total darkness, then moved cautiously, listening. The police were supposed to have spectacles which let them see in the dark. Thorby wasn’t sure this was true as he had always found darkness helpful in evading them. But he took no chances.

  There were indeed police down below; he heard two of them and saw them by hand torches they carried—if snoopies could see in the dark these two did not seem equipped for it. They were obviously searching, stun guns drawn. But they were in strange territory whereas Thorby was playing his home field. A specialized speleologist, he knew these corridors the way his tongue knew his teeth; he had been finding his way through them in utter blackness twice a day for years.

  At the moment they had him trapped; he kept just far enough ahead to avoid their torches, skirted a hole that reached down into the next level, went beyond it, ducked into a doorway and waited.

  They reached the hole, eyed the narrow ledge Thorby had taken so casually in the dark, and one of them said, “We need a ladder.”

  “Oh, we’ll find stairs or a chute.” They turned back. Thorby waited, then went back and down the hole.

  A few minutes later he was close to his home doorway. He looked and listened and sniffed and waited until he was certain that no one was close, then crept to the door and reached for the thumbhole in the lock. Even as he reached he knew that something was wrong.

  The door was gone; there was just a hole.

  He froze, straining every sense. There was an odor of strangers but it wasn’t fresh and there was no sound of breathing. The only sound was a faint drip-drip in the kitchen.

  Thorby decided that he just had to see. He looked behind him, saw no glimmer, reached inside for the light switch and turned it to “dim.”

  Nothing happened. He tried the switch in all positions, still no light. He went inside, avoided something cluttering Baslim’s neat living room, on into the kitchen, and reached for candles. They were not where they belonged but his hand encountered one nearby; he found the match safe and lit the candle.

  Ruin and wreckage!

  Most of the damage seemed the sort that results from a search which takes no account of cost, aiming solely at speed and thoroughness. Every cupboard, every shelf had been spilled, food dumped on the floor. In the large room the mattresses had been ripped open, stuffing spilled out. But some of it looked like vandalism, unnecessary, pointless.

  Thorby looked around with tears welling up and his chin quivering. But when he found, near the door, Pop’s false leg, lying dead on the floor with its mechanical perfection smashed as if trampled by boots, he broke into sobs and had to put the candle down to keep from dropping it. He picked up the shattered leg, held it like a doll, sank to the floor and cradled it, rocking back and forth and moaning.

  CHAPTER 5

  Thorby spent the next several hours in the black corridors outside their ruined home, near the first branching, where he would hear Pop if he came back but where Thorby would have a chance to duck if police showed up.

  He caught himself dozing, woke with a start, and decided that he had to find out what time it was; it seemed as if he had been keeping vigil a week. He went back into their home, found a candle and fit it. But their only clock, a household “Eternal,” was smashed. No doubt the radioactive capsule was still reckoning eternity but the works were mute. Thorby looked at it and forced himself to think in practical terms.

  If Pop were free, he would come back. But the police had taken Pop away. Would they simply question him and turn him loose?

  No, they would not. So far as Thorby knew, Pop had never done anything to harm the Sargon—but he had known for a long time that Pop was not simply a harmless old beggar. Thorby did not know why Pop had done the many things which did not fit the idea of “harmless old beggar” but it was clear that the police knew or suspected. About once a year the police had “cleaned out” the ruins by dropping a few retch-gas bombs down the more conspicuous holes; it simply meant having to sleep somewhere else for a couple of nights. But this was a raid in force. They had intended to arrest Pop and they had been searching for something.

  The Sargon’s police operated on a concept older than justice; they assumed that a man was guilty, they questioned him by increasingly strong methods until he talked . . . methods so notorious that an arrested person was usually anxious to tell all before questioning started. But Thorby was certain that the police would get nothing out of Pop which the old man did not wish to admit.

  Therefore the questioning would go on a long time.

  They were probably working on Pop this very minute. Thorby’s stomach turned over.

  He had to get Pop away from them.

  How? How does a moth attack the Praesidium? Thorby’s chances were not much better. Baslim might be in a back room of the district police barracks, the logical place for a petty prisoner. But Thorby had an unreasoned conviction that Pop was not a petty prisoner . . . in which case he might be anywhere, even in the bowels of the Praesidium.

  Thorby could go to the district police office and ask where his patron had been taken—but such was the respect in which the Sargon’s police were held that this solution did not occur to him; had he presented himself as next of kin of a prisoner undergoing interrogation Thorby would have found himself in another closed room being interviewed by the same forceful means as a check on the answers (or lack of them) which were being wrung out of Baslim.

  Thorby was not a coward; he simply knew that one does not dip water with a knife. Whatever he did for Pop would have to be done indirectly. He could not demand his “rights” because he had none; the idea never entered his head. Bribery was possible—for a man with a poke full of stellars. Thorby had less than two minims. Stealth was all that was left and for that he needed information.

  He reached this conclusion as soon as he admitted that there was no reasonable chance that the police would turn Pop loose. But, on the wild chance that Baslim might talk his way free, Thorby wrote a note, telling Pop that he would check back the next day, and left it on a shelf they used as a mail drop. Then he left.

  It was night when he stuck his head above ground. He could not decide whether he had been down in the ruins for half a day or a day and a half. It forced him to change plans; he had intended to go first to Inga the greengrocer and find out what she knew. But at least there were no police around now; he could move freely as long as he evaded the night patrol. But where? Who could, or would, give him information?

  Thorby had dozens of friends and knew hundreds by sight. But his acquaintances were subject to curfew; he saw them only in daylight and in most cases did not know where they slept. But there was one neighborhood which was not under curfew; Joy Street and its several adjoining courts never closed. In the name of commerce and for the accommodation of visiting spacemen taprooms and gaming halls and other places of hospitality to strangers in that area near the spaceport never closed their doors. A commoner, even a freedman, might stay up all night there, although he could not leave between curfew and dawn without risking being picked up.

  This risk did not bother Thorby; he did not intend to be seen and, although it was patrolled inside, he knew the habits of the police there. They traveled in pairs and stayed on lighted streets, leaving their beats only to suppress noisy forms of lawbreaking. But the virtue of the district, for Thorby’s purpose, was that the gossip there was often hours ahead of the news as well as covering matters ignored or suppressed by licensed news services.

  Someone on Joy Street would know what had happened to Pop.

  Thorby got into the honky-tonk neighborhood by scrambling over roof tops. He went down a drain into a dark court, moved along it to Joy Street, stopped short of the street lights, looked up and down for police and tried to spot someone he knew. There were many people about but most of them were strangers on the tow
n. Thorby knew every proprietor and almost every employee up and down the street but he hesitated to walk into one of the joints; he might walk into the arms of police. He wanted to spot someone he trusted, whom he could motion into the darkness of the court.

  No police but no friendly faces, either—just a moment; there was Auntie Singham.

  Of the many fortunetellers who worked Joy Street Auntie Singham was the best; she never purveyed anything but good fortune. If these things failed to come to pass, no customer ever complained; Auntie’s warm voice carried conviction. Some whispered that she improved her own fortunes by passing information to the police, but Thorby did not believe it because Pop did not. She was a likely source of news and Thorby decided to chance it—the most she could tell the police was that he was alive and on the loose . . . which they knew.

  Around the corner to Thorby’s right was the Port of Heaven cabaret; Auntie was spreading her rug on the pavement there, anticipating customers spilling out at the end of a performance now going on.

  Thorby glanced each way and hurried along the wall almost to the cabaret. “Psst! Auntie!”

  She looked around, looked startled, then her face became expressionless. Through unmoving lips she said, loud enough to reach him, “Beat it, son! Hide! Are you crazy?”

  “Auntie . . . where have they got him?”

  “Crawl in a hole and pull it in after you. There’s a reward out!”

  “For me? Don’t be silly, Auntie; nobody would pay a reward for me. Just tell me where they’re holding him. Do you know?”

  “They’re not.”

  ” ‘They’re not’ what?”

  “You don’t know? Oh, poor lad! They’ve shortened him.”

  Thorby was so shocked that he was speechless. Although Baslim had talked of the time when he would be dead, Thorby had never really believed in it; he was incapable of imagining Pop dead and gone.

  He missed her next words; she had to repeat. “Snoopers! Get out!”

  Thorby glanced over his shoulder. Two patrolmen, moving this way—time to leave! But he was caught between street and blank wall, with no bolt hole but the entrance to the cabaret . . . if he ducked in there, dressed as he was, being what he was, the management would simply shout for the patrol.

  But there was nowhere else to go. Thorby turned his back on the police and went inside the narrow foyer of the cabaret. There was no one there; the last act was in progress and even the hawker was not in sight. But just inside was a ladder-stool and on it was a box of transparent letters used to change signs billing the entertainers. Thorby saw them and an idea boiled up that would have made Baslim proud of his pupil—Thorby grabbed the box and stool and went out again.

  He paid no attention to the approaching policemen, placed the ladder-stool under the little lighted marquee that surmounted the entrance and jumped up on it, with his back to the patrolmen. It placed most of his body in bright light but his head and shoulders stuck up into the shadow above the row of lights. He began methodically to remove letters spelling the name of the star entertainer.

  The two police reached a point right behind him. Thorby tried not to tremble and worked with the steady listlessness of a hired hand with a dull job. He heard Auntie Singham call out, “Good evening, Sergeant.”

  “Evening, Auntie. What lies are you telling tonight?”

  “Lies indeed! I see a sweet young girl in your future, with hands graceful as birds. Let me see your palm and perhaps I can read her name.”

  “What would my wife say? No time to chat tonight, Auntie.” The sergeant glanced at the workman changing the sign, rubbed his chin and said, “We’ve got to stay on the prowl for Old Baslim’s brat. You haven’t seen him?” He looked again at the work going on above him and his eyes widened slightly.

  “Would I sit here swapping gossip if I had?”

  “Hmm . . .” He turned to his partner. “Roj, move along and check Ace’s Place, and don’t forget the washroom. I’ll keep an eye on the street.”

  “Okay, Sarge.”

  The senior patrolman turned to the fortuneteller as his partner moved away. “It’s a sad thing, Auntie. Who would have believed that old Baslim could have been spying against the Sargon and him a cripple?”

  “Who indeed?” She rocked forward. “Is it true that he died of fright before they shortened him?”

  “He had poison ready, knowing what was coming. But dead he was, before they pulled him out of his hole. The captain was furious.”

  “If he was dead already, why shorten him?”

  “Come, come, Auntie, the law must be served. Shorten him they did, though it’s not a job I’d relish.” The sergeant sighed. “It’s a sad world, Auntie. Think of that poor boy, led astray by that old rascal . . . and now the captain and the commandant both want to ask the lad questions they meant to ask the old man.”

  “What good will that do them?”

  “None, likely.” The sergeant poked gutter filth with the butt of his staff. “But if I were the lad, knowing the old man is dead and not knowing any answers to difficult questions, I’d be far, far from here already. I’d find me a farmer a long way from the city, one who needed willing hands cheap and took no interest in the troubles of the city. But since I’m not, why then, as soon as I clap eyes on him, if I do, I’ll arrest him and haul him up before the captain.”

  “He’s probably hiding between rows in a bean field this minute, trembling with fright.”

  “Likely. But that’s better than walking around with no head on your shoulders.” The police sergeant looked down the street, called out, “Okay, Roj. Right with you.” As he started away he glanced again at Thorby and said, “Night, Auntie. If you see him, shout for us.”

  “I’ll do that. Hail to the Sargon.”

  “Hail.”

  Thorby continued to pretend to work and tried not to shake, while the police moved slowly away. Customers trickled out of the cabaret and Auntie took up her chant, promising fame, fortune, and a bright glimpse of the future, all for a coin. Thorby was about to get down, stick the gear back into the entranceway and get lost, when a hand grabbed his ankle. “What are you doing!”

  Thorby froze, then realized it was just the manager of the place, angry at finding his sign disturbed. Without looking down Thorby said, “What’s wrong? You paid me to change this blinker.”

  “I did?”

  “Why, sure, you did. You told me—” Thorby glanced down, looked amazed and blurted, “You’re not the one.”

  “I certainly am not. Get down from there.”

  “I can’t. You’ve got my ankle.”

  The man let go and stepped back as Thorby climbed down. “I don’t know what silly idiot could have told you—” He broke off as Thorby’s face came into light. “Hey, it’s that beggar boy!”

  Thorby broke into a run as the man grabbed for him. He went ducking in and out between pedestrians as the shout of, “Patrol! Patrol! Police!” rose behind him. Then he was in the dark court again and, charged with adrenalin, was up a drainpipe as if it had been level pavement. He did not stop until he was several dozen roofs away.

  He sat down against a chimney pot, caught his breath and tried to think.

  Pop was dead. He couldn’t be but he was. Old Poddy wouldn’t have said so if he hadn’t known. Why . . . why, Pop’s head must be on a spike down at the pylon this minute, along with the other losers. Thorby had one grisly flash of visualization, and at last collapsed, wept uncontrollably.

  After a long time he raised his head, wiped his face with knuckles, and straightened up.

  Pop was dead. All right, what did he do now?

  Anyhow, Pop had beat them out of questioning him. Thorby felt bitter pride. Pop was always the smart one; they had caught him but Pop had had the last laugh.

  Well, what did he do now?

  Auntie Singham had warned him to hide. Poddy had said, plain as anything, to get out of town. Good advice—if he wanted to stay as tall as he was, he had better be outside the city before daylight. Pop would expect him to put up a fight, not sit still and wait for the snoopies, and there was nothing left that he could do for Pop, now that Pop was dead—hold it!

  “When I’m dead, you are to look up a man and give
him a message. Can I depend on you? Not goof off and forget it?”

  Yes, Pop, you can! I didn’t forget—I’ll deliver it! Thorby recalled for the first time in more than a day why he had come home early: Starship Sisu was in port; her skipper was on Pop’s list. “The first one who shows up”—that’s what Pop had said. I didn’t goof, Pop; I almost did but I remembered. I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Thorby decided with fierce resurgence that this message must be the final, important thing that Pop had to get out—since they said he was a spy. All right, he’d help Pop finish his job. I’ll do it, Pop. You’ll have the best of them yet!

  Thorby felt no twinge at the “treason” he was about to attempt; shipped in as a slave against his will, he felt no loyalty to the Sargon and Baslim had never tried to instill any. His strongest feeling toward the Sargon was superstitious fear and even that washed away in the violence of his need for revenge. He feared neither police nor Sargon himself; he simply wanted to evade them long enough to carry out Baslim’s wishes. After that . . . well, if they caught him, he hoped to have finished the job before they shortened him.

  If the Sisu were still in port . . .

  Oh, she had to be! But the first thing was to find out for sure that the ship had not left, then—no, the first thing was to get out of sight before daylight. It was a million times more important to stay clear of the snoopies now that he had it through his thick head that there was something he could do for Pop.

  Get out of sight, find out if the Sisu was still dirtside, get a message to her skipper . . . and do all this with every patrolman in the district looking for him—

  Maybe he had better work his way over to the shipyards, where he was not known, sneak inside and back the long way to the port and find the Sisu. No, that was silly; he had almost been caught over that way just from not knowing the layout. Here, at least, he knew every building, most of the people.

  But he had to have help. He couldn’t go on the street, stop spacemen and ask. Who was a close enough friend to help . . . at risk of trouble with police? Ziggie? Don’t be silly; Ziggie would turn him in for the reward, for two minims Ziggie would sell his own mother—Ziggie thought that anyone who didn’t look out for number one first, last, and always was a sucker.

Who else? Thorby came up against the hard fact that most of his friends were around his age and as limited in resources. Most of them he did not know how to find at night, and he certainly could not hang around in daylight and wait for one to show up. As for the few who lived with their families at known addresses, he could not think of one who could both be trusted and could keep parents concerned from tipping off the police. Most honest citizens at Thorby’s level went to great lengths to mind their own business and stay on the right side of the police.

  It had to be one of Pop’s friends.

  He ticked off this list almost as quickly. In most cases he could not be sure how binding the friendship was, blood brotherhood or merely acquaintance. The only one whom he could possibly reach and who might possibly help was Mother Shaum. She had sheltered them once when they were driven out of their cave with retch gas and she had always had a kind word and a cold drink for Thorby.

  He got moving; daylight was coming.

  Mother Shaum’s place was a taproom and lodging house, on the other side of Joy Street and near the crewmen’s gate to the spaceport. Half an hour later, having crossed many roofs, twice been up and down in side courts and once having ducked across the lighted street, Thorby was on the roof of her place. He had not dared walk in her door; too many witnesses would force her to call the patrol. He had considered the back entrance and had squatted among garbage cans before deciding that there were too many voices in the kitchen.

  But when he did reach her roof, he was almost caught by daylight; he found the usual access to the roof but he found also that its door and lock were sturdy enough to defy bare-handed burglary.

  He went to the rear with the possibility in mind of going down, trying the back door anyhow; it was almost dawn and becoming urgent to get under cover. As he looked down the back he noticed ventilation holes for the low attic, one on each side. They were barely as wide as his shoulders, as deep as his chest—but they led inside.

  They were screened but a few minutes and many scratches later he had one kicked in. Then he tried the unlikely task of easing himself over the edge feet first and snaking into the hole. He got in as far as his hips, his clout caught on raw edges of screening and he stuck like a cork, lower half inside the house, chest and head and arms sticking out like a gargoyle. He could not move and the sky was getting lighter.

  With a drag from his heels and sheer force of will the cloth parted and he moved inside, almost knocking himself out by banging his head. He lay still and caught his breath, then pushed the screening untidily back into place. It would no longer stop vermin but it might fool the eye from four stories down. It was not until then that he realized that he had almost fallen those four stories.

  The attic was no more than a crawl space; he started to explore on hands and knees for the fixture he believed must be here: a scuttle hole for repairs or inspection. Once he started looking and failed to find it, he was not sure that there was such a thing—he knew that some houses had them but he did not know much about houses; he had not lived in them much.

  He did not find it until sunrise striking the vent holes gave illumination. It was all the way forward, on the street side.

  And it was bolted from underneath.

  But it was not as rugged as the door to the roof. He looked around, found a heavy spike dropped by a workman and used it to dig at the wooden closure. In time he worked a knot loose, stopped and peered through the knothole.

  There was a room below; he saw a bed with one figure in it.

  Thorby decided that he could not expect better luck; only one person to cope with, to persuade to find Mother Shaum without raising an alarm. He took his eye away, put a finger through and felt around; he touched the latch, then gladly broke a fingernail easing the bolt back. Silently he lifted the trap door.

  The figure in the bed did not stir.

  He lowered himself, hung by his fingertips, dropped the remaining short distance and collapsed as noiselessly as possible.

  The person in bed was sitting up with a gun aimed at him. “It took you long enough,” she said. “I’ve been listening to you for the past hour.”

  “Mother Shaum! Don’t shoot!”

  She leaned forward, looked closely. “Baslim’s kid!” She shook her head. “Boy, you’re a mess . . . and you’re hotter than a fire in a mattress, too. What possessed you to come here?”

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  She frowned. “I suppose that’s a compliment . . . though I had ruther have had a plague of boils, if I’d uv had my druthers.” She got out of bed in her nightdress, big bare feet slapping on the floor, and peered out the window at the street below. “Snoopies here, snoopies there, snoopies checking every joint in the street three times in one night and scaring my customers . . . boy, you’ve caused more hooraw than I’ve seen since the factory riots. Why didn’t you have the kindness to drop dead?”

  “You won’t hide me, Mother?”

  “Who said I wouldn’t? I’ve never gone out of my way to turn anybody in yet. But I don’t have to like it.” She glowered at him. “When did you eat last?”

  “Uh, I don’t remember.”

  “I’ll scare you up something. I don’t suppose you can pay for it?” She looked at him sharply.

  “I’m not hungry. Mother Shaum, is the Sisu still in port?”

  “Huh? I don’t know. Yes, I do; she is—a couple of her boys were in earlier tonight. Why?”

  “I’ve got to get a message to her skipper. I’ve got to see him, I’ve just got to!”

  She gave a moan of utter exasperation. “First he wakes a decent working woman out of her first sleep of the night, he plants himself on her at rare risk to her life and limb and license. He’s filthy dirty and scratched and bloody and no doubt will be using my clean towels with laundry prices the way they are. He hasn’t eaten and can’t pay for his tucker . . . and now he adds insult to injury by demanding that I run errands for him!”

  “I’m not hungry . . . and it doesn’t matter whether I wash or not. But I’ve got to see Captain Krausa.”

  “Don’t be giving me orders in my own bedroom. Overgrown and unspanked, you are, if I knew that old scamp you lived with. You’ll have to wait until one of the Sisu’s lads shows up later in the day, so’s I can get a note out to the Captain.” She turned toward the door. “Water’s in the jug, towel’s on the rack. Mind you get clean.” She left.

  Washing did feel good and Thorby found astringent powder on her dressing table, dusted his scratches. She came back, slapped two slices of bread with a generous slab of meat between them in front of him, added a bowl of milk, left without speaking. Thorby hadn’t thought that it was possible to eat, with Pop dead, but found that it was—he had quit worrying when he first saw Mother Shaum.

  She came back. “Gulp that last bite and in you go. The word is they’re going to search every house.”

  “Huh? Then I’ll get out and run for it.”

  “Shut up and do as I say. In you go now.”

  “In where?”

  “In there,” she answered, pointing.

  “In that?” It was a built-in window seat and chest, in a corner; its shortcoming lay in its size, it being as wide as a man but less than a third as long. “I don’t think I can fold up that small.”

  “And that’s just what the snoopies will think. Hurry.” She lifted the lid, dug out some clothing, lifted the far end of the box at the wall adjoining the next room as if it were a sash, and disclosed thereby that a hole went on through the wall. “Scoot your legs through—and don’t think you are the only one who has ever needed to lie quiet.”

  Thorby got into the box, slid his legs through the hole, lay back; the lid when closed would be a few inches above his face. Mother Shaum threw clothing on top of him, concealing him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Mother Shaum? Is he really dead?”

  Her voice became almost gentle. “He is, lad. A great shame it is, too.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I was bothered by the same doubt, knowing him so well. So I took a walk down to the pylon to see. He is. But I can tell you this, lad, he’s got a grin on his face like he’d outsmarte
d them . . . and he had, too. They don’t like it when a man doesn’t wait to be questioned.” She sighed again. “Cry now, if you need, but be quiet. If you hear anyone, don’t even breathe.”

  The lid slammed. Thorby wondered whether he would be able to breathe at all, but found that there must be air holes; it was stuffy but bearable. He turned his head to get his nose clear of cloth resting on it.

  Then he did cry, after which he went to sleep.

  He was awakened by voices and footsteps, recalled where he was barely in time to keep from sitting up. The lid above his face opened, and then slammed, making his ears ring; a man’s voice called out, “Nothing in this room, Sarge!”

  “We’ll see.” Thorby recognized Poddy’s voice. “You missed that scuttle up there. Fetch the ladder.”

  Mother Shaum’s voice said, “Nothing up there but the breather space, Sergeant.”

  “I said, ‘We’d see.’ “

  A few minutes later he added, “Hand me the torch. Hmm . . . you’re right, Mother . . . but he has been here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Screen broken back at the end of the house and dust disturbed. I think he got in this way, came down through your bedroom, and out.”

  “Saints and devils! I could have been murdered in my bed! Do you call that police protection?”

  “You’re not hurt. But you’d better have that screen fixed, or you’ll have snakes and all their cousins living with you.” He paused. “It’s my thought he tried to stay in the district, found it too hot, and went back to the ruins. If so, no doubt we’ll gas him out before the day is over.”

  “Do you think I’m safe to go back to my bed?”

  “Why should he bother an old sack of suet like you?”

  “What a nasty thing to say! And just when I was about to offer you a drop to cut the dust.”

  “You were? Let’s go down to your kitchen, then, and we’ll discuss it. I may have been wrong.” Thorby heard them leave, heard the ladder being removed. At last he dared breathe.

  Later she came back, grumbling, and opened the lid. “You can stretch your legs. But be ready to jump back in. Three pints of my best. Policemen!”

  CHAPTER 6

  The skipper of the Sisu showed up that evening. Captain Krausa was tall, fair, rugged and had the worry wrinkles and grim mouth of a man used to authority and responsibility. He was irked with himself and everyone for having allowed himself to be lured away from his routine by nonsense. His eye assayed Thorby unflatteringly. “Mother Shaum, is this the person who insisted that he had urgent business with me?”

  The Captain spoke Nine Worlds trade lingo, a degenerate form of Sargonese, uninflected and with a rudimentary positional grammar. But Thorby understood it. He answered, “If you are Captain Fjalar Krausa, I have a message for you, noble sir.”

  “Don’t call me ‘noble sir’; I’m Captain Krausa, yes.”

  “Yes, nob—yes, Captain.”

  “If you have a message, give it to me.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Thorby started reciting the message he had memorized, using the Suomish version to Krausa: ” ‘To Captain Fjalar Krausa, master of Starship Sisu from Baslim the Cripple: Greetings, old friend! Greetings to your family, clan, and sib, and my humblest respects to your revered mother. I am speaking to you through the mouth of my adopted son. He does not understand Suomic; I address you privately. When you receive this message, I am already dead—”

  Krausa had started to smile; now he let out an exclamation. Thorby stopped. Mother Shaum interrupted with, “What’s he saying? What language is that?”

  Krausa brushed it aside. “It’s my language. Is what he says true?”

  “Is what true? How would I know? I don’t understand that yammer.”

  “Uh . . . sorry, sorry! He tells me that an old beggar who used to hang around the Plaza—’Baslim’ he called himself—is dead. Is this true?”

  “Eh? Of course it is. I could have told you, if I had known you were interested. Everybody knows it.”

  “Everybody but me, apparently. What happened to him?”

  “He was shortened.”

  “Shortened? Why?”

  She shrugged. “How would I know? The word is, he died or poisoned himself, or something, before they could question him—so how would I know? I’m just a poor old woman, trying to make an honest living, with prices getting higher every day. The Sargon’s police don’t confide in me.”

  “But if—never mind. He managed to cheat them, did he? It sounds like him.” He turned to Thorby. “Go on. Finish your message.”

  Thorby, thrown off stride, had to go back to the beginning. Krausa waited impatiently until he reached: “—I am already dead. My son is the only thing of value of which I die possessed; I entrust him to your care. I ask that you succor and admonish him as if you were I. When opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any vessel of the Hegemonic Guard, saying that he is a distressed citizen of the Hegemony and entitled as such to their help in locating his family. If they will bestir themselves, they can establish his identity and restore him to his people. All the rest I leave to your good judgment. I have enjoined him to obey you and I believe that he will; he is a good lad, within the limits of his age and experience, and I entrust him to you with a serene heart. Now I must depart. My life has been long and rich; I am content. Farewell.”

  The Captain chewed his lip and his face worked in the fashion of a grown man who is busy not crying. Finally he said gruffly, “That’s clear enough. Well, lad, are you ready?”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re coming with me. Or didn’t Baslim tell you?”

  “No, sir. But he told me to do whatever you told me to. I’m to come with you?”

  “Yes. How soon can you leave?”

  Thorby gulped. “Right now, sir.”

  “Then come on. I want to get back to my ship.” He looked Thorby up and down. “Mother Shaum, can we put some decent clothes on him? That outlandish rig won’t do to come aboard in. Or never mind; there’s a slop shop down the street; I’ll pick him up a kit.”

  She had listened with growing amazement. Now she said, “You’re taking him to your ship?”

  “Any objections?”

  “Huh? Not at all . . . if you don’t care if they rack him apart.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you crazy? There are six snoopers between here and the spaceport gate . . . and each one anxious to pick up the reward.”

  “You mean he’s wanted?”

  “Why do you think I’ve hidden him in my own bedroom? He’s as hot as bubbling cheese.”

  “But why?”

  “Again, how would I know? He is.”

  “You don’t really think that a lad like this would know enough about what old Baslim was doing to make it worth—”

  “Let’s not speak of what Baslim was doing or did. I’m a loyal subject of the Sargon . . . with no wish to be shortened. You say you want to take the boy into your ship. I say, ‘Fine!’ I’ll be happy to be quit of the worry. But how?”

  Krausa cracked his knuckles one by one. “I had thought,” he said slowly, “that it would be just a matter of walking him down to the gate and paying his emigration tax.”

  “It’s not, so forget it. Is there any way to get him aboard without passing him through the gate?”

  Captain Krausa looked worried. “They’re so strict about smuggling here that if they catch you, they confiscate the ship. You’re asking me to risk my ship . . . and myself . . . and my whole crew.”

  “I’m not asking you to risk anything. I’ve got myself to worry about. I was just telling you the straight score. If you ask me, I’d say you were crazy to attempt it.”

  Thorby said, “Captain Krausa—”

  “Eh? What is it, lad?”

  “Pop told me to do as you said . . . but I’m sure he never meant you to risk your neck on my account.” He swallowed. “I’ll be all right.”

  Krausa sawed the air impatiently. “No, no!” he said harshly. “Baslim wanted this done . . . and debts are paid. Debts are always paid!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No need for you to. But Baslim wanted me to take you with me, so that’s how it’s got to be.” He turned to Mother Shaum. “The question is, how? Any ideas?”

  “Mmm . . . possibly
. Let’s go talk it over.” She turned. “Get back in your hide-away, Thorby, and be careful. I may have to go out for a while.”

  Shortly before curfew the next day a large sedan chair left Joy Street. A patrolman stopped it and Mother Shaum stuck her head out. He looked surprised. “Going out, Mother? Who’ll take care of your customers?”

  “Mura has the keys,” she answered. “But keep an eye on the place, that’s a good friend. She’s not as firm with them as I am.” She put something in his hand and he made it disappear.

  “I’ll do that. Going to be gone all night?”

  “I hope not. Perhaps I had better have a street pass, do you think? I’d like to come straight home if I finish my business.”

  “Well, now, they’ve tightened up a little on street passes.”

  “Still looking for the beggar’s boy?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. But we’ll find him. If he’s fled to the country, they’ll starve him out; if he’s still in town, we’ll run him down.”

  “Well, you could hardly mistake me for him. So how about a short pass for an old woman who needs to make a private call?” She rested her hand on the door; the edge of a bill stuck out.

  He glanced at it and glanced away. “Is midnight late enough?”

  “Plenty, I should think.”

  He took out his book and started writing, tore out the form and handed it to her. As she accepted it the money disappeared. “Don’t make it later than midnight.”

  “Earlier, I hope.”

  He glanced inside the sedan chair, then looked over her entourage. The four bearers had been standing patiently, saying nothing—which was not surprising, since they had no tongues. “Zenith Garage?”

  “I always trade there.”

  “I thought I recognized them. Well matched.”

  “Better look them over. One of them might be the beggar’s boy.”

  “Those great hairy brutes! Get along with you, Mother.”

“Hail, Shol.”

  The chair swung up and moved away at a trot. As they rounded the corner she slowed them to a walk and drew all curtains. Then she patted the cushions billowing around her. “Doing all right?”

  “I’m squashed,” a voice answered faintly.

  “Better squashed than shortened. I’ll ease over a bit. Your lap is bony.”

  For the next mile she was busy modifying her costume, and putting on jewels. She veiled her face until only her live, black eyes showed. Finished, she stuck her head out and called instructions to the head porter; the chair swung right toward the spaceport. When they reached the road girdling its high, impregnable fence it was almost dark.

  The gate for spacemen is at the foot of Joy Street, the gate for passengers is east of there in the Emigration Control Building. Beyond that, in tbe warehouse district, is Traders’ Gate—freight and outgoing customs. Miles beyond are shipyard gates. But between the shipyards and Traders’ Gate is a small gate reserved for nobles rich enough to own space yachts.

  The chair reached the spaceport fence short of Traders’ Gate, turned and went along the fence toward it. Traders’ Gate is several gates, each a loading dock built through the barrier, so that a warehouse truck can back up, unload; the Sargon’s inspectors can weigh, measure, grade, prod, open, and ray the merchandise, as may be indicated, before it is slid across the dock into spaceport trucks on the other side, to be delivered to waiting ships.

  This night dock-three of the gate had its barricade open; Free Trader Sisu was finishing loading. Her master watched, arguing with inspectors, and oiling their functioning in the immemorial fashion. A ship’s junior officer helped him, keeping tally with pad and pencil.

  The sedan chair weaved among waiting trucks and passed close to the dock. The master of the Sisu looked up as the veiled lady in the chair peered out at the activity. He glanced at his watch and spoke to his junior officer. “One more load, Jan. You go in with the loaded truck and I’ll follow with the last one.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” The young man climbed on the tail of the truck and told the driver to take it away. An empty truck pulled into its place. It loaded quickly as the ship’s master seemed to find fewer things to argue about with the inspectors. Then he was not satisfied and demanded that it be done over. The boss stevedore was pained but the master soothed him, glanced at his watch again and said, “There’s time. I don’t want these crates cracked before we get them into the ship; the stuff costs money. So let’s do it right.”

  The sedan chair had moved on along the fence. Shortly it was dark; the veiled lady looked at the glowing face of her finger watch and urged her bearers into a trot.

  They came at last to the gate reserved for nobles. The veiled lady leaned her head out and snapped, “Open up!”

  There were two guards on the gate, one in a little watch room, the other lounging outside. The one outside opened the gate, but placed his staff across it when the sedan chair started to go through. Stopped, the bearers lowered it to the ground with the right-hand or door side facing into the gate.

  The veiled lady called out, “Clear the way, you! Lord Marlin’s yacht.”

  The guard blocking the gate hesitated. “My lady has a pass?”

  “Are you a fool?”

  “If my lady has no pass,” he said slowly, “perhaps my lady will suggest some way to assure the guard that My Lord Marlin is expecting her?”

  The veiled lady was a voice in the dark—the guard had sense enough not to shine a light in her face; he had long experience with nobles and gentry. But the voice was an angry one, it bubbled and fumed. “If you insist on being a fool, call my lord at his yacht! Phone him—and I trust you’ll find you’ve pleased him!”

  The guard in the watch room came out. “Trouble, Sean?”

  “Uh, no.” They held a whispered consultation. The junior went inside to phone Lord Marlin’s yacht, while the other waited outside.

  But it appeared that the lady had had all the nonsense she was willing to endure. She threw open the door of the chair, burst out, and stormed into the watch room with the other startled guard after her. The one making the call stopped punching keys with connection uncompleted and looked up . . . and felt sick. This was even worse than he had thought. This was no flighty young girl, escaped from her chaperones; this was an angry dowager, the sort with enough influence to break a man to common labor or worse—with a temper that made her capable of it. He listened open-mouthed to the richest tongue-lashing it had been his misfortune to endure in all the years he had been checking lords and ladies through their gate.

  While the attention of both guards was monopolized by Mother Shaum’s rich rhetoric, a figure detached itself from the sedan chair, faded through the gate and kept going, until it was lost in the gloom of the field. As Thorby ran, even as he expected the burning tingle of a stun gun bolt in his guts, he watched for a road on the right joining the one from the gate. When he came to it he threw himself down and lay panting.

  Back at the gate, Mother Shaum stopped for breath. “My lady,” one of them said placatingly, “if you will just let us complete the call—”

  “Forget it! No, remember it!—for tomorrow you’ll hear from My Lord Marlin.” She flounced back to her chair.

  “Please, my lady!”

  She ignored them, spoke sharply to the slaves; they swung the chair up, broke into a trot. One guard’s hand went to his belt, as a feeling of something badly wrong possessed him. But his hand stopped. Right or wrong, knocking down a lady’s bearer was not to be risked, no matter what she might be up to.

  And, after all, she hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

  When the master of the Sisu finally okayed the loading of the last truck, he climbed onto its bed, waved the driver to start, then worked his way forward. “Hey, there!” He knocked on the back of the cab.

  “Yes, Captain?” The driver’s voice came through faintly.

  “There’s a stop sign where this road joins the one out to the ships. I notice most of you drivers don’t bother with it.”

  “That one? There’s never any traffic on that road. That road is a stop just because the nobles use it.”

  “That’s what I mean. One of them might pop up and I’d miss my jump time just for a silly traffic accident with one of your nobles. They could hold me here for many ninedays. So come to a full stop, will you?”

  “Whatever you say, Captain. You’re paying the bill.”

  “So I am.” A half-stellar note went through a crack in the cab.

  When the truck slowed, Krausa went to the tail gate. As it stopped he reached down and snaked Thorby inside. “Quiet!” Thorby nodded and trembled. Krausa took tools from his pockets, attacked one of the crates. Shortly he had one side open, burlap pulled back, and he started dumping verga leaves, priceless on any other planet. Soon he had a largish hole and a hundred pounds of valuable leaves were scattered over the plain. “Get in!”

  Thorby crawled into the space, made himself small. Krausa pulled burlap over him, sewed it, crimped slats back into place, and finished by strapping it and sealing it with a good imitation of the seal used by the inspectors—it was a handcrafted product of his ship’s machine shop. He straightened up and wiped sweat from his face. The truck was turning into the loading circle for the Sisu.

  He supervised the final loads himself, with the Sargon’s field inspector at his elbow, checking off each crate, each bale, each carton as it went into the sling. Then Krausa thanked the inspector appropriately and rode the sling up instead of the passenger hoist. Since a man was riding it, the hoist man let down the sling with more than usual care. The hold was almost filled and stowed for jump; there was very little head room. Crewmen started wrestling crates free of the sling and even the Captain lent a hand, at least to the extent of one crate. Once the sling was dragged clear, they closed the cargo door and started dogging it for space. Captain Krausa reached into his pocket again and started tearing open that crate.

  Two hours later Mother Shaum stood at her bedroom window and looked out across the spaceport. She glanced at her watch. A green rocket rose from the control tower; seconds later a column of
white light climbed to the sky. When the noise reached her, she smiled grimly and went downstairs to supervise the business—Mura couldn’t really handle it properly alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  Inside the first few million miles Thorby was unhappily convinced that he had made a mistake.

  He passed out from inhaling fumes of verga leaves and awakened in a tiny, one-bunk stateroom. Waking was painful; although the Sisu maintained one standard gravity of internal field throughout a jump his body had recognized both the slight difference from Jubbul-surface gravity and the more subtle difference between an artificial field and the natural condition. His body decided that he was in the hold of a slaver and threw him into the first nightmare he had had in years.

  Then his tired, fume-sodden brain took a long time struggling up out of the horror.

  At last he was awake, aware of his surrounding, and concluded that he was aboard the Sisu and safe. He felt a glow of relief and gathering excitement that he was traveling, going somewhere. His grief over Baslim was pushed aside by strangeness and change. He looked around.

  The compartment was a cube, only a foot or so higher and wider than his own height. He was resting on a shelf that filled half the room and under him was a mattress strangely and delightfully soft, of material warm and springy and smooth. He stretched and yawned in surprised wonder that traders lived in such luxury. Then he swung his feet over and stood up.

  The bunk swung noiselessly up and fitted itself into the bulkhead. Thorby could not puzzle out how to open it again. Presently he gave up. He did not want a bed then; he did want to look around.

  When he woke the ceiling was glowing faintly. When he stood up it glowed brightly and remained so. But the light did not show where the door was. There were vertical metal panels on three sides, any of which might have been a door, save that none displayed thumb slot, hinge, or other familiar mark.

  He considered the possibility that he had been locked in, but was not troubled. Living in a cave, working in the Plaza, he was afflicted neither with claustrophobia nor agoraphobia; he simply wanted to find the door and was annoyed that he could not recognize it. If it were locked, he did not think that Captain Krausa would let it stay locked unduly long. But he could not find it.

  He did find a pair of shorts and a singlet, on the deck. When he woke he had been bare, the way he usually slept. He picked up these garments, touched them timidly, wondered at their magnificence. He recognized them as being the sort of thing most spacemen wore and for a moment let himself be dazzled at the thought of wearing such luxuries. But his mind shied away from such impudence.

  Then he recalled Captain Krausa’s distaste at his coming aboard in the clothes he normally wore—why, the Captain had even intended to take him to a tailoring shop in Joy Street which catered to spacemen! He had said so.

  Thorby concluded that these clothes must be for him. For him! His breech cloth was missing and the Captain certainly had not intended him to appear in the Sisu naked. Thorby was not troubled by modesty; the taboo was spotty on Jubbul and applied more to the upper classes. Nevertheless clothes were worn.

  Marveling at his own daring, Thorby tried them on. He got the shorts on backwards, figured out his mistake, and put them on properly. He got the pullover shirt on backwards, too, but the error was not as glaring; he left it that way, thinking that he had it right. Then he wished mightily that he could see himself.

  Both garments were of simple cut, undecorated light green, and fashioned of strong, cheap material; they were working clothes from the ship’s slop chest, a type of garment much used by both sexes on many planets through many centuries. Yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as Thorby! He smoothed the cloth against his skin and wanted someone to see him in his finery. He set about finding the door with renewed eagerness.

  It found him. While running his hands over the panels on one bulkhead he became aware of a breeze, turned and found that one panel had disappeared. The door let out into a passageway.

  A young man dressed much as Thorby was (Thorby was overjoyed to find that he had dressed properly for the occasion) was walking down the curved corridor toward Thorby. Thorby stepped out and spoke a greeting in Sargonese trade talk.

  The man’s eyes flicked toward Thorby, then he marched on past as if no one were there. Thorby blinked, puzzled and a little hurt. Then he called out to the receding back in Interlingua.

  No answer and the man disappeared before he could try other languages.

  Thorby shrugged and let it roll off; a beggar does not gain by being touchy. He set out to explore.

  In twenty minutes he discovered many things. First, the Sisu was much larger than he had imagined. He had never before seen a starship close up, other than from the doubtful vantage of a slaver’s hold. Ships in the distance, sitting on the field of Jubbul’s port, had seemed large but not this enormous. Second, he was surprised to find so many people. He understood that the Sargon’s freighters operating among the Nine Worlds were usually worked by crews of six or seven. But in his first few minutes he encountered several times that number of both sexes and all ages.

  Third, he became dismally aware that he was being snubbed. People did not look at him, nor did they answer when he spoke; they walked right through him if he did not jump. The nearest he accomplished to social relations was with a female child, a toddler who regarded him with steady, grave eyes in answer to his overtures—until snatched up by a woman who did not even glance at Thorby.

  Thorby recognized the treatment; it was the way a noble treated one of Thorby’s caste. A noble could not see him, he did not exist—even a noble giving alms usually did so by handing it through a slave. Thorby had not been hurt by such treatment on Jubbul; that was natural, that was the way things had always been. It had made him neither lonely nor depressed; he had had plenty of warm company in his misery and had not known that it was misery.

  But had he known ahead of time that the entire ship’s company of the Sisu would behave like nobles he would never have shipped in her, snoopies or not. But he had not expected such treatment. Captain Krausa, once Baslim’s message had been delivered, had been friendly and gruffly paternal; Thorby had expected the crew of the Sisu to reflect the attitude of her master.

  He wandered the steel corridors, feeling like a ghost among living, and at last decided sadly to go back to the cubicle in which he had awakened. Then he discovered that he was lost. He retraced what he thought was the route—and in fact was; Baslim’s renshawing had not been wasted—but all he found was a featureless tunnel. So he set out again, uncomfortably aware that whether he found his own room or not, he must soon find where they hid the washroom, even if he had to grab someone and shake him.

  He blundered into a place where he was greeted by squeals of female indignation; he retreated hastily and heard a door slam behind him.

  Shortly thereafter he was overtaken by a hurrying man who spoke to him, in Interlingua: “What the dickens are you doing wandering around and butting into things?”

  Thorby felt a wave of relief. The grimmest place in the world, lonelier than being alone, is Coventry, and even a reprimand is better than being ignored. “I’m lost,” he said meekly.

  “Why didn’t you stay where you were?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to—I’m sorry, noble sir—and there wasn’t any washroom.”

  “Oh. But there is, right across from your bunkie.”

  “Noble sir, I did not know.”

  “Mmm . . . I suppose you didn’t. I’m not ‘noble sir’; I’m First Assistant Power Boss—see that you remember it. Come along.” He grabbed Thorby by an arm, hurried him back through the maze, stopped in the same tunnel that had stumped Thorby, ran his hand down a seam in the metal. “Here’s your bunkie.” The panel slid aside.

  The man turned, did the same on the other side. “Here’s the starboard bachelors’ washroom.” The man advised him scornfully when Thorby was confused by strange fixtures, then chaperoned him back to his room. “Now stay here. Your meals will be fetched.”

  “First Assistant Power Boss, sir?”

  “Eh?”

  “Could I speak with Captain Krausa?”

  The man looked astonished. “Do you think the Skipper has nothing better to do than talk to you?”

  “But—”

  The man had left; Thorby was talking to a steel panel.

  Food appeared eventually, served by a youngster who behaved as if he were placing a tray in an empty room. More food appeared later and the first tray was removed. Thorby almost managed to be noticed; he hung onto the first tray and spoke to the boy in Interlingua. He detected a flicker of understanding, but he was answered by one short word. The word was “Fraki!” and Thorby did not recognize it . . . but he could recognize the contempt with which it was uttered. A fraki is a small, shapeless, semi-saurian scavenger of Alpha Centauri Prime III, one of the first worlds populated by men. It is ugly, almost mindless, and has disgusting habits. Its flesh can be eaten only by a starving man. Its skin is unpleasant to touch and leaves a foul odor.

  But “fraki” means more than this. It means a groundhog, an earthcrawler, a dirt dweller, one who never goes into space, not of our tribe, not human, a goy, an auslander, a savage, beneath contempt. In Old Terran cultures almost every animal name has been used as an insult: pig, dog, sow, cow, shark, louse, skunk, worm—the list is endless. No such idiom carries more insult than “fraki.”

  Fortunately all Thorby got was the fact that the youngster did not care for him . . . which he knew.

  Presently Thorby became sleepy. But, although he had mastered the gesture by which doors were opened, he still could not find any combination of swipes, scratches, punches, or other actions which would open the bed; he spent that night on the floorplates. His breakfast appeared next morning but he was unable to detain the person serving it, even to be insulted again. He did encounter other boys and young men in the washroom across the corridor; while he was still ignored, he learned one thing by watching—he could wash his clothing there. A gadget would accept a garment, hold it a few minutes, spew it forth dry and fresh. He was so delighted that he laundered his new finery three times that day. Besides, he had nothing else to do. He again slept on the floor that night.

He was squatting in his bunkie, feeling a great aching loneliness for Pop and wishing that he had never left Jubbul, when someone scratched at his door. “May I come in?” a voice inquired in careful, badly-accented Sargonese.

  “Come in!” Thorby answered eagerly and jumped up to open the door. He found himself facing a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face. “Welcome,” he said in Sargonese, and stood aside.

  “I thank you for your gracious—” she stumbled and said quickly, “Do you speak Interlingua?”

  “Certainly, madam.”

  She muttered in System English, “Thank goodness for that—I’ve run out of Sargonese,” then went on in Interlingua, “Then we will speak it, if you don’t mind.”

  “As you wish, madam,” Thorby answered in the same language, then added in System English, “unless you would rather use another language.”

  She looked startled. “How many languages do you speak?”

  Thorby thought. “Seven, ma’am. I can puzzle out some others, but I cannot say that I speak them.”

  She looked even more surprised and said slowly, “Perhaps I have made a mistake. But—correct me if I am wrong and forgive my ignorance—I was told that you were a beggar’s boy in Jubbulpore.”

  “I am the son of Baslim the Cripple,” Thorby said proudly, “a licensed beggar under the mercy of the Sargon. My late father was a learned man. His wisdom was famous from one side of the Plaza to the other.”

  “I believe it. Uh . . . are all beggars on Jubbul linguists?”

  “What, ma’am? Most of them speak only gutter argot. But my father did not permit me to speak it . . . other than professionally, of course.”

  “Of course.” She blinked. “I wish I could have met your father.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Will you sit down? I am ashamed that I have nothing but the floor to offer . . . but what I have is yours.”

  “Thank you.” She sat on the floor with more effort than did Thorby, who had remained thousands of hours in lotus seat, shouting his plea for alms.

  Thorby wondered whether to close the door, whether this lady—in Sargonese he thought of her as “my lady” even though her friendly manner made her status unclear—had left it open on purpose. He was floundering in a sea of unknown customs, facing a social situation totally new to him. He solved it with common sense; he asked, “Do you prefer the door open or closed, ma’am?”

  “Eh? It doesn’t matter. Oh, perhaps you had better leave it open; these are bachelor quarters of the starboard moiety and I’m supposed to live in port purdah, with the unmarried females. But I’m allowed some of the privileges and immunities of . . . well, of a pet dog. I’m a tolerated ‘fraki.’ ” She spoke the last word with a wry smile.

  Thorby had missed most of the key words. “A ‘dog’? That’s a wolf creature?”

  She looked at him sharply. “You learned this language on Jubbul?”

  “I have never been off Jubbul, ma’am—except when I was very young. I’m sorry if I do not speak correctly. Would you prefer Interlingua?”

  “Oh, no. You speak System English beautifully . . . a better Terran accent than mine—I’ve never been able to get my birthplace out of my vowels. But it’s up to me to make myself understood. Let me introduce myself. I’m not a trader; I’m an anthropologist they are allowing to travel with them. My name is Doctor Margaret Mader.”

  Thorby ducked his head and pressed his palms together. “I am honored. My name is Thorby, son of Baslim.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Thorby. Call me ‘Margaret.’ My title doesn’t count here anyhow, since it is not a ship’s title. Do you know what an anthropologist is?”

  “Uh, I am sorry, ma’am—Margaret.”

  “It’s simpler than it sounds. An anthropologist is a scientist who studies how people live together.”

  Thorby looked doubtful. “This is a science?”

  “Sometimes I wonder. Actually, Thorby, it is a complicated study, because the patterns that men work out to live together seem unlimited. There are only six things that all men have in common with all other men and not with animals—three of them part of our physical makeup, the way our bodies work, and three of them are learned. Everything else that a man does, or believes, all his customs and economic practices, vary enormously. Anthropologists study those variables. Do you understand ‘variable’?”

  “Uh,” Thorby said doubtfully, “the x in an equation?”

  “Correct!” she agreed with delight. “We study the x’s in the human equations. That’s what I’m doing. I’m studying the way the Free Traders live. They have worked out possibly the oddest solutions to the difficult problem of how to be human and survive of any society in history. They are unique.” She moved restlessly. “Thorby, would you mind if I sat in a chair? I don’t bend as well as I used to.”

  Thorby blushed. “Ma’am . . . I have none. I am dis—”

  “There’s one right behind you. And another behind me.” She stood up and touched the wall. A panel slid aside; an upholstered armchair unfolded from the shallow space disclosed.

  Seeing his face she said, “Didn’t they show you?” and did the same on the other wall; another chair sprang out.

  Thorby sat down cautiously, then let his weight relax into cushions as the chair felt him out and adjusted itself to him. A big grin spread over his face. “Gosh!”

  “Do you know how to open your work table?”

  “Table?”

  “Good heavens, didn’t they show you anything?”

  “Well . . . there was a bed in here once. But I’ve lost it.”

  Doctor Mader muttered something, then said, “I might have known it. Thorby, I admire these Traders. I even like them. But they can be the most stiff-necked, self-centered, contrary, self-righteous, uncooperative—but I should not criticize our hosts. Here.” She reached out both hands, touched two spots on the wall and the disappearing bed swung down. With the chairs open, there remained hardly room for one person to stand. “I’d better close it. You saw what I did?”

  “Let me try.”

  She showed Thorby other built-in facilities of what had seemed to be a bare cell: two chairs, a bed, clothes cupboards. Thorby learned that he owned, or at least had, two more work suits, two pairs of soft ship’s shoes, and minor items, some of which were strange, bookshelf and spool racks (empty, except for the Laws of Sisu), a drinking fountain, a bed reading light, an intercom, a clock, a mirror, a room thermostat, and gadgets which were useless to him as his background included no need. “What’s that?” he asked at last.

  “That? Probably the microphone to the Chief Officer’s cabin. Or it may be a dummy with the real one hidden. But don’t worry; almost no one in this ship speaks System English and she isn’t one of the few. They talk their ‘secret language’—only it isn’t secret; it’s just Finnish. Each Trader ship has its own language—one of the Terran tongues. And the culture has an over-all ‘secret’ language which is merely degenerate Church Latin—and at that they don’t use it; ‘Free Ships’ talk to each other in Interlingua.”

  Thorby was only half listening. He had been excessively cheered by her company and now, in contrast, he was brooding over his treatment from others. “Margaret . . . why won’t they speak to people?”

  “Eh?”

  “You’re the first person who’s spoken to me!”

  “Oh.” She looked distressed. “I should have realized it. You’ve been ignored.”

  “Well . . . they feed me.”

  “But they don’t talk with you. Oh, you poor dear! Thorby, they don’t speak to you because you are not ‘people.’ Nor am I.”

  “They don’t talk to you either?”

  “They do now. But it took direct orders from the Chief Officer and much patience on my part.” She frowned. “Thorby, every excessively clannish culture—and I know of none more clannish than this—every such culture has the same key word in its language . . . and the word is ‘people’ however they say it. It means themselves. ‘Me and my wife, son John and his wife, us four and no more’—cutting off their group from all others and denying that others are even human. Have you heard the word ‘fraki’ yet?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what it means.”

  “A fraki is just a harmless, rather repulsive little animal. But when they say it, it means ‘stranger.’ “

&n
bsp; “Uh, well, I guess I am a stranger.”

  “Yes, but it also means you can never be anything else. It means that you and I are subhuman breeds outside the law—their law.”

  Thorby looked bleak. “Does that mean I have to stay in this room and never, ever talk to anybody?”

  “Goodness! I don’t know. I’ll talk to you—”

  “Thanks!”

  “Let me see what I can find out. They’re not cruel; they’re just pig-headed and provincial. The fact that you have feelings never occurs to them. I’ll talk to the Captain; I have an appointment with him as soon as the ship goes irrational.” She glanced at her anklet. “Heavens, look at the time! I came here to talk about Jubbul and we haven’t said a word about it. May I come back and discuss it with you?”

  “I wish you would.”

  “Good. Jubbul is a well-analyzed culture, but I don’t think any student has ever had opportunity to examine it from the perspective you had. I was delighted when I heard that you were a professed mendicant.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A beggar. Investigators who have been allowed to live there have all been guests of the upper classes. That forces them to see . . . well, the way slaves live for example, from the outside, not the inside. You see?”

  “I guess so.” Thorby added, “If you want to know about slaves, I was one.”

  “You were?”

  “I’m a freedman. Uh, I should have told you,” he added uncomfortably, afraid that his new-found friend would scorn him, now that she knew his class.

  “No reason to, but I’m overjoyed that you mentioned it. Thorby, you’re a treasure trove! Look, dear, I’ve got to run; I’m late now. But may I come back soon?”

  “Huh? Why, surely, Margaret.” He added honestly, “I really don’t have much else to do.”

  Thorby slept in his wonderful new bed that night. He was left alone the next morning but he was not bored, as he had so many toys to play with. He opened things out and caused them to fold up again, delighted at how each gadget folded in on itself to occupy minimum space. He concluded that it must be witchcraft. Baslim had taught him that magic and witchcraft were nonsense but the teaching had not fully stuck—Pop had known everything but just the same, how could you fly in the face of experience? Jubbul had plenty of witches and if they weren’t practicing magic, what were they doing?

  He had just opened his bed for the sixth time when he was almost shocked out of the shoes he had dared to try on by an unholy racket. It was just the ship’s alarm, calling all hands to General Quarters, and it was merely a drill, but Thorby did not know that. When he reswallowed his heart, he opened the door and looked out. People were running at breakneck speed.

  Shortly the corridors were empty. He went back into his bunkie, waited and tried to understand. Presently his sharp ears detected the absence of the soft sigh of the ventilation system. But there was nothing he could do about it. He should have mustered in the innermost compartment, along with children and other non-combatants, but he did not know.

  So he waited.

  The alarm rang again, in conjunction with a horn signal, and again there were running people in the passageways. Again it was repeated, until the crew had run through General Quarters, Hull Broach, Power Failure, Air Hazard, Radiation Hazard, and so forth—all the general drills of a taut ship. Once the lights went out and once for frightening moments Thorby experienced the bewildering sensation of free fall as the ship’s artificial field cut off.

  After a long time of such inexplicable buffoonery he heard the soothing strains of recall and the ventilation system whispered back to normal. No one bothered to look for him; the old woman who mustered non-participants hadn’t noticed the absence of the fraki although she had counted the animal pets aboard.

  Immediately thereafter Thorby was dragged up to see the Chief Officer.

  A man opened his door, grabbed his shoulder and marched him away. Thorby put up with it for a short distance, then he rebelled; he had his bellyful of such treatment.

  The gutter fighting he had learned in order to survive in Jubbulpore was lacking in rules. Unfortunately this man had learned in a school equally cold-blooded but more scientific; Thorby got in one swipe, then found himself pinned against the bulkhead with his left wrist in danger of breaking. “Cut out the nonsense!”

  “Quit pushing me around!”

  “I said, ‘Cut out the nonsense.’ You’re going up to see the Chief Officer. Don’t give me trouble, Fraki, or I’ll stuff your head in your mouth.”

  “I want to see Captain Krausa!”

  The man relaxed the pressure and said, “You’ll see him. But the Chief Officer has ordered you to report . . . and she can’t be kept waiting. So will you go quietly? Or shall I carry you there in pieces?”

  Thorby went quietly. Pressure on a wrist joint combined with pressure on a nerve between the bones of the palm carries its own rough logic. Several decks up he was shoved through an open door. “Chief Officer, here’s the fraki.”

  “Thank you, Third Deck Master. You may go.”

  Thorby understood only the word “fraki.” He picked himself up and found himself in a room many times as large as his own. The most prominent thing in it was an imposing bed, but the small figure in the bed dominated the room. Only after he had looked at her did he notice that Captain Krausa stood silent on one side of the bed and that a woman perhaps the Captain’s age stood on the other.

  The woman in bed was shrunken with age but radiated authority. She was richly dressed—the scarf over her thin hair represented more money than Thorby had ever seen at one time—but Thorby noticed only her fierce, sunken eyes. She looked at him. “So! Oldest Son, I have much trouble believing it.” She spoke in Suomic.

  “My Mother, the message could not have been faked.”

  She sniffed.

  Captain Krausa went on with humble stubbornness, “Hear the message yourself, My Mother.” He turned to Thorby and said in Interlingua, “Repeat the message from your father.”

  Obediently, not understanding but enormously relieved to be in the presence of Pop’s friend, Thorby repeated the message by rote. The old woman heard him through, then turned to Captain Krausa. “What is this? He speaks our language! A fraki!”

  “No, My Mother, he understands not a word. That is Baslim’s voice.”

  She looked back at Thorby, spilled a stream of Suomic on him. He looked questioningly at Captain Krausa. She said, “Have him repeat it again.”

  The Captain gave the order; Thorby, confused but willing, did so. She lay silent after he had concluded while the others waited. Her face screwed up in anger and exasperation. At last she rasped, “Debts must be paid!”

  “That was my thought, My Mother.”

  “But why should the draft be drawn on us?” she answered angrily.

  The Captain said nothing. She went on more quietly, “The message is authentic. I thought surely it must be faked. Had I known what you intended I would have forbidden it. But, Oldest Son, stupid as you are, you were right. And debts must be paid.” Her son continued to say nothing; she added angrily, “Well? Speak up! What coin do you propose to tender?”

  “I have been thinking, My Mother,” Krausa said slowly. “Baslim demands that we care for the boy only a limited time . . . until we can turn him over to a Hegemonic military vessel. How long will that be? A year, two years. But even that presents problems. However, we have a precedent—the fraki female. The Family has accepted her—oh, a little grumbling, but they are used to her now, even amused by her. If My Mother intervened for this lad in the same way—”

  “Nonsense!”

  “But, My Mother, we are obligated. Debts must—”

  “Silence!”

  Krausa shut up.

  She went on quietly, “Did you not listen to the wording of the burden Baslim placed on you? ‘—succor and admonish him as if you were I.’ What was Baslim to this fraki?”

  “Why, he speaks of him as his adopted son. I thought—”

  “You didn’t think. If you take Baslim’s place, what does that make you? Is there more than one way to read the words?”

  Krausa looked troubled. The ancient went on, “Sisu pays debts in full. No
half-measures, no short weights —in full. The fraki must be adopted . . . by you.”

  Krausa’s face was suddenly blank. The other woman, who had been moving around quietly with make-work, dropped a tray.

  The Captain said, “But, My Mother, what will the Family—”

  “I am the Family!” She turned suddenly to the other woman. “Oldest Son’s Wife, have all my senior daughters attend me.”

  “Yes, Husband’s Mother.” She curtsied and left.

  The Chief Officer looked grimly at the overhead, then almost smiled. “This is not all bad, Oldest Son. What will happen at the next Gathering of the People?”

  “Why, we will be thanked.”

  “Thanks buy no cargo.” She licked her thin lips. “The People will be in debt to Sisu . . . and there will be a change in status of ships. We won’t suffer.”

  Krausa smiled slowly. “You always were a shrewd one, My Mother.”

  “A good thing for Sisu that I am. Take the fraki boy and prepare him. We’ll do this quickly.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Thorby had two choices: be adopted quietly, or make a fuss and be adopted anyhow. He chose the first, which was sensible, as opposing the will of the Chief Officer was unpleasant and almost always futile. Besides, while he felt odd and rather unhappy about acquiring a new family so soon after the death of Pop, nevertheless he could see that the change was to his advantage. As a fraki, his status had never been lower. Even a slave has equals.

  But most important, Pop had told him to do what Captain Krausa said for him to do.

  The adoption took place in the dining saloon at the evening meal that day. Thorby understood little of what went on and none of what was said, since the ceremonies were in the “secret language,” but the Captain had coached him in what to expect. The entire ship’s company was there, except those on watch. Even Doctor Mader was there, inside the main door and taking no part but where she could see and hear.

  The Chief Officer was carried in and everyone stood. She was settled on a lounge at the head of the officers’ table, where her daughter-in-law, the Captain’s wife, attended her. When she was comfortable, she made a gesture and they sat down, the Captain seating himself on her right. Girls from the port moiety, the watch with the day’s duty, then served all hands with bowls of thin mush. No one touched it. The Chief Officer banged her spoon on her bowl and spoke briefly and emphatically.

Her son followed her. Thorby was surprised to discover that he recognized a portion of the Captain’s speech as being identical with part of the message Thorby had delivered; he could spot the sequence of sounds.

  The Chief Engineer, a man older than Krausa, answered, then several older people, both men and women, spoke. The Chief Officer asked a question and was answered in chorus—a unanimous assent. The old woman did not ask for dissenting votes.

  Thorby was trying to catch Doctor Mader’s eye when the Captain called to him in Interlingua. Thorby had been seated on a stool alone and was feeling conspicuous, especially as persons he caught looking at him did not seem very friendly.

  “Come here!”

  Thorby looked up, saw both the Captain and his mother looking at him. She seemed irritated or it may have been the permanent set of her features. Thorby hurried over.

  She dipped her spoon in his dish, barely licked it. Feeling as if he were doing something horribly wrong but having been coached, he dipped his spoon in her bowl, timidly took a mouthful. She reached up, pulled his head down and pecked him with withered lips on both cheeks. He returned the symbolic caress and felt gooseflesh.

  Captain Krausa ate from Thorby’s bowl; he ate from the Captain’s. Then Krausa took a knife, held the point between thumb and forefinger and whispered in Interlingua, “Mind you don’t cry out.” He stabbed Thorby in his upper arm.

  Thorby thought with contempt that Baslim had taught him to ignore ten times that much pain. But blood flowed freely. Krausa led him to a spot where all might see, said something loudly, and held his arm so that a puddle of blood formed on the deck. The Captain stepped on it, rubbed it in with his foot, spoke loudly again—and a cheer went up. Krausa said to Thorby in Interlingua, “Your blood is now in the steel; our steel is in your blood.”

  Thorby had encountered sympathetic magic all his life and its wild, almost reasonable logic he understood. He felt a burst of pride that he was now part of the ship.

  The Captain’s wife slapped a plaster over the cut. Then Thorby exchanged food and kisses with her, after which he had to do it right around the room, every table, his brothers and his uncles, his sisters and his cousins and his aunts. Instead of kissing him, the men and boys grasped his hands and then clapped him across the shoulders. When he came to the table of unmarried females he hesitated—and discovered that they did not kiss him; they giggled and squealed and blushed and hastily touched forefingers to his forehead.

  Close behind him, girls with the serving duty cleared away the bowls of mush—purely ritualistic food symbolizing the meager rations on which the People could cross space if necessary—and were serving a feast. Thorby would have been clogged to his ears with mush had he not caught onto the trick: don’t eat it, just dip the spoon, then barely taste it. But when at last he was seated, an accepted member of the Family, at the starboard bachelors’ table, he had no appetite for the banquet in his honor. Eighty-odd new relatives were too much. He felt tired, nervous, and let down.

  But he tried to eat. Presently he heard a remark in which he understood only the word “fraki.” He looked up and saw a youth across the table grinning unpleasantly.

  The president of the table, seated on Thorby’s right, rapped for attention. “We’ll speak nothing but Interlingua tonight,” he announced, “and thereafter follow the customs in allowing a new relative gradually to acquire our language.” His eye rested coldly on the youngster who had sneered at Thorby. “As for you, Cross-Cousin-in-Law by Marriage, I’ll remind you—just once—that my Adopted Younger Brother is senior to you. And I’ll see you in my bunkie after dinner.”

  The younger boy looked startled. “Aw, Senior Cousin, I was just saying—”

  “Drop it.” The young man said quietly to Thorby, “Use your fork. People do not eat meat with fingers.”

  “Fork?”

  “Left of your plate. Watch me; you’ll learn. Don’t let them get you riled. Some of these young oafs have yet to learn that when Grandmother speaks, she means business.”

  Thorby was moved from his bunkie into a less luxurious larger room intended for four bachelors. His roommates were Fritz Krausa, who was his eldest unmarried foster brother and president of the starboard bachelor table, Chelan Krausa-Drotar, Thorby’s foster ortho-second-cousin by marriage, and Jeri Kingsolver, his foster nephew by his eldest married brother.

  It resulted in his learning Suomic rapidly. But the words he needed first were not Suomish; they were words borrowed or invented to describe family relationships in great detail. Languages reflect cultures; most languages distinguish brother, sister, father, mother, aunt, uncle, and link generations by “great” or “grand.” Some languages make no distinction between (for example) “father” and “uncle” and the language reflects tribal custom. Contrariwise, some languages (e.g., Norwegian) split “uncle” into maternal and paternal (“morbror” and “farbror”).

  The Free Traders can state a relationship such as “my maternal foster half-stepuncle by marriage, once removed and now deceased” in one word, one which means that relationship and no other. The relation between any spot on a family tree and any other spot can be so stated. Where most cultures find a dozen titles for relatives sufficient the Traders use more than two thousand. The languages name discreetly and quickly such variables as generation, lineal or collateral, natural or adopted, age within generation, sex of speaker, sex of relative referred to, sexes of relatives forming linkage, consanguinity or affinity, and vital status.

  Thorby’s first task was to learn the word and the relationship defined by it with which he must address each of more than eighty new relatives; he had to understand the precise flavor of relationship, close or distant, senior or junior; he had to learn other titles by which he would be addressed by each of them. Until he had learned all this, he could not talk because as soon as he opened his mouth he would commit a grave breach in manners.

  He had to associate five things for each member of the Sisu’s company, a face, a full name (his own name was now Thorby Baslim-Krausa), a family title, that person’s family title for him, and that person’s ship’s rank (such as “Chief Officer” or “Starboard Second Assistant Cook”). He learned that each person must be addressed by family title in family matters, by ship’s rank concerning ship’s duties, and by given names on social occasions if the senior permitted it—nicknames hardly existed, since a nickname could be used only down, never up.

  Until he grasped these distinctions, he could not be a functioning member of the family even though he was legally such. The life of the ship was a caste system of such complex obligations, privileges and required reactions to obligatory actions, as to make the stratified, protocol-ridden society of Jubbul seem like chaos. The Captain’s wife was Thorby’s “mother” but she was also Deputy Chief Officer; how he addressed her depended on what he had to say. Since he was in bachelor quarters, the mothering phase ceased before it started; nevertheless she treated him warmly as a son and offered her cheek for his kiss just as she did for Thorby’s roommate and elder brother Fritz.

  But as Deputy Chief Officer she could be as cold as a tax collector.

  Not that her status was easier; she would not be Chief Officer until the old woman had the grace to die. In the meantime she was hand and voice and body servant for her mother-in-law. Theoretically senior offices were elective; practically it was a one-party system with a single slate. Krausa was captain because his father had been; his wife was deputy chief officer because she was his wife, and she would someday become chief officer—and boss him and his ship as his mother did—for the same reason. Meanwhile his wife’s high rank carried with it the worst job in the ship, with no respite, for senior officers served for life . . . unless impeached, convicted, and expelled—onto a planet for unsatisfactory performance, into the chilly thinness of space for breaking the ancient and pig-headed laws of Sisu.

  But such an event was as scarce as a double eclipse; Thorby’s mother’s hope lay in heart failure, stroke, or other hazard of old age.

  Thorby as adopted youngest son of Captain Krausa, senior male of the Krausa sept, tit
ular head of Sisu clan (the Captain’s mother being the real head), was senior to three-fourths of his new relatives in clan status (he had not yet acquired ship’s rank). But seniority did not make life easier. With rank goeth privileges—so it ever shall be. But also with it go responsibility and obligation, always more onerous than privileges are pleasant.

  It was easier to learn to be a beggar.

  He was swept up in his new problems and did not see Doctor Margaret Mader for days. He was hurrying down the trunk corridor of fourth deck—he was always hurrying now—when he ran into her.

  He stopped. “Hello, Margaret.”

  “Hello, Trader. I thought for a moment that you were no longer speaking to fraki.”

  “Aw, Margaret!”

  She smiled. “I was joking. Congratulations, Thorby. I’m happy for you—it’s the best solution under the circumstances.”

  “Thanks. I guess so.”

  She shifted to System English and said with motherly concern, “You seem doubtful, Thorby. Aren’t things going well?”

  “Oh, things are all right.” He suddenly blurted the truth. “Margaret, I’m never going to understand these people!”

  She said gently, “I’ve felt the same way at the beginning of every field study and this one has been the most puzzling. What is bothering you?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t know. I never know. Well, take Fritz—he’s my elder brother. He’s helped me a lot—then I miss something that he expects me to understand and he blasts my ears off. Once he hit me. I hit back and I thought he was going to explode.”

  “Peck rights,” said Margaret.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. It isn’t scientifically parallel; humans aren’t chickens. What happened?”

  “Well, just as quickly he went absolutely cold, told me he would forget it, wipe it out, because of my ignorance.”

  “Noblesse oblige.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sorry. My mind is a junk yard. And did he?”

  “Completely. He was sweet as sugar. I don’t know why he got sore . . . and I don’t know why he quit being sore when I hit him.” He spread his hands. “It’s not natural.”

  “No, it isn’t. But few things are. Mmm . . . Thorby, I might be able to help. It’s possible that I know how Fritz works better than he knows. Because I’m not one of the ‘People.’ “

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I do, I think. It’s my job to. Fritz was born into the People; most of what he knows—and he is a very sophisticated young man—is subconscious. He can’t explain it because he doesn’t know he knows it; he simply functions. But what I have learned these past two years I have learned consciously. Perhaps I can advise you when you are shy about asking one of them. You can speak freely with me; I have no status.”

  “Gee, Margaret, would you?”

  “Whenever you have time. I haven’t forgotten that you promised to discuss Jubbul with me, either. But don’t let me hold you; you seemed in a hurry.”

  “I wasn’t, not really.” He grinned sheepishly. “When I hurry I don’t have to speak to as many people . . . and I usually don’t know how.”

  “Ah, yes. Thorby, I have photographs, names, family classification, ship’s job, on everyone. Would it help?”

  “Huh? I should say so! Fritz thinks it’s enough just to point somebody out once and say who he is.”

  “Then come to my room. It’s all right; I have a dispensation to interview anyone there. The door opens into a public corridor; you don’t cross purdah line.”

  Arranged by case cards with photographs, the data Thorby had had trouble learning piecemeal he soaked up in half an hour—thanks to Baslim’s training and Doctor Mader’s orderliness. In addition, she had prepared a family tree for the Sisu; it was the first he had seen; his relatives did not need diagrams, they simply knew.

  She showed him his own place. “The plus mark means that while you are in the direct sept, you were not born there. Here are a couple more, transferred from collateral branches to sept . . . to put them into line of command I suspect. You people call yourselves a ‘family’ but the grouping is a phratry.”

  “A what?”

  “A related group without a common ancestor which practices exogamy—that means marrying outside the group. The exogamy taboo holds, modified by rule of moiety. You know how the two moieties work?”

  “They take turns having the day’s duty.”

  “Yes, but do you know why the starboard watch has more bachelors and the port watch more single women?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so.”

  “Females adopted from other ships are in port moiety; native bachelors are starboard. Every girl in your side must be exchanged . . . unless she can find a husband among a very few eligible men. You should have been adopted on this side, but that would have required a different foster father. See the names with a blue circle-and-cross? One of those girls is your future wife . . . unless you find a bride on another ship.”

  Thorby felt dismayed at the thought. “Do I have to?”

  “If you gain ship’s rank to match your family rank, you’ll have to carry a club to beat them off.”

  It fretted him. Swamped with family, he felt more need for a third leg than he did for a wife.

  “Most societies,” she went on, “practice both exogamy and endogamy—a man must marry outside his family but inside his nation, race, religion, or some large group, and you Free Traders are no exception; you must cross to another moiety but you can’t marry fraki. But your rules produce an unusual setup; each ship is a patrilocal matriarchy.”

  “A what?”

  ” ‘Patrilocal’ means that wives join their husbands’ families; a matriarchy . . . well, who bosses this ship?”

  “Why, the Captain.”

  “He does?”

  “Well, Father listens to Grandmother, but she is getting old and—”

  “No ‘buts.’ The Chief Officer is boss. It surprised me; I thought it must be just this ship. But it extends all through the People. Men do the trading, conn the ship and mind its power plant—but a woman always is boss. It makes sense within its framework; it makes your marriage customs tolerable.”

  Thorby wished she would not keep referring to marriage.

  “You haven’t seen ships trade daughters. Girls leaving weep and wail and almost have to be dragged . . . but girls arriving have dried their eyes and are ready to smile and flirt, eyes open for husbands. If a girl catches the right man and pushes him, someday she can be sovereign of an independent state. Until she leaves her native ship, she isn’t anybody—which is why her tears dry quickly. But if men were boss, girl-swapping would be slavery; as it is, it’s a girl’s big chance.”

  Doctor Mader turned away from the chart. “Human customs that help people live together are almost never planned. But they are useful, or they don’t survive. Thorby, you have been fretted about how to behave toward your relatives.”

  “I certainly have!”

  “What’s the most important thing to a Trader?”

  Thorby thought. “Why, the Family. Everything depends on who you are in the Family.”

  “Not at all. His ship.”

  “Well, when you say ‘ship’ you mean ‘family.’ “

  “Just backwards. If a Trader becomes dissatisfied, where can he go? Space won’t have him without a ship around him; nor can he imagine living on a planet among fraki, the idea is disgusting. His ship is his life, the air he breathes comes from his ship; somehow he must learn to live in it. But the pressure of personalities is almost unbearable and there is no way to get away from each other. Pressure could build up until somebody gets killed . . . or until the ship itself is destroyed. But humans devise ways to adjust to any conditions. You people lubricate with rituals, formalism, set patterns of speech, obligatory actions and responses. When things grow difficult you hide behind a pattern. That’s why Fritz didn’t stay angry.”

  “Huh?”

  “He couldn’t. You had done something wrong . . . but the fact itself showed that you were ignorant. Fritz had momentarily forgotten, then he remembered and his anger disappeared. The People do not permit themselves to be angry with a child; instead they set him back on the proper path . . . until he follows your complex customs as automatically as Fritz d
oes.”

  “Uh, I think I see.” Thorby sighed. “But it isn’t easy.”

  “Because you weren’t born to it. But you’ll learn and it will be no more effort than breathing—and as useful. Customs tell a man who he is, where he belongs, what he must do. Better illogical customs than none; men cannot live together without them. From an anthropologist’s view, ‘justice’ is a search for workable customs.”

  “My father—my other father, I mean; Baslim the Cripple—used to say the way to find justice is to deal fairly with other people and not worry about how they deal with you.”

  “Doesn’t that fit what I said?”

  “Uh, I guess so.”

  “I think Baslim the Cripple would regard the People as just.” She patted his shoulder. “Never mind, Thorby. Do your best and one day you’ll marry one of those nice girls. You’ll be happy.”

  The prophecy did not cheer Thorby.

  CHAPTER 9

  By the time Sisu approached Losian Thorby had a battle station worthy of a man. His first assignment had been to assist in the central dressing station, an unnecessary job. But his background in mathematics got him promoted.

  He had been attending the ship’s school. Baslim had given him a broad education, but this fact did not stand out to his instructors, since most of what they regarded as necessary—the Finnish language as they spoke it, the history of the People and of Sisu, trading customs, business practices, and export and import laws of many planets, hydroponics and ship’s economy, ship safety and damage control—were subjects that Baslim had not even touched; he had emphasized languages, science, mathematics, galactography and history. The new subjects Thorby gobbled with a speed possible only to one renshawed by Baslim’s strenuous methods. The Traders needed applied mathematics—bookkeeping and accounting, astrogation, nucleonics for a hydrogen-fusion-powered n-ship. Thorby splashed through the first, the second was hardly more difficult, but as for the third, the ship’s schoolmaster was astounded that this ex-fraki had already studied multi-dimensional geometries.

So he reported to the Captain that they had a mathematical genius aboard.

  This was not true. But it got Thorby reassigned to the starboard fire-control computer.

  The greatest hazard to trading ships is in the first and last legs of each jump, when a ship is below speed-of-light. It is theoretically possible to detect and intercept a ship going many times speed-of-light, when it is irrational to the four-dimensional space of the senses; in practice it is about as easy as hitting a particular raindrop with a bow and arrow during a storm at midnight. But it is feasible to hunt down a ship moving below speed-of-light if the attacker is fast and the victim is a big lumbering freighter.

  The Sisu had acceleration of one hundred standard gravities and used it all to cut down the hazard time. But a ship which speeds up by a kilometer per second each second will take three and one half standard days to reach speed-of-light.

  Half a week is a long, nervous time to wait. Doubling acceleration would have cut danger time by half and made the Sisu as agile as a raider—but it would have meant a hydrogen-fusion chamber eight times as big with parallel increase in radiation shielding, auxiliary equipment, and paramagnetic capsule to contain the hydrogen reaction; the added mass would eliminate cargo capacity. Traders are working people; even if there were no parasites preying on them they could not afford to burn their profits in the inexorable workings of an exponential law of multi-dimensional physics. So the Sisu had the best legs she could afford—but not long enough to outrun a ship unburdened by cargo.

  Nor could Sisu maneuver easily. She had to go precisely in the right direction when she entered the trackless night of n-space, else when she came out she would be too far from market; such a mistake could turn the ledger from black to red. Still more hampering, her skipper had to be prepared to cut power entirely, or risk having his in-ship artificial gravity field destroyed—and thereby make strawberry jam of the Family as soft bodies were suddenly exposed to one hundred gravities.

  This is why a captain gets stomach ulcers; it isn’t dickering for cargoes, figuring discounts and commissions, and trying to guess what goods will show the best return. It’s not long jumps through the black—that is when he can relax and dandle babies. It is starting and ending a jump that kills him off, the long aching hours when he may have to make a split-second decision involving the lives—or freedom—of his family.

  If raiders wished to destroy merchant ships, Sisu and her sisters would not stand a chance. But the raider wants loot and slaves; it gains him nothing simply to blast a ship.

  Merchantmen are limited by no qualms; an attacking ship’s destruction is the ideal outcome. Atomic target-seekers are dreadfully expensive, and using them up is rough on profit-and-loss—but there is no holding back if the computer says the target can be reached—whereas a raider will use destruction weapons only to save himself. His tactic is to blind the trader, burn out her instruments so that he can get close enough to paralyze everyone aboard—or, failing that, kill without destroying ship and cargo.

  The trader runs if she can, fights if she must. But when she fights, she fights to kill.

  Whenever Sisu was below speed-of-light, she listened with artificial senses to every disturbance in multi-space, the whisper of n-space communication or the “white” roar of a ship boosting at many gravities. Data poured into the ships’ astrogational analog of space and the questions were: Where is this other ship? What is its course? speed? acceleration? Can it catch us before we reach n-space?

  If the answers were threatening, digested data channeled into port and starboard fire-control computers and Sisu braced herself to fight. Ordnancemen armed A-bomb target seekers, caressed their sleek sides and muttered charms; the Chief Engineer unlocked the suicide switch which could let the power plant become a hydrogen bomb of monstrous size and prayed that, in final extremity, he would have the courage to deliver his people into the shelter of death; the Captain sounded the clangor calling the ship from watch-and-watch to General Quarters. Cooks switched off fires; auxiliary engineers closed down air circulation; farmers said good-by to their green growing things and hurried to fighting stations; mothers with babies mustered, then strapped down and held those babies tightly.

  Then the waiting started.

  But not for Thorby—not for those assigned to fire-control computers. Sweating into their straps, for the next minutes or hours the life of Sisu is in their hands. The firecontrol computer machines, chewing with millisecond meditation data from the analog, decide whether or not torpedoes can reach target, then offer four answers: ballistic “possible” or “impossible” for projected condition, yes or no for condition changed by one ship, or the other, or both, through cutting power. These answers automatic circuits could handle alone, but machines do not think. Half of each computer is designed to allow the operator to ask what the situation might be in the far future of five minutes or so from now if variables change . . . and whether the target might be reached under such changes.

  Any variable can be shaded by human judgment; an intuitive projection by a human operator can save his ship—or lose it. A paralysis beam travels at speed-of-light; torpedoes never have time to get up to more than a few hundred kilometers per second—yet it is possible for raider to come within beaming range, have his pencil of paralyzing radiation on its way, and the trader to launch a target-seeker before the beam strikes . . . and still be saved when the outlaw flames into atomic mist a little later.

  But if the operator is too eager by a few seconds, or overly cautious by the same, he can lose his ship. Too eager, the missile will fail to reach target; too cautious, it will never be launched.

  Seasoned oldsters are not good at these jobs. The perfect firecontrolman is an adolescent, or young man or woman, fast in thought and action, confident, with intuitive grasp of mathematical relations beyond rote and rule, and not afraid of death he cannot yet imagine.

  The traders must be always alert for such youngsters; Thorby seemed to have the feel for mathematics; he might have the other talents for a job something like chess played under terrific pressure and a fast game of spat ball. His mentor was Jeri Kingsolver, his nephew and roommate. Jeri was junior in family rank but appeared to be older; he called Thorby “Uncle” outside the computer room; on the job Thorby called him “Starboard Senior Firecontrolman” and added “Sir.”

  During long weeks of the dive through dark toward Losian, Jeri drilled Thorby. Thorby was supposed to be training for hydroponics and Jeri was the Supercargo’s Senior Clerk, but the ship had plenty of farmers and the Supercargo’s office was never very busy in space; Captain Krausa directed Jeri to keep Thorby hard at it in the computer room.

  Since the ship remained at battle stations for half a week while boosting to speed-of-light, each fighting station had two persons assigned watch-and-watch. Jeri’s junior controlman was his younger sister Mata. The computer had twin consoles, either of which could command by means of a selector switch. At General Quarters they sat side by side, with Jeri controlling and Mata ready to take over.

  After a stiff course in what the machine could do Jeri put Thorby at one console, Mata at the other and fed them problems from the ship’s control room. Each console recorded; it was possible to see what decisions each operator had made and how these compared with those made in battle, for the data were from records, real or threatened battles in the past.

  Shortly Thorby became extremely irked; Mata was enormously better at it than he was.

  So he tried harder and got worse. While he sweated, trying to outguess a slave raider which had once been on Sisu’s screens, he was painfully aware of a slender, dark, rather pretty girl beside him, her swift fingers making tiny adjustments among keys and knobs, changing a bias or modifying a vector, herself relaxed and unhurried. It was humiliating afterwards to find that his pacesetter had “saved the ship” while he had failed.

  Worse still, he was aware of her as a girl and did not know it—all he knew was that she made him uneasy. After one run Jeri called from ship’s control, “
End of drill. Stand by.” He appeared shortly and examined their tapes, reading marks on sensitized paper as another might read print. He pursed his lips over Thorby’s record. “Trainee, you fired three times . . . and not a one of your beasts got within fifty thousand kilometers of the enemy. We don’t mind expense—it’s merely Grandmother’s blood. But the object is to blast him, not scare him into a fit. You have to wait until you can hit.”

  “I did my best!”

  “Not good enough. Let’s see yours, Sis.”

  The nickname irritated Thorby still more. Brother and sister were fond of each other and did not bother with titles. So Thorby had tried using their names . . . and had been snubbed; he was “Trainee,” they were “Senior Controlman” and “Junior Controlman.” There was nothing he could do; at drill he was junior. For a week, Thorby addressed Jeri as “Foster Ortho-Nephew” outside of drills and Jeri had carefully addressed him by family title. Then Thorby decided it was silly and went back to calling him Jeri. But Jeri continued to call him “Trainee” during drill, and so did Mata.

  Jeri looked over his sister’s record and nodded. “Very nice, Sis! You’re within a second of post-analyzed optimum, and three seconds better than the shot that got the so-and-so. I have to admit that’s sweet shooting . . . because the real run is my own. That raider off Ingstel . . . remember?”

  “I certainly do.” She glanced at Thorby.

  Thorby felt disgusted. “It’s not fair!” He started hauling at safety-belt buckles.

  Jeri looked surprised. “What, Trainee?”

  “I said it’s not fair! You send down a problem, I tackle it cold—and get bawled out because I’m not perfect. But all she had to do is to fiddle with controls to get an answer she already knows . . . to make me look cheap!”

  Mata was looking stricken. Thorby headed for the door. “I never asked for this! I’m going to the Captain and ask for another job.”

  “Trainee!”

  Thorby stopped. Jeri went on quietly. “Sit down. When I’m through, you can see the Captain—if you think it’s advisable.”

  Thorby sat down.

  “I’ve two things to say,” Jeri continued coldly. “First—” He turned to his sister. “Junior Controlman, did you know what problem this was when you were tracking?”

  “No, Senior Controlman.”

  “Have you worked it before?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How was it you remembered it?”

  “What? Why, you said it was the raider off Ingstel. I’ll never forget because of the dinner afterwards—you sat with Great Grandmo—with the Chief Officer.”

  Jeri turned to Thorby. “You see? She tracked it cold . . . as cold as I had to when it happened. And she did even better than I did; I’m proud to have her as my junior tracker. For your information, Mister Stupid Junior Trainee, this engagement took place before the Junior Controlman became a trainee. She hasn’t even run it in practice. She’s just better at it than you are.”

  “All right,” Thorby said sullenly. “I’ll probably never be any good. I said I wanted to quit.”

  “I’m talking. Nobody asks for this job; it’s a headache. Nobody quits it, either. After a while the job quits him, when post-analysis shows that he is losing his touch. Maybe I’m beginning to. But I promise you this: you’ll either learn, or I will go to the Captain and tell him you don’t measure up. In the meantime . . . if I have any lip out of you, I’ll haul you up before the Chief Officer!” He snapped, “Extra drill run. Battle stations. Cast loose your equipment.” He left the room.

  Moments later his voice reached them. “Bogie! Starboard computer room, report!”

  The call to dinner sounded; Mata said gravely, “Starboard tracker manned. Data showing, starting run.” Her fingers started caressing keys. Thorby bent over his own controls; he wasn’t hungry anyhow. For days Thorby spoke with Jeri only formally. He saw Mata at drill, or across the lounge at meals; he treated her with cold correctness and tried to do as well as she did. He could have seen her at other times; young people associated freely in public places. She was taboo to him, both as his niece and because they were of the same moiety, but that was no bar to social relations.

  Jeri he could not avoid; they ate at the same table, slept in the same room. But Thorby could and did throw up a barrier of formality. No one said anything—these things happened. Even Fritz pretended not to notice.

  But one afternoon Thorby dropped into the lounge to see a story film with a Sargonese background; Thorby sat through it to pick it to pieces. But when it was over he could not avoid noticing Mata because she walked over, stood in front of him, addressed him humbly as her uncle and asked if he would care for a game of spat ball before supper?

  He was about to refuse when he noticed her face; she was watching him with tragic eagerness. So he answered, “Why, thanks, Mata. Work up an appetite.”

  She broke into smiles. “Good! I’ve got Ilsa holding a table. Let’s!”

  Thorby beat her three games and tied one . . . a remarkable score, since she was female champion and was allowed only one point handicap when playing the male champion. But he did not think about it; he was enjoying himself.

  His performance picked up, partly through the grimness with which he worked, partly because he did have feeling for complex geometry, and partly because the beggar’s boy had had his brain sharpened by an ancient discipline. Jeri never again compared aloud the performances of Mata and Thorby and gave only brief comments on Thorby’s results: “Better,” or “Coming along,” and eventually, “You’re getting there.” Thorby’s morale soared; he loosened up and spent more time socially, playing spat ball with Mata rather frequently.

  Toward the end of journey through darkness they finished the last drill one morning and Jeri called out, “Stand easy! I’ll be a few minutes.” Thorby relaxed from pleasant strain. But after a moment he fidgeted; he had a hunch that he had been in tune with his instruments. “Junior Controlman . . . do you suppose he would mind if I looked at my tape?”

  “I don’t think so,” Mata answered. “I’ll take it out; then it’s my responsibility.”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “You won’t,” Mata answered serenely. She reached back of Thorby’s console, pulled out the strip record, blew on it to keep it from curling, and examined it. Then she pulled her own strip, compared the two.

  She looked at him gravely. “That’s a very good run, Thorby.”

  It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. But Thorby hardly noticed. “Really? You mean it?”

  “It’s a very good run . . . Thorby. We both got hits. But yours is optimum between ‘possible’ and ‘critical limit’—whereas mine is too eager. See?”

  Thorby could read strips only haltingly, but he was happy to take her word for it. Jeri came in, took both strips, looked at Thorby’s, then looked more closely. “I dug up the post-analysis before I came down,” he said.

  “Yes, sir?” Thorby said eagerly.

  “Mmm . . . I’ll check it after chow—but it looks as if your mistakes had cancelled out.”

  Mata said, “Why, Bud, that’s a perfect run and you know it!”

  “Suppose it is?” Jeri grinned. “You wouldn’t want our star pupil to get a swelled head, would you?”

  “Pooh!”

  “Right back at you, small and ugly sister. Let’s go to chow.”

  They went through a narrow passage into trunk corridor of second deck, where they walked abreast. Thorby gave a deep sigh.

  “Trouble?” his nephew asked.

  “Not a bit!” Thorby put an arm around each of them. “Jeri, you and Mata are going to make a marksman out of me yet.”

  It was the first time Thorby had addressed his teacher by name since the day he had received the scorching. But Jeri accepted his uncle’s overture without stiffness. “Don’t get your hopes up, bunkmate. But I think we’ve got it licked.” He added, “I see Great Aunt Tora is giving us her famous cold eye. If anybody wants my opinion, I think Sis can walk unassisted—I’m sure Great Aunt thinks so.”

  “Pooh to her, too!” Mata said briskly. “Thorby just made a perfect run.”

  Sisu came out of darkness, dropping below speed-of-light. Losian’s sun blazed less than fifty billion kilometers away; in
a few days they would reach their next market. The ship went to watch-and-watch battle stations.

  Mata took her watch alone; Jeri required the trainee to stand watches with him. The first watch was always free from strain; even if a raider had accurate information via n-space communicator of Sisu’s time of departure and destination, it was impossible in a jump of many light-years to predict the exact time and place where she would poke her nose out into rational space.

  Jeri settled in his chair some minutes after Thorby had strapped down with that age-old tense feeling that this time it was not practice. Jeri grinned at him. “Relax. If you get your blood stream loaded, your back will ache, and you’ll never last.”

  Thorby grinned feebly. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s better. We’re going to play a game.” Jeri pulled a boxlike contrivance out of a pocket, snapped it open.

  “What is that?”

  “A ‘killjoy.’ It fits here.” Jeri slipped it over the switch that determined which console was in command. “Can you see the switch?”

  “Huh? No.”

  “Hand the man the prize.” Jeri fiddled with the switch behind the screen. “Which of us is in control in case we have to launch a bomb now?”

  “How can I tell? Take that off, Jeri; it makes me nervous.”

  “That’s the game. Maybe I’m controlling and you are just going through motions; maybe you are the man at the trigger and I’m asleep in my chair. Every so often I’ll fiddle with the switch—but you won’t know how I’ve left it. So when a flap comes—and one will; I feel it in my bones—you can’t assume that good old Jeri, the man with the micrometer fingers, has the situation under control. You might have to save the firm. You.”

  Thorby had a queasy vision of waiting men and bombs in the missile room below—waiting for him to solve precisely an impossible problem of life and death, of warped space and shifting vectors and complex geometry. “You’re kidding,” he said feebly. “You wouldn’t leave me in control. Why, the Captain would skin you alive.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. There always comes a day when a trainee makes his first real run. After that, he’s a controlman . . . or an angel. But we don’t let you worry at the time. Oh no! we just keep you worried all the time. Now here’s the game. Any time I say, ‘Now!’ you guess who has control. You guess right, I owe you one dessert; you guess wrong, you owe me one. Now!”

  Thorby thought quickly. “I guess I’ve got it.”

  “Wrong.” Jeri lifted the killjoy. “You owe me one dessert—and it’s berry tart tonight; my mouth is watering. But faster; you’re supposed to make quick decisions. Now!”

  “You’ve still got it!”

  “So I have. Even. Now!”

  “You!”

  “Nope. See? And I eat your tart—I ought to quit while I’m ahead. Love that juice! Now!”

  When Mata relieved them, Jeri owned Thorby’s desserts for the next four days. “We start again with that score,” Jeri said, “except that I’m going to collect that berry tart. But I forgot to tell you the big prize.”

  “Which is?”

  “Comes the real thing, we bet three desserts. After it’s over, you guess and we settle. Always bet more on real ones.”

  Mata sniffed. “Bud, are you trying to make him nervous?”

  “Are you nervous, Thorby?”

  “Nope!”

  “Quit fretting, Sis. Got it firmly in your grubby little hands?”

  “I relieve you, sir.”

  “Come on, Thorby; let’s eat. Berry tarts—aaah!”

  Three days later the score stood even, but only because Thorby had missed most of his desserts. Sisu was enormously slowed, almost to planetary speeds, and Losian’s sun loomed large on the screens. Thorby decided, with mildest regret, that his ability to fight would not be tested this jump.

  Then the general alarm made him rear up against safety belts. Jeri had been talking; his head jerked around, he looked at displays, and his hands moved to his controls. “Get on it!” he yelped. “This one’s real.”

  Thorby snapped out of shock and bent over his board. The analog globe was pouring data to them; the ballistic situation had built up. Good heavens, it was close! And matching in fast! How had anything moved in so close without being detected? Then he quit thinking and started investigating answers . . . no, not yet . . . before long though . . . could the bandit turn a little at that boost and reduce his approach? . . . try a projection at an assumed six gravities of turning . . . would a missile reach him? . . . would it still reach him if he did not—

  He hardly felt Mata’s gentle touch on his shoulder. But he heard Jeri snap, “Stay out, Sis! We’re on it, we’re on it!”

  A light blinked on Thorby’s board; the squawk horn sounded, “Friendly craft, friendly craft! Losian planetary patrol, identified. Return to watch-and-watch.”

  Thorby took a deep breath, felt a great load lift.

  “Continue your run!” screamed Jeri.

  “Huh?”

  “Finish your run! That’s no Losian craft; that’s a raider! Losians can’t maneuver that way! You’ve got it, boy, you’ve got it! Nail him!”

  Thorby heard Mata’s frightened gasp, but he was again at his problem. Change anything? Could he reach him? Could he still reach him in the cone of possible maneuver? Now! He armed his board and let the computer give the order, on projection.

  He heard Jeri’s voice faintly; Jeri seemed to be talking very slowly. “Missile away. I think you got him . . . but you were eager. Get off another one before their beam hits us.”

  Automatically Thorby complied. Time was too short to try another solution; he ordered the machine to send another missile according to projection. He then saw by his board that the target was no longer under power and decided with a curiously empty feeling that his first missile had destroyed it. “That’s all!” Jeri announced. “Now!”

  “What?”

  “Who had it? You or me? Three desserts.”

  “I had it,” Thorby said with certainty. In another level he decided that he would never really be a Trader—to Jeri that target had been—just fraki. Or three desserts.

  “Wrong. That puts me three up. I turned coward and kept control myself. Of course the bombs were disarmed and the launchers locked as soon as the Captain gave the word . . . but I didn’t have the nerve to risk an accident with a friendly ship.”

  “Friendly ship!”

  “Of course. But for you, Assistant Junior Controlman, it was your first real one . . . as I intended.”

  Thorby’s head floated. Mata said, “Bud, you’re mean to collect. You cheated.”

  “Sure I cheated. But he’s a blooded controlman now, just the same. And I’m going to collect, just the very same. Ice cream tonight!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Thorby did not stay an assistant junior firecontrolman; Jeri moved up to astrogation trainee; Mata took charge of the starboard room, and Thorby was officially posted as the new Starboard Junior Firecontrolman, with life and death in his forefinger. He was not sure that he liked it.

  Then that arrangement tumbled almost as quickly.

  Losian is a “safe” planet. Inhabited by civilized nonhumans, it is a port safe from ground raids; no dirtside defensive watches were necessary. Men could leave the ship for pleasure and even women could do so. (Some of the women aboard had not left the ship, save at Gatherings of the People, since being exchanged to Sisu as girls.)

  Losian was to Thorby his “first” foreign land, Jubbul being the only planet clear in his memory. So he was very eager to see it. But work came first. When he was confirmed as a firecontrolman, he was transferred from hydroponics into the junior vacancy among the Supercargo’s clerks. It increased Thorby’s status; business carried more prestige than housekeeping. Theoretically he was now qualified to check cargo; in fact a senior clerk did that while Thorby sweated, along with junior male relatives from every department. Cargo was an all-hands operation, as Sisu never permitted stevedores inside, even if it meant paying for featherbedding.

  The Losians have never invented tariff; crated bales of verga leaves were turned over to purchaser right outside the ship. In spite of blowers the hold reeked of their spicy, narcotic fragrance and reminded Thorby of months past and light-years away when he had huddled, a fugitive in danger of being shortened, into a hole in one crate while a friendly stranger smuggled him through the Sargon’s police.

  It didn’t seem possible. Sisu was home. Even as he mused, he thought in the Family’s language.

  He realized with sudden guilt that he had not thought about Pop very often lately. Was he forgetting Pop? No, no! He could never forget, not anything . . . Pop’s tones of voice, the detached look when he was about to comment unfavorably, his creaking movements on chilly mornings, his unfailing patience no matter what—why, in all those years Pop had never been angry with him—yes, he had, once.

  ” ‘I am not your master!'”

  Pop had been angry that once. It had scared Thorby; he hadn’t understood.

  Now, across long space and time, Thorby suddenly understood. Only one thing could make Pop angry: Pop had been explosively insulted at the assertion that Baslim the Cripple was master to a slave. Pop, who maintained that a wise man could not be insulted, since truth could not insult and untruth was not worthy of notice.

  Yet Pop had been insulted by the truth, for certainly Pop had been his master; Pop had bought him off the block. No, that was nonsense! He hadn’t been Pop’s slave; he had been Pop’s son . . . Pop was never his master, even the times he had given him a quick one across the behind for goofing. Pop . . . was just ‘Pop.’

  Thorby knew then that the one thing that Pop hated was slavery.

  Thorby was not sure why he was sure, but he was. He could not recall that Pop had ever said a word about slavery, as such; all Thorby could remember Pop saying was that a man need never be other than free in his own mind.

  “Hey!”

  The Supercargo was looking at him. “Sir?”

  “Are you moving that crate, or making a bed of it?”

  Three local days later Thorby had finished showering, about to hit dirt with Fritz, when the deckmaster stuck his head in the washroom, spotted him, and said, “Captain’s compl
iments and Clerk Thorby Baslim-Krausa will attend him.”

  “Aye aye, Deckmaster,” Thorby answered and added something under his breath. He hurried into clothes, stuck his head into his bunkie, gave the sad word to Fritz and rushed to the Cabin, hoping that the Deckmaster had told the Captain that Thorby had been showering.

  The door was open. Thorby started to report formally when the Captain looked up. “Hello, Son. Come in.”

  Thorby shifted gears from Ship to Family. “Yes, Father.”

  “I’m about to hit dirt. Want to come along?”

  “Sir? I mean, ‘Yes, Father!’ That ‘ud be swell!”

  “Good. I see you’re ready. Let’s go.” He reached in a drawer and handed Thorby some twisted bits of wire. “Here’s pocket money; you may want a souvenir.”

  Thorby examined it. “What’s this stuff worth, Father?”

  “Nothing—once we’re off Losian. So give me back what you have left so I can turn it in for credit. They pay us off in thorium and goods.”

  “Yes, but how will I know how much to pay for a thing?”

  “Take their word for it. They won’t cheat and won’t bargain. Odd ones. Not like Lotarf . . . on Lotarf, if you buy a beer without an hour’s dickering you’re ahead.”

  Thorby felt that he understood Lotarfi better than he did Losians. There was something indecent about a purchase without a polite amount of dickering. But fraki had barbaric customs; you had to cater to them—Sisu prided herself on never having trouble with fraki.

  “Come along. We can talk as we go.”

  As they were being lowered Thorby looked at the ship nearest them, Free Trader El Nido, Garcia clan. “Father, are we going to visit with them?”

  “No, I exchanged calls the first day.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Will there be any parties?”

  “Oh. Captain Garcia and I agreed to dispense with hospitality; he’s anxious to jump. No reason why you shouldn’t visit them though, subject to your duties.” He added, “Hardly worth it; she’s like Sisu, only not as modern.”

  “Thought I might look at her computer rooms.”

  They hit ground and stepped off. “Doubt if they’d let you. They’re a superstitious lot.” As they stepped clear of the hoist a baby Losian came streaking up, circled and sniffed their legs. Captain Krausa let the little thing investigate him, then said mildly, “That’s enough,” and gently pushed it away. Its mother whistled it back, picked it up and spanked it. Captain Krausa waved to her, called out, “Hello, friend!”

  “Hello, Trader Man,” she answered in Interlingua shrill and sibilant. She was two-thirds Thorby’s height, on four legs with forelimbs elevated—the baby had been on all six. Both were sleek and pretty and sharp-eyed. Thorby was amused by them and only slightly put off by the double mouth arrangement—one for eating, one for breathing and talking.

  Captain Krausa continued talking. “That was a nice run you made on that Losian craft.”

  Thorbv blushed. “You knew about that, Father?”

  “What kind of a captain am I if I don’t? Oh, I know what’s worrying you. Forget it. If I give you a target, you burn it. It’s up to me to kill your circuits if we make friendly identification. If I slap the God-be-thanked switch, you can’t get your computer to fire, the bombs are disarmed, the launching gear is locked, the Chief can’t move the suicide switch. So even if you hear me call off the action—or you get excited and don’t hear—it doesn’t matter. Finish your run; it’s good practice.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know, Father.”

  “Didn’t Jeri tell you? You must have noticed the switch; it’s the big red one, under my right hand.”

  “Uh, I’ve never been in the Control Room, Father.”

  “Eh? I must correct that; it might belong to you someday. Remind me . . . right after we go irrational.”

  “I will, Father.” Thorby was pleased at the prospect of entering the mysterious shrine—he was sure that half of his relatives had never visited it—but he was surprised at the comment. Could a former fraki be eligible for command? It was legal for an adopted son to succeed to the worry seat; sometimes captains had no sons of their own. But an ex-fraki?

  Captain Krausa was saying, “I haven’t given you th attention I should, Son . . . not the care I should give Baslim’s son. But it’s a big family and my time is so taken up. Are they treating you all right?”

  “Why, sure, Father!”

  “Mmm . . . glad to hear it. It’s—well, you weren’t born among the People, you know.”

  “I know. But everybody has treated me fine.”

  “Good. I’ve had good reports about you. You seem to learn fast, for a—you learn fast.”

  Thorby sourly finished the phrase in his mind. The Captain went on, “Have you been in the Power Room?”

  “No, sir. Just the practice room once.”

  “Now is a good time, while we’re grounded. It’s safer and the prayers and cleansing aren’t so lengthy.” Krausa paused. “No, we’ll wait until your status is clear—the Chief is hinting that you are material for his department. He has some silly idea that you will never have children anyway and he might regard a visit as an opportunity to snag you. Engineers!”

  Thorby understood this speech, even the last word. Engineers were regarded as slightly balmy; it was commonly believed that radiations from the artificial star that gave Sisu her life ionized their brain tissues. True or not, engineers could get away with outrageous breeches of etiquette—”not guilty by reason of insanity” was an unspoken defense for them once they had been repeatedly exposed to the hazards of their trade. The Chief Engineer even talked back to Grandmother.

  But junior engineers were not allowed to stand power room watches until they no longer expected to have children; they took care of auxiliary machinery and stood training watches in a dummy power room. The People were cautious about harmful mutations, because they were more exposed to radiation hazards than were planet dwellers. One never saw overt mutation among them; what happened to babies distorted at birth was a mystery so taboo that Thorby was not even aware of it; he simply knew that power watchstanders were old men.

  Nor was he interested in progeny; he simply saw in the Captain’s remarks a hint that the Chief Engineer considered that Thorby could reach the exalted status of power watchstander quickly. The idea dazzled him. The men who wrestled with the mad gods of nuclear physics held status just below astrogators . . . and, in their own opinion, higher. Their opinion was closer to fact than was the official one; even a deputy captain who attempted to pull rank on a man standing power room watches was likely to wind up counting stores while the engineer rested in sick bay, then went back to doing as he pleased. Was it possible that an ex-fraki could aspire to such heights? Perhaps someday be Chief Engineer and sass the Chief Officer with impunity? “Father,” Thorby said eagerly, “the Chief Engineer thinks I can learn power room rituals?”

  “Wasn’t that what I said?”

  “Yes, sir. Uh . . . I wonder why he thought so?”

  “Are you dense? Or unusually modest? Any man who can handle firecontrol mathematics can learn nuclear engineering. But he can learn astrogation, too, which is just as important.”

  Engineers never handled cargo; the only work they did in port was to load tritium and deuterium, or other tasks strictly theirs. They did no housekeeping. They . . . “Father? I think I might like to be an engineer.”

  “So? Well, now that you’ve thought so, forget it.”

  “But—”

  ” ‘But’ what?”

  “Nothing, sir. Yes, sir.”

  Krausa sighed. “Son, I have obligations toward you; I’m carrying them out as best I can.” Krausa thought over what he could tell the lad. Mother had pointed out that if Baslim had wanted the boy to know the message he had carried, Baslim would have put it in Interlingua. On the other hand, since the boy now knew the Family language perhaps he had translated it himself. No, more likely he had forgotten it. “Thorby, do you know who your family is?”

  Thorby was startled. “Sir? My family is Sisu.”

  “Certainly! I mean your family before that.”

  “You mean Pop? Baslim the Cripple?”

  “No, no! He was your foster father, just as I am now. Do you know what family you
were born in?”

  Thorby said bleakly, “I don’t think I had one.”

  Krausa realized that he had poked a scar, said hastily, “Now, Son, you don’t have to copy all the attitudes of your messmates. Why, if it weren’t for fraki, with whom would we trade? How would the People live? A man is fortunate to be born People, but there is nothing to be ashamed of in being born fraki. Every atom has its purpose.”

  “I’m not ashamed!”

  “Take it easy!”

  “Sorry sir. I’m not ashamed of my ancestors. I simply don’t know who they were. Why, for all I know, they may have been People.”

  Krausa was startled. “Why, so they could have been,” he said slowly. Most slaves were purchased on planets that respectable traders never visited, or were born on estates of their owners . . . but a tragic percentage were People, stolen by raiders. This lad— Had any ship of the People been lost around the necessary time? He wondered if, at the next Gathering, he might dig up identification from the Commodore’s files?

  But even that would not exhaust the possibilities; some chief officers were sloppy about sending in identifications at birth, some waited until a Gathering. Mother, now, never grudged the expense of a long n-space message; she wanted her children on record at once—Sisu was never slack.

  Suppose the boy were born People and his record had never reached the Commodore? How unfair to lose his birthright!

  A thought tip-toed through his brain: a slip could be corrected in more ways than one. If any Free Ship had been lost— He could not remember.

  Nor could he talk about it. But what a wonderful thing to give the lad an ancestry! If he could . . .

  He changed the subject. “In a way, lad, you were always of the People.”

  “Huh? Excuse me, Father?”

  “Son, Baslim the Cripple was an honorary member of the People.”

  “What? How, Father? What ship?”

  “All ships. He was elected at a Gathering. Son, a long time ago a shameful thing happened. Baslim corrected it. It put all the People in debt to him. I have said enough. Tell me, have you thought of getting married?”

Marriage was the last thing on Thorby’s mind; he was blazingly anxious to hear more about what Pop had done that had made him incredibly one of the People. But he recognized the warning with which an elder closed a taboo subject.

  “Why, no, Father.”

  “Your Grandmother thinks that you have begun to notice girls seriously.”

  “Well, sir, Grandmother is never wrong . . . but I hadn’t been aware of it.”

  “A man isn’t complete without a wife. But I don’t think you’re old enough. Laugh with all the girls and cry with none—and remember our customs.” Krausa was thinking that he was bound by Baslim’s injunction to seek aid of the Hegemony in finding where the lad had come from. It would be awkward if Thorby married before the opportunity arose. Yet the boy had grown taller in the months he had been in Sisu. Adding to Krausa’s fret was an uneasy feeling that his half-conceived notion of finding (or faking) an ancestry for Thorby conflicted with his unbreakable obligations to Baslim.

  Then he had a cheerful idea. “Tell you what, Son! It’s possible that the girl for you isn’t aboard. After all, there are only a few in port side purdah—and picking a wife is a serious matter. She can gain you status or ruin you. So why not take it easy? At the Great Gathering you will meet hundreds of eligible girls. If you find one you like and who likes you, I’ll discuss it with your Grandmother and if she approves, we’ll dicker for her exchange. We won’t be stingy either. How does that sound?”

  It put the problem comfortably in the distance. “It sounds fine, Father!”

  “I have said enough.” Krausa thought happily that he would check the files while Thorby was meeting those “hundreds of girls”—and he need not review his obligation to Baslim until he had done so. The lad might be a born member of the People—in fact his obvious merits made fraki ancestry almost unthinkable. If so, Baslim’s wishes would be carried out in the spirit more than if followed to the letter. In the meantime—forget it!

  They completed the mile to the edge of the Losian community. Thorby stared at sleek Losian ships and thought uneasily that he had tried to burn one of those pretty things out of space. Then he reminded himself that Father had said it was not a firecontrolman’s business to worry about what target was handed him.

  When they got into city traffic he had no time to worry. Losians do not use passenger cars, nor do they favor anything as stately as a sedan chair. On foot, they scurry twice as fast as a man can run; in a hurry, they put on a vehicle which makes one think of jet propulsion. Four and sometimes six limbs are encased in sleeves which end in something like skates. A framework fits the body and carries a bulge for the power plant (what sort Thorby could not imagine). Encased in this mechanical clown suit, each becomes a guided missile, accelerating with careless abandon, showering sparks, filling the air with earsplitting noises, cornering in defiance of friction, inertia, and gravity, cutting in and out, never braking until the last minute.

  Pedestrians and powered speed maniacs mix democratically, with no perceptible rules. There seems to be no age limit for driver’s licenses and the smallest Losians are simply more reckless editions of their elders.

  Thorby wondered if he would ever get out into space alive.

  A Losian would come zipping toward Thorby on the wrong side of the street (there was no right side), squeal to a stop almost on Thorby’s toes, zig aside while snatching breath off his face and heart out of his mouth—and never touch him. Thorby would jump. After a dozen escapes he tried to pattern himself after his foster father. Captain Krausa ploughed stolidly ahead, apparently sure that the wild drivers would treat him as a stationary object. Thorby found it hard to live by that faith, but it seemed to work.

  Thorby could not make out how the city was organized. Powered traffic and pedestrians poured through any opening and the convention of private land and public street did not seem to hold. At first they proceeded along an area which Thorby classified as a plaza, then they went up a ramp, through a building which had no clear limits—no vertical walls, no defined roof—out again and down, through an arch which skirted a hole. Thorby was lost.

  Once he thought they must be going through a private home—they pushed through what must have been a dinner party. But the guests merely pulled in their feet.

  Krausa stopped. “We’re almost there. Son, we’re visiting the fraki who bought our load. This meeting heals the trouble between us caused by buying and selling. He has offended me by offering payment; now we have to become friends again.”

  “We don’t get paid?”

  “What would your Grandmother say? We’ve already been paid—but now I’ll give it to him free and he’ll give me the thorium just because he likes my pretty blue eyes. Their customs don’t allow anything as crass as selling.”

  “They don’t trade with each other?”

  “Of course they do. But the theory is that one fraki gives another anything he needs. It’s sheer accident that the other happens to have money that he is anxious to press on the other as a gift—and that the two gifts balance. They are shrewd merchants, Son; we never pick up an extra credit here.”

  “Then why this nonsense?”

  “Son, if you worry about why fraki do what they do, you’ll drive yourself crazy. When you’re on their planet, do it their way . . . it’s good business. Now listen. We’ll have a meal of friendship . . . only they can’t, or they’ll lose face. So there will be a screen between us. You have to be present, because the Losian’s son will be there—only it’s a daughter. And the fraki I’m going to see is the mother, not the father. Their males live in purdah . . . I think. But notice that when I speak through the interpreter, I’ll use masculine gender.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they know enough about our customs to know that masculine gender means the head of the house. It’s logical if you look at it correctly.”

  Thorby wondered. Who was head of the Family? Father? Or Grandmother? Of course, when the Chief Officer issued an order, she signed it “By Order of the Captain,” but that was just because . . . no. Well, anyhow—

  Thorby suddenly suspected that the customs of the Family might be illogical in spots. But the Captain was speaking. “We don’t actually eat with them; that’s another fiction. You’ll be served a green, slimy liquid. Just raise it to your lips; it would burn out your gullet. Otherwise—” Captain Krausa paused while a Losian scorcher avoided the end of his nose. “Otherwise listen so that you will know how to behave next time. Oh yes!—after I ask how old my host’s son is, you’ll be asked how old you are. You answer ‘forty.’ “

  “Why?”

  “Because that is a respectable age, in their years, for a son who is assisting his father.”

  They arrived and seemed still to be in public. But they squatted down opposite two Losians while a third crouched nearby. The screen between them was the size of a kerchief; Thorby could see over it. Thorby tried to look, listen, and learn, but the traffic never let up. It shot around and cut between them, with happy, shrill racket.

  Their host started by accusing Captain Krausa of having lured him into a misdeed. The interpreter was almost impossible to understand, but he showed surprising command of scurrilous Interlingua. Thorby could not believe his ears and expected that Father would either walk out, or start trouble.

  But Captain Krausa listened quietly, then answered with real poetry—he accused the Losian of every crime from barratry to mopery and dopery in the spaceways.

  This put the meeting on a friendly footing. The Losian made them a present of the thorium he had already paid, then offered to throw in his sons and everything he possessed.

  Captain Krausa accepted and gave away Sisu, with all contents.

  Both parties generously gave back the gifts. They ended at status quo, each to retain as a symbol of friendship what each now had: the Losian many hundredweight of verga leaf, the Trader slugs of thorium. Both agreed that the gifts were worthless but valuable for reasons of sentiment. In a burst of emotion the Losian gave away his son and Krausa made him (her) a present of Thorby. Inquiries followed and it was discovered that each was too young to leave the nest.

/>   They got out of this dilemma by having the sons exchange names and Thorby found himself owner of a name he did not want and could not pronounce. Then they “ate.”

  The horrid green stuff was not only not fit to drink, but when Thorby inhaled, he burned his nostrils and choked. The Captain gave him a reproving glance.

  After that they left. No good-bys, they just walked off. Captain Krausa said meditatively while proceeding like a sleepwalker through the riot of traffic, “Nice people, for fraki. Never any sharp dealing and absolutely honest. I often wonder what one of them would do if I took him up on one of those offers. Pay up, probably.”

  “Not really!”

  “Don’t be sure. I might hand you in on that half-grown Losian.” Thorby shut up.

  Business concluded, Captain Krausa helped Thorby shop and sight-see, which relieved Thorby, because he did not know what to buy, nor even how to get home. His foster father took him to a shop where Interlingua was understood. Losians manufacture all sorts of things of extreme complexity, none of which Thorby recognized. On Krausa’s advice Thorby selected a small polished cube which, when shaken, showed endless Losian scenes in its depths. Thorby offered the shopkeeper his tokens; the Losian selected one and gave him change from a necklace of money. Then he made Thorby a present of shop and contents.

  Thorby, speaking through Krausa, regretted that he had nothing to offer save his own services the rest of his life. They backed out of the predicament with courteous insults.

  Thorby felt relieved when they reached the spaceport and he saw the homely, familiar lines of old Sisu.

  When Thorby reached his bunkie, Jeri was there, feet up and hands back of his head. He looked up and did not smile.

  “Hi, Jeri!”

  “Hello, Thorby.”

  “Hit dirt?”

  “No.”

  “I did. Look what I bought!” Thorby showed him the magic cube. “You shake it and every picture is different.”

  Jeri looked at one picture and handed it back. “Very nice.”

  “Jeri, what are you glum about? Something you ate?”

  “No.”

  “Spill it.”

  Jeri dropped his feet to the deck, looked at Thorby. “I’m back in the computer room.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, I don’t lose status. It’s just while I train somebody else.”

  Thorby felt a cold wind. “You mean I’ve been busted?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “Mata has been swapped.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Mata swapped? Gone forever? Little Mattie with the grave eyes and merry giggle? Thorby felt a burst of sorrow and realized to his surprise that it mattered.

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  “When? Where has she gone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “To El Nido, obviously; it’s the only ship of the People in port. About an hour ago. I didn’t tell you because I had no idea it was coming . . . until I was summoned to Grandmother’s cabin to say good-by.” Jeri frowned. “It had to come someday . . . but I thought Grandmother would let her stay as long as she kept her skill as a tracker.”

  “Then why, Jeri? Why?”

  Jeri stood up, said woodenly, “Foster Ortho-Uncle, I have said enough.”

  Thorby pushed him back into his chair. “You can’t get away with that, Jeri. I’m your ‘uncle’ only because they said I was. But I’m still the ex-fraki you taught to use a tracker and we both know it. Now talk man to man. Spill it!”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it now! Mattie gone . . . Look, Jeri, there is nobody here but us. Whatever it is, tell me. I promise you, on Sisu’s steel, that I won’t make an uncle-and-nephew matter of it. Whatever you say, the Family will never know.”

  “Grandmother might be listening.”

  “If she is, I’ve ordered you to talk and it’s my responsibility. But she won’t be; it’s time for her nap. So talk.”

  “Okay.” Jeri looked at him sourly. “You asked for it. You mean to say you haven’t the dimmest idea why Grandmother hustled my Sis out of the ship?”

  “Huh? None . . . or I wouldn’t ask.”

  Jeri made an impatient noise. “Thorby, I knew you were thick-witted. I didn’t know you were deaf, dumb, and blind.”

  “Never mind the compliments! Tell me the score.”

  “You’re the reason Mata got swapped. You.” Jeri looked at Thorby with disgust.

  “Me?”

  “Who else? Who pairs off at spat ball? Who sits together at story films? What new relative is always seen with a girl from his own moiety? I’ll give you a hint—the name starts with ‘T.’ “

  Thorby turned white. “Jeri, I never had the slightest idea.”

  “You’re the only one in the ship who didn’t.” Jeri shrugged. “I’m not blaming you. It was her fault. She was chasing you, you stupid clown! What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t know. I tried to give you hints.”

  Thorby was as innocent of such things as a bird is of ballistics. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether you do or don’t . . . everybody else saw it. But you both could have gotten away with it, as long as you kept it open and harmless —and I was watching too closely for anything else—if Sis hadn’t lost her head.”

  “Huh? How?”

  “Sis did something that made Grandmother willing to part with a crack firecontrolman. She went to Grandmother and asked to be adopted across moiety line. In her simple, addle-pated way she figured that since you were adopted in the first place, it didn’t really matter that she was your niece—just shift things around and she could marry you.” Jeri grunted. “If you had been adopted on the other side, she could have wangled it. But she must have been clean off her head to think that Grandmother—Grandmother!—would agree to anything so scandalous.”

  “But . . . well, I’m not actually any relation to her. Not that I had any idea of marrying her.”

  “Oh, beat it! You make me tired.”

  Thorby moped around, unwilling to go back and face Jeri. He felt lost and alone and confused; the Family seemed as strange, their ways as difficult to understand, as the Losians.

  He missed Mata. He had never missed her before. She had been something pleasant but routine—like three meals a day and the other comforts he had learned to expect in Sisu. Now he missed her.

  Well, if that was what she wanted, why hadn’t they let her? Not that he had thought about it . . . but as long as you had to get married some day, Mata would be as tolerable as any. He liked her.

  Finally he remembered that there was one person with whom he could talk. He took his troubles to Doctor Mader.

  He scratched at her door, received a hurried, “Come in!” He found her down on her knees, surrounded by possessions. She had a smudge on her nose and her neat hair was mussed. “Oh. Thorby. I’m glad you showed up. They told me you were dirtside and I was afraid I would miss you.”

  She spoke System English; he answered in it. “You wanted to see me?”

  “To say good-by. I’m going home.”

  “Oh.” Thorby felt again the sick twinge he had felt when Jeri had told about Mata. Suddenly he was wrenched with sorrow that Pop was gone. He pulled himself together and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, Thorby. You’re the only one in this big ship that I felt at home with . . . which is odd, as your background and mine are about as far apart as possible. I’ll miss our talks.”

  “So will I,” Thorby agreed miserably. “When are you leaving?”

  “El Nido jumps tomorrow. But I should transfer tonight; I don’t dare miss jump, or I might not get home for years.”

  “El Nido is going to your planet?” A fantastic scheme began to shape in his mind.

  “Oh, no! She’s going to Thaf Beta VI. But a Hegemonic mail ship calls there and I can get home. It is too wonderful a chance to miss.” The scheme died in Thorby’s brain; it was preposterous, anyhow—he might be willing to chance a strange planet, but Mata was no fraki.

  Doctor Mader went on, “The Chief Officer arranged it.” She smiled wryly. “She’s glad to get rid of me. I hadn’t had any hope that she could put it over, in view of the difficulty in getting me aboard Sisu; I think your grandmother must have some bargaining point that she did not mention. In any case I’m to go . . . with the understanding that I remain in strict purdah. I shan’t mind; I’ll use the time on my data.”

  Mention of purdah reminded Thorby that Margaret would see Mata. He started with stumbling embarrassment to explain what he had come to talk about. Doctor Mader listened gravely, her fingers busy with packing. “I know, Thorby. I probably heard the sad details sooner than you did.”

  “Margaret, did you ever hear of anything so silly?”

  She hesitated. “Many things . . . much sillier.”

  “But there wasn’t anything to it! And if that was what Mata wanted, why didn’t Grandmother let her . . . instead of shipping her out among strangers. I . . . well, I wouldn’t have minded. After I got used to it.”

  The fraki woman smiled. “That’s the oddest gallant speech I ever heard, Thorby.”

  Thorby said, “Could you get a message to her for me?”

  “Thorby, if you want to send her your undying love or something, then don’t. Your Grandmother did the best thing for her great granddaughter, did it quickly with kindness and wisdom. Did it in Mata’s interests against the immediate interests of Sisu, since Mata was a valuable fighting man. But your Grandmother measured up to the high standards expected of a Chief Officer; she considered the long-range interests of everyone and found them weightier than the loss of one firecontrolman. I admire her at last—between ourselves, I’ve always detested the old girl.” She smiled suddenly. “And fifty years from now Mata will make the same sort of wise decisions; the sept of Sisu is sound.”

  “I’ll be flogged if I understand it!”

  “Because you are almost as much fraki as I am . . . and haven’t had my training. Thorby, most things are right or wrong only in their backgrounds; few things are good or evil in themselves. But things that are right or wrong according to their culture, really are so. This exogamy rule the People live by, you probably think it’s just a way to outsmart mutations—in fact that’s the way it is taught in the ship’s school.”

  “Of course. That’s why I can’t see—”

“Just a second. So you can’t see why your Grandmother should object. But it’s essential that the People marry back and forth among ships, not just because of genes—that’s a side issue—but because a ship is too small to be a stable culture. Ideas and attitudes have to be cross-germinated, too, or Sisu and the whole culture will die. So the custom is protected by strongest possible taboo. A ‘minor’ break in this taboo is like a ‘minor’ break in the ship, disastrous unless drastic steps are taken. Now . . . do you understand that?”

  “Well . . . no, I don’t think so.”

  “I doubt if your Grandmother understands it; she just knows what’s right for her family and acts with forthrightness and courage. Do you still want to send a message?”

  “Uh, well, could you tell Mata that I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-by?”

  “Mmm, yes. I may wait a while.”

  “All right.”

  “Feeling better yourself?”

  “Uh, I guess so . . . since you say it’s best for Mata.” Thorby suddenly burst out, “But, Margaret, I don’t know what is the matter with me! I thought I was getting the hang of things. Now it’s all gone to pieces. I feel like a fraki and I doubt if I’ll ever learn to be a Trader.”

  Her face was suddenly sad. “You were free once. It’s a hard habit to get over.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve had violent dislocations, Thorby. Your foster father—your first one, Baslim the Wise—bought you as a slave and made you his son, as free as he was. Now your second foster father, with the best of intentions, adopted you as his son, and thereby made you a slave.”

  “Why, Margaret!” Thorby protested. “How can you say such a thing?”

  “If you aren’t a slave, what are you?”

  “Why, I’m a Free Trader. At least that’s what Father intended, if I can ever get over my fraki habits. But I’m not a slave. The People are free. All of us.”

  “All of you . . . but not each of you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The People are free. It’s their proudest boast. Any of them can tell you that freedom is what makes them People and not fraki. The People are free to roam the stars, never rooted to any soil. So free that each ship is a sovereign state, asking nothing of anyone, going anywhere, fighting against any odds, asking no quarter, not even cooperating except as it suits them. Oh, the People are free; this old Galaxy has never seen such freedom. A culture of less than a hundred thousand people spread through a quarter of a billion cubic light-years and utterly free to move anywhere at any time. There has never been a culture like it and there may never be again. Free as the sky . . . more free than the stars, for the stars go where they must. Ah, yes, the People are free.” She paused. “But at what price was this freedom purchased?”

  Thorby blinked.

  “I’ll tell you. Not with poverty. The People enjoy the highest average wealth in history. The profits of your trading are fantastic. Nor has it been with cost to health or sanity. I’ve never seen a community with less illness. Nor have you paid in happiness or self-respect. You’re a smugly happy lot, and your pride is something sinful—of course you do have a lot to be proud of. But what you have paid for your unparalleled freedom . . . is freedom itself. No, I’m not talking riddles. The People are free . . . at the cost of loss of individual freedom for each of you—and I don’t except the Chief Officer or Captain; they are the least free of any.”

  Her words sounded outrageous. “How can we be both free and not free?” he protested.

  “Ask Mata. Thorby, you live in a steel prison; you are allowed out perhaps a few hours every few months. You live by rules more stringent than any prison. That those rules are intended to make you all happy—and do—is beside the point; they are orders you have to obey. You sleep where you are told, you eat when you are told and what you are offered—it’s unimportant that it is lavish and tasty; the point is you have no choice. You are told what to do ninety percent of the time. You are so bound by rules that much of what you say is not free speech but required ritual; you could go through a day and not utter a phrase not found in the Laws of Sisu. Right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Yes, with no ‘buts.’ Thorby, what sort of people have so little freedom? Slaves? Can you think of a better word?”

  “But we can’t be sold!”

  “Slavery has often existed where slaves were never bought and sold, but simply inherited. As in Sisu. Thorby, being a slave means having someone as your master, with no hope of changing it. You slaves who call yourselves the ‘People’ can’t even hope for manumission.”

  Thorby scowled. “You figure that’s what’s wrong with me?”

  “I think your slave’s collar is chafing you, in a fashion that does not trouble your shipmates—because they were born with theirs and you were once free.” She looked at her belongings. “I’ve got to get this stuff into El Nido. Will you help me?”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  “Don’t expect to see Mata.”

  “I wasn’t,” Thorby fibbed. “I want to help you. I hate to see you leave.”

  “Truthfully, I don’t hate to leave . . . but I hate to say good-by to you.” She hesitated. “I want to help you, too. Thorby, an anthropologist should never interfere. But I’m leaving and you aren’t really part of the culture I was studying. Could you use a hint from an old woman?”

  “Why, you aren’t old!”

  “That’s two gallant speeches. I’m a grandmother, though the Chief Officer might be startled to hear me claim that status. Thorby, I thought you would become adjusted to this jail. Now I’m not sure. Freedom is a hard habit to break. Dear, if you decide that you can’t stand it, wait until the ship calls at a planet that is democratic and free and human—then hit dirt and run! But, Thorby, do this before Grandmother decides to marry you to someone, because if you wait that long—you’re lost!”

  CHAPTER 12

  Losian to Finster, Finster to Thoth IV, Thoth IV to Woolamurra, Sisu went skipping around a globe of space nine hundred light-years in diameter, the center of which was legendary Terra, cradle of mankind. Sisu had never been to Terra; the People operate out where pickings are rich, police protection non-existent, and a man can dicker without being hampered by finicky regulations.

  Ship’s history alleged that the original Sisu had been built on Terra and that the first Captain Krausa had been born there, a (whisper it) fraki. But that was six ships ago and ship’s history was true in essence, rather than fiddlin’ fact. The Sisu whose steel now protected the blood was registered out of New Finlandia, Shiva III . . . another port she had never visited but whose fees were worth paying in order to have legal right to go about her occasions whenever, in pursuit of profit, Sisu went inside the globe of civilization. Shiva III was very understanding of the needs of Free Traders, not fussy about inspections, reports, and the like as long as omissions were repaired by paying penalties; many ships found her registration convenient.

  On Finster Thorby learned another method of trading. The native fraki, known to science by a pseudo-Latin name and called “Those confounded slugs!” by the People, live in telepathic symbiosis with lemur-like creatures possessed of delicate, many-boned hands—”telepathy” is a conclusion; it is believed that the slow, monstrous, dominant creatures supply the brains and the lemuroids the manipulation.

  The planet offers beautifully carved gem stones, raw copper, and a weed from which is derived an alkaloid used in psychotherapy. What else it could supply is a matter of conjecture; the natives have neither speech nor writing, communication is difficult.

  This occasions the method of trading new to Thorby—the silent auction invented by the trading Phoenicians when the shores of Africa ran beyond the known world.

  Around Sisu in piles were placed what the traders had to offer: heavy metals the natives needed, everlasting clocks they had learned to need, and trade goods the Family hoped to teach them to need. Then the humans went inside.

  Thorby said to Senior Clerk Arly Krausa-Drotar, “We just leave that stuff lying around? If you did that on Jubbul, it would disappear as you turned your back.”

  “Didn’t you see them rig the top gun this morning?”

  “I was down in the lower ho
ld.”

  “It’s rigged and manned. These creatures have no morals but they’re smart. They’ll be as honest as a cashier with the boss watching.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We wait. They look over the goods. After a while . . . a day, maybe two . . . they pile stuff by our piles. We wait. Maybe they make their piles higher. Maybe they shift things around and offer us something else—and possibly we have outsmarted ourselves and missed something we would like through holding out. Or maybe we take one of our piles and split it into two, meaning we like the stuff but not the price.

  “Or maybe we don’t want it at any price. So we move our piles close to something they have offered that we do like. But we still don’t touch their stuff; we wait.

  “Eventually nobody has moved anything in quite a while. So, where the price suits us, we take in what they offer and leave our stuff. They come and take our offering away. We take in any of our own stuff where the price isn’t right; they take away the stuff we turn down.

  “But that doesn’t end it. Now both sides know what the other one wants and what he will pay. They start making the offers; we start bidding with what we know they will accept. More deals are made. When we are through this second time, we have unloaded anything they want for stuff of theirs that we want at prices satisfactory to both. No trouble. I wonder if we do better on planets where we can talk.”

  “Yes, but doesn’t this waste a lot of time?”

  “Know anything we’ve got more of?”

  The slow-motion auction moved without a hitch on goods having established value; deals were spottier on experimental offerings—gadgets which had seemed a good buy on Losian mostly failed to interest the Finstera. Six gross of folding knives actually intended for Woolamurra brought high prices. But the star item was not properly goods of any sort.

  Grandmother Krausa, although bedfast, occasionally insisted on being carried on inspection tours; somebody always suffered. Shortly before arrival at Finster her ire had centered on nursery and bachelor quarters. In the first her eye lit on a stack of lurid picture books. She ordered them confiscated; they were “fraki trash.”

  The bachelors were inspected when word had gone out that she intended to hit only nursery, purdah, and galley; Grandmother saw their bunkies before they could hide their pin-up pictures.

  Grandmother was shocked! Not only did pin-up pictures follow comic books, but a search was made for the magazines from which they had been clipped. The contraband was sent to auxiliary engineering, there to give up identities into elemental particles.

  The Supercargo saw them there and got an idea; they joined the offerings outside the ship.

  Strangely carved native jewels appeared beside the waste paper—chrysoberyl and garnet and opal and quartz.

  The Supercargo blinked at the gauds and sent word to the Captain.

  The booklets and magazines were redistributed, each as a separate offering. More jewels—

  Finally each item was broken down into pages; each sheet was placed alone. An agreement was reached: one brightly colored sheet, one jewel. At that point, bachelors who had managed to hide cherished pinups found patriotism and instinct for trade outweighing possessiveness—after all they could restock at the next civilized port. The nursery was combed for more adventure comics.

  For the first time in history comic books and pin-up magazines brought many times their weights in fine jewelry.

  Thoth IV was followed by Woolamurra and each jump zig-zagged closer to the coming Great Gathering of the People; the ship was seized with carnival fever. Crew members were excused from work to practice on musical instruments, watches were rearranged to permit quartets to sing together, a training table was formed for athletes and they were excused from all watches save battle stations in order to train themselves into exhausted sleep. Headaches and tempers developed over plans for hospitality fit to support the exalted pride of Sisu.

  Long messages flitted through n-space and the Chief Engineer protested the scandalous waste of power with sharp comments on the high price of tritium. But the Chief Officer cheerfully okayed the charge vouchers. As the time approached, she developed a smile that creased her wrinkles in unaccustomed directions, as if she knew something but wasn’t talking. Twice Thorby caught her smiling at him and it worried him; it was better not to catch Grandmother’s attention. He had had her full attention once lately and had not enjoyed it—he had been honored by eating with her, for having burned a raider.

  The bogie had appeared on Sisu’s screens during the lift from Finster—an unexpected place to be attacked since there was not much traffic there. The alarm had come only four hours out, when Sisu had attained barely 5% of speed-of-light and had no hope of running for it.

  The matter landed in Thorby’s lap; the portside computer was disabled—it had a “nervous breakdown” and the ship’s electronics men had been sweating over it since jump. Thorby’s nephew Jeri had returned to astrogation, the new trainee having qualified on the long jump from Losian—he was a stripling in whom Thorby had little confidence, but Thorby did not argue when Jeri decided that Kenan Drotar was ready for a watch even though he had never experienced a “real one.” Jeri was anxious to go back to the control room for two reasons, status, and an unmentioned imponderable: the computer room was where Jeri had served with his missing kid sister.

  So when the raider popped up, it was up to Thorby.

  He felt shaky when he first started to test the problem, being acutely aware that the portside computer was out. The greatest comfort to a firecontrolman is faith in the superman abilities of the team on the other side, a feeling of “Well, even if I goof, those bulging brains will nail him,” while that team is thinking the same thing. It helps to produce all-important relaxation.

  This time Thorby did not have that spiritual safety net. Nor any other. The Finstera are not a spacefaring people; there was no possibility that the bogie would be identified as theirs. Nor could he be a trader; he had too many gravities in his tail. Nor a Hegemonic Guard; Finster was many light-years outside civilization. Thorby knew with sick certainty that sometime in the next hour his guesses must produce an answer; he must launch and hit—or shortly thereafter he would be a slave again and all his family with him.

  It spoiled his timing, it slowed his thoughts.

  But presently he forgot the portside computer, forgot the Family, forgot even the raider as such. The raider’s movements became just data pouring into his board and the problem something he had been trained to do. His teammate slammed in and strapped himself into the other chair while General Quarters was still clanging, demanded to know the score. Thorby didn’t hear him, nor did he hear the clanging stop. Jeri came in thereafter, having been sent down by the Captain; Thorby never saw him. Jeri motioned the youngster out of the twin seat, got into it himself, noted that the switch had Thorby’s board in control, did not touch it. Without speaking he glanced over Thorby’s setup and began working alternate solutions, ready to back him up by slapping the selector switch as soon as Thorby launched and then launch again, differently. Thorby never noticed.

  Presently Krausa’s strong bass came over the squawk line. “Starboard tracker . . . can I assist you by maneuvering?”

  Thorby never heard it. Jeri glanced at him and answered, “I do not advise it, Captain.”

  “Very well.”

  The Senior Portside Firecontrolman, in gross violation of regulations, came in and watched the silent struggle, sweat greasing his face. Thorby did not know it. Nothing existed but knobs, switches, and buttons, all extensions of his nervous system. He became possessed of an overwhelming need to sneeze—repressed it without realizing it.

  Thorby made infinitesimal adjustments up to the last moment, then absent-mindedly touched the button that told the computer to launch as the projected curve maximized. Two heartbeats later an atomic missile was on its way.

  Jeri reached for the selector switch—stopped as he saw Thorby go into frenzied activity, telling his board to launch again on the assumption that the target had cut power. Then incoming da
ta stopped as the ship went blind. Paralysis hit them.

  Post-analysis showed that the paralyzing beam was on them seventy-one seconds. Jeri came out of it when it ceased; he saw Thorby looking dazedly at his board . . . then become violently active as he tried to work a new solution based on the last data.

  Jeri put a hand on him. “The run is over, Thorby.”

  “Huh?”

  “You got him. A sweet run. Mata would be proud of you.”

  Sisu was blind for a day, while repairs were made in her n-space eyes. The Captain continued to boost; there was nothing else to do. But presently she could see again and two days later she plunged into the comforting darkness of multi-space. The dinner in Thorby’s honor was that night.

  Grandmother made the usual speech, giving thanks that the Family was again spared, and noting that the son of Sisu beside her was the instrument of that happy but eminently deserved outcome. Then she lay back and gobbled her food, with her daughter-in-law hovering over her.

  Thorby did not enjoy the honor. He had no clear recollection of the run; it felt as if he were being honored by mistake. He had been in semi-shock afterwards, then his imagination started working.

  They were only pirates, he knew that. Pirates and slavers, they had tried to steal Sisu, had meant to enslave the Family. Thorby had hated slavers before he could remember—nothing so impersonal as the institution of slavery, he hated slavers in his baby bones before he knew the word.

  He was sure that Pop approved of him; he knew that Pop, gentle as he was, would have shortened every slaver in the Galaxy without a tear.

  Nevertheless Thorby did not feel happy. He kept thinking about a live ship—suddenly all dead, gone forever in a burst of radiance. Then he would look at his forefinger and wonder. He was caught in the old dilemma of the man with unintegrated values, who eats meat but would rather somebody else did the butchering.

  When the dinner in his honor arrived he was three nights short on sleep and looked it. He pecked at his food.

  Midway in the meal he became aware that Grandmother was glaring; he promptly spilled food on his dress jacket. “Well!” she snarled. “Have a nice nap?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, Grandmother. Did you speak to me?”

  He caught his Mother’s warning look but it was too late; Grandmother was off. “I was waiting for you to say something to me!”

  “Uh . . . it’s a nice day.”

  “I had not noticed that it was unusual. It rarely rains in space.”

  “I mean it’s a nice party. Yes, a real nice party. Thank you for giving it, Grandmother.”

  “That’s better. Young man, it is customary, when a gentleman dines with a lady, to offer her polite conversation. This may not be the custom among fraki, but it is invariable among People.”

  “Yes, Grandmother. Thank you, Grandmother.”

  “Let’s start again. It’s a nice party, yes. We try to make everyone feel equal, while recognizing the merits of each. It is gratifying to have a chance—at last—to join with our Family in noting a virtue in you . . . one commendable if not exceptional. Congratulations. Now it’s your turn.”

  Thorby slowly turned purple.

  She sniffed and said, “What are you doing to get ready for the Gathering?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, Grandmother. You see, I don’t sing, or play, or dance—and the only games I know are chess and spat ball and . . . well, I’ve never seen a Gathering. I don’t know what they’re like.”

  “Hmmph! So you haven’t.”

  Thorby felt guilty. He said, “Grandmother . . . you must have been to lots of Gatherings. Would you tell me about them?”

  That did it. She relaxed and said in hushed voice, “They don’t have the Gatherings nowadays that they had when I was a girl . . .” Thorby did not have to speak again, other than sounds of awed interest. Long after the rest were waiting for Grandmother’s permission to rise, she was saying, “. . . and I had my choice of a hundred ships, let me tell you. I was a pert young thing, with a tiny foot and a saucy nose, and my Grandmother got offers for me throughout the People. But I knew Sisu was for me and I stood up to her. Oh, I was a lively one! Dance all night and as fresh for the games next day as a—”

  While it was not a merry occasion, it was not a failure.

  Since Thorby had no talent he became an actor.

  Aunt Athena Krausa-Fogarth, Chief of Commissary and superlative cook, had the literary disease in its acute form; she had written a play. It was the life of the first Captain Krausa, showing the sterling nobility of the Krausa line. The first Krausa had been a saint with heart of steel. Disgusted with the evil ways of fraki, he had built Sisu (single-handed), staffed it with his wife (named Fogarth in draft, changed to Grandmother’s maiden name before the script got to her) and with their remarkable children. As the play ends they jump off into space, to spread culture and wealth through the Galaxy.

  Thorby played the first Krausa. He was dumbfounded, having tried out because he was told to. Aunt Athena seemed almost as surprised; there was a catch in her voice when she announced his name. But Grandmother seemed pleased. She showed up for rehearsals and made suggestions which were happily adopted.

  The star playing opposite Thorby was Loeen Garcia, late of El Nido. He had not become chummy with Mata’s exchange; he had nothing against her but had not felt like it. But he found Loeen easy to know. She was a dark, soft beauty, with an intimate manner. When Thorby was required to ignore taboo and kiss her, in front of Grandmother and everybody, he blew his lines.

  But he tried. Grandmother snorted in disgust. “What are you trying to do! Bite her? And don’t let go as if she were radioactive. She’s your wife, stupid. You’ve just carried her into your ship. You’re alone with her, you love her. Now do it . . . no, no, no! Athena!”

  Thorby looked wildly around. It did not help to catch sight of Fritz with eyes on the overhead, a beatific smile on his face.

  “Athena! Come here, Daughter, and show this damp young hulk how a woman should be kissed. Kiss him yourself and then have him try again. Places, everyone.”

  Aunt Athena, twice Thorby’s age, did not upset him so much. He complied clumsily with her instructions, then managed to kiss Loeen without falling over her feet.

  It must have been a good play; it satisfied Grandmother. She looked forward to seeing it at the Gathering.

  But she died on Woolamurra.

  CHAPTER 13

  Woolamurra is a lush pioneer planet barely inside the Terran Hegemony; it was Sisu’s last stop before diving deeper for the Gathering. Rich in food and raw materials, the fraki were anxious to buy manufactured articles. Sisu sold out of Losian artifacts and disposed of many Finsteran jewels. But Woolamurra offered little which would bring a profit and money was tight in terms of power metal—Woolamurra had not prospected much and was anxious to keep what radioactives it had for its infant industry.

  So Sisu accepted a little uranium and a lot of choice meats and luxury foods. Sisu always picked up gourmet delicacies; this time she stocked tons more than the Family could consume, but valuable for swank at the Gathering.

  The balance was paid in tritium and deuterium. A hydrogen-isotopes plant is maintained there for Hegemonic ships but it will sell to others. Sisu had last been able to fuel at Jubbul—Losian ships use a different nuclear reaction.

  Thorby was taken dirtside by his Father several times in New Melbourne, the port. The local language is System English, which Krausa understood, but the fraki spoke it with clipped haste and an odd vowel shift; Captain Krausa found it baffling. It did not sound strange to Thorby; it was as if he’d heard it before. So Krausa took him to help out.

  This day they went out to complete the fuel transaction and sign a waiver required for private sales. The commercial tenders accepted by Sisu had to be certified by the central bank, then be taken to the fuel plant. After papers were stamped and fees paid, the Captain sat and chatted with the director. Krausa could be friendly with a fraki on terms of complete equality, never hinting at the enormous social difference between them.

  While they chatted, Thorby worried. The fraki was talking about Woolamurra. “Any cobber with strong arms and enough brain to hold his ears apart can go outback and make a fortune.”

  “No doubt,” agreed the Captain. “I’ve seen your beef animals. Magnificent.”

  Thorby agreed. Woolamurra might be short on pavement, arts, and plumbing; the planet was bursting with opportunity. Besides that, it was a pleasant, decent world, comfortably loose. It matched Doctor Mader’s recipe: “—wait until your ship calls at a planet that is democratic, free, and human . . . then run!”

  Life in Sisu had become more pleasant even though he was now conscious of the all-enveloping, personally-restricting quality of life with the Family. He was beginning to enjoy being an actor; it was fun to hold the stage. He had even learned to handle the clinch in a manner to win from Grandmother a smile; furthermore, even though it was play-acting, Loeen was a pleasant armful. She would kiss him and murmur: “My husband! My noble husband! We will roam the Galaxy together.”

  It gave Thorby goose bumps. He decided that Loeen was a great actress.

  They became quite friendly. Loeen was curious about what a firecontrolman did, so, under the eye of Great Aunt Tora, Thorby showed her the computer room. She looked prettily confused. “Just what is n-space? Length, breadth, and thickness are all you see . . . how about these other dimensions?”

  “By logic. You see four dimensions . . . those three, and time. Oh, you can’t see a year, but you can measure it.”

  “Yes, but how can logic—”

  “Easy as can be. What is a point? A location in space. But suppose there isn’t any space, not even the four ordinary dimensions. No space. Is a point conceivable?”

  “Well, I’m thinking about one.”

  “Not without thinking about space. If you think about a point, you think about it somewhere. If you have a line, you can imagine a point somewhere on it. But a point is just a location and if there isn’t anywhere for it to be located, it’s nothing. Follow me?”

  Great Aunt Tora interrupted. “Could you children continue this in the lounge? My feet hurt.”

  “Sorry, Great Aunt. Will you take my arm?”

  Back in the lounge Thorby said, “Did you soak up that abo
ut a point needing a line to hold it?”

  “Uh, I think so. Take away its location and it isn’t there at all.”

  “Think about a line. If it isn’t in a surface, does it exist?”

  “Uh, that’s harder.”

  “If you get past that, you’ve got it. A line is an ordered sequence of points. But where does the order come from? From being in a surface. If a line isn’t held by a surface, then it could collapse into itself. It hasn’t any width. You wouldn’t even know it had collapsed . . . nothing to compare it with. But every point would be just as close to every other point, no ‘ordered sequence.’ Chaos. Still with me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “A point needs a line. A line needs a surface. A surface has to be part of solid space, or its structure vanishes. And a solid needs hyperspace to hold it . . . and so on up. Each dimension demands one higher, or geometry ceases to exist. The universe ceases to exist.” He slapped the table. “But it’s here, so we know that multi-space still functions . . . even though we can’t see it, any more than we can see a passing second.”

  “But where does it all stop?”

  “It can’t. Endless dimensions.”

  She shivered. “It scares me.”

  “Don’t worry. Even the Chief Engineer only has to fret about the first dozen dimensions. And—look, you know we turn inside out when the ship goes irrational. Can you feel it?”

  “No. And I’m not sure I believe it.”

  “It doesn’t matter, because we aren’t equipped to feel it. It can happen while eating soup and you never spill a drop, even though the soup turns inside out, too. So far as we are concerned it’s just a mathematical concept, like the square root of minus one—which we tangle with when we pass speed-of-light. It’s that way with all multi-dimensionality. You don’t have to feel it, see it, understand it; you just have to work logical symbols about it. But it’s real, if ‘real’ means anything. Nobody has ever seen an electron. Nor a thought. You can’t see a thought, you can’t measure, weigh, nor taste it—but thoughts are the most real things in the Galaxy.” Thorby was quoting Baslim.

  She looked at him admiringly. “You must be awfully brainy, Thorby. ‘Nobody ever saw a thought.’ I like that.”

  Thorby graciously accepted the praise.

  When he went to his bunkie, he found Fritz reading in bed. Thorby was feeling the warm glow that comes from giving the word to an eager mind. “Hi, Fritz! Studying? Or wasting your youth?”

  “Hi. Studying. Studying art.”

  Thorby glanced over. “Don’t let Grandmother catch you.”

  “Got to have something to trade those confounded slugs next time we touch Finster.” Woolamurra was “civilization”; the bachelors had replenished their art. “You look as if you had squeezed a bonus out of a Losian. What clicks?”

  “Oh, just talking with Loeen. I was introducing her to n-space . . . and darn if she didn’t catch on fast.”

  Fritz looked judicial. “Yes, she’s bright.” He added, “When is Grandmother posting the bans?”

  “What are you talking about!”

  “No bans?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Mmm . . . you find her good company. Bright, too. Want to know how bright?”

  “Well?”

  “So bright that she taught in El Nido’s school. Her specialty was math. Multi-dimensional geometry, in fact.”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Happens I transcribed her record. But ask her.”

  “I shall! Why isn’t she teaching math here?”

  “Ask Grandmother. Thorby, my skinny and retarded brother—I think you were dropped on your head. But, sorry as you are, I love you for the fumbling grace with which you wipe drool off your chin. Want a hint from an older and wiser head?”

  “Go ahead. You will anyhow.”

  “Thanks. Loeen is a fine girl and it might be fun to solve equations with her for life. But I hate to see a man leap into a sale before he checks the market. If you just hold off through this next jump, you’ll find that the People have several young girls. Several thousand.”

  “I’m not looking for a wife!”

  “Tut, tut! It’s a man’s duty. But wait for the Gathering and we’ll shop. Now shut up, I want to study art.”

  “Who’s talking?”

  Thorby did not ask Loeen what she had done in El Nido, but it did open his eyes to the fact that he was playing the leading role in a courtship without having known it. It scared him. Doctor Mader’s words haunted his sleep “—before Grandmother decides to marry you to someone . . . if you wait that long— you’re lost!”

  Father and the Woolamurra official gossiped while Thorby fretted. Should he leave Sisu? If he wasn’t willing to be a trader all his life he had to get out while still a bachelor. Of course, he could stall—look at Fritz. Not that he had anything against Loeen, even if she had made a fool of him.

  But if he was going to leave—and he had doubts as to whether he could stand the custom-ridden monotonous life forever—then Woolamurra was the best chance he might have in years. No castes, no guilds, no poverty, no immigration laws—why, they even accepted mutants! Thorby had seen hexadactyls, hirsutes, albinos, lupine ears, giants, and other changes. If a man could work, Woolamurra could use him.

  What should he do? Say, “Excuse me, please,” leave the room—then start running? Stay lost until Sisu jumped? He couldn’t do that! Not to Father, not to Sisu; he owed them too much.

  What, then? Tell Grandmother he wanted off? If she let him off, it would probably be some chilly spot between stars! Grandmother would regard ingratitude to Sisu as the unforgivable sin.

  And besides . . . The Gathering was coming. He felt a great itch to see it. And it wouldn’t be right to walk out on the play. He was not consciously rationalizing; although stage-struck, he still thought that he did not want to play the hero in a melodrama—whereas he could hardly wait.

  So he avoided his dilemma by postponing it.

  Captain Krausa touched his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

  “Oh. Sorry, Father. I was thinking.”

  “Keep it up, it’s good exercise. Good-by, Director, and thanks. I look forward to seeing you next time we call.”

  “You won’t find me, Captain. I’m going to line me out a station, as far as eye can reach. Land of me own. If you ever get tired of steel decks, there’s room here for you. And your boy.”

  Captain Krausa’s face did not show his revulsion. “Thanks. But we wouldn’t know which end of a plough to grab. We’re traders.”

  “Each cat his own rat.”

  When they were outside Thorby said, “What did he mean, Father? I’ve seen cats, but what is a rat?”

  “A rat is a sorci, only thinner and meaner. He meant that each man has his proper place.”

  “Oh.” They walked in silence. Thorby was wondering if he had as yet found his proper place.

  Captain Krausa was wondering the same thing. There was a ship just beyond Sisu; its presence was a reproach. It was a mail courier, an official Hegemonic vessel, crewed by Guardsmen. Baslim’s words rang accusingly in his mind: “—when opportunity presents, I ask that you deliver him to the commander of any Hegemonic military vessel.”

  This was not a “military” vessel. But that was a quibble; Baslim’s intentions were plain and this ship would serve. Debts must be paid. Unfortunately Mother interpreted the words strictly. Oh, he knew why; she was determined to show off the boy at the Gathering. She intended to squeeze all possible status out of the fact that Sisu had paid the People’s debt. Well, that was understandable.

  But it wasn’t fair to the boy!

  Or was it? For his own reasons Krausa was anxious to take the lad to the Gathering. He was certain now that Thorby’s ancestry must be of the People—and in the Commodore’s files he expected to prove it.

  On the other hand— He had agreed with Mother over Mata Kingsolver; a minx should not be allowed to back a taboo lad into a corner, better to ship her at once. But didn’t Mother think he could see what she was up to now?

  He wouldn’t permit it! By Sisu, he wouldn’t! The boy was too young and he would forbid it . . . at least until he proved that the boy was of the People, in which case the debt to Baslim was paid.

  B
ut that mail courier out there whispered that he was being as unwilling to acknowledge honest debt as he was accusing Mother of being.

  But it was for the lad’s own good!

  What is justice?

  Well, there was one fair way. Take the lad and have a showdown with Mother. Tell the lad all of Baslim’s message. Tell him that he could take passage in the courier to the central worlds, tell him how to go about finding his family. But tell him, too, that he, the Krausa, believed that Thorby was of the People and that the possibility could and should be checked first. Yes, and tell him bluntly that Mother was trying to tie him down with a wife. Mother would scream and quote the Laws—but this was not in the Chief Officer’s jurisdiction; Baslim had laid the injunction on him. And besides, it was right; the boy himself should choose.

  Spine stiffened but quaking, Captain Krausa strode back to face his Mother.

  As the hoist delivered them up the Deck Master was waiting. “Chief Officer’s respects and she wishes to see the Captain, sir.”

  “That’s a coincidence,” Krausa said grimly. “Come, Son. We’ll both see her.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  They went around the passageway, reached the Chief Officer’s cabin. Krausa’s wife was outside. “Hello, my dear. The Decker said that Mother had sent for me.”

  “I sent for you.”

  “He got the message garbled. Whatever it is, make it quick, please. I am anxious to see Mother anyhow.”

  “He did not get it garbled; the Chief Officer did send for you.”

  “Eh?”

  “Captain, your Mother is dead.”

  Krausa listened with blank face, then it sank in and he slapped the door aside, ran to his Mother’s bed, threw himself down, clutched the tiny, wasted form laid out in state, and began to weep racking, terrible sounds, the grief of a man steeled against emotion, who cannot handle it when he breaks.

  Thorby watched with awed distress, then went to his bunkie and thought. He tried to figure out why he felt so badly. He had not loved Grandmother—he hadn’t even liked her.

  Then why did he feel so lost? It was almost like when Pop died. He loved Pop—but not her.

He found that he was not alone; the entire ship was in shock. There was not one who could remember, or imagine, Sisu without her. She was Sisu. Like the undying fire that moved the ship, Grandmother had been an unfailing force, dynamic, indispensable, basic. Now suddenly she was gone.

  She had taken her nap as usual, grumbling because Woolamurra’s day fitted their schedule so poorly—typical fraki inefficiency. But she had gone to sleep with iron discipline that had adapted itself to a hundred time schedules.

  When her daughter-in-law went to wake her, she could not be waked.

  Her bedside scratch pad held many notes: Speak to Son about this. Tell Tora to do that. Jack up the C.E. about temperature control. Go over banquet menus with Athena. Rhoda Krausa tore out the page, put it away for reference, straightened her, then ordered the Deck Master to notify her husband.

  The Captain was not at dinner. Grandmother’s couch had been removed; the Chief Officer sat where it had been. In the Captain’s absence the Chief Officer signalled the Chief Engineer; he offered the prayer for the dead, she gave the responses. Then they ate in silence. No funeral would be held until Gathering.

  The Chief Officer stood up presently. “The Captain wishes to announce,” she said quietly, “that he thanks those who attempted to call on him. He will be available tomorrow.” She paused. ” ‘The atoms come out of space and to space they return. The spirit of Sisu goes on.’ “

  Thorby suddenly no longer felt lost.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Great Gathering was even more than Thorby had imagined. Mile after mile of ships, more than eight hundred bulky Free Traders arranged in concentric ranks around a circus four miles across . . . Sisu in the innermost circle—which seemed to please Thorby’s Mother—then more ships than Thorby knew existed: Kraken, Deimos, James B. Quinn, Firefly, Bon Marché, Dom Pedro, Cee Squared, Omega, El Nido—Thorby resolved to see how Mata was doing- Saint Christopher, Vega, Vega Prime, Galactic Banker, Romany Lass . . . Thorby made note to get a berthing chart . . . Saturn, Chiang, Country Store, Joseph Smith, Aloha . . .

  There were too many. If he visited ten ships a day, he might see most of them. But there was too much to do and see; Thorby gave up the notion.

  Inside the circle was a great temporary stadium, larger than the New Amphitheatre at Jubbulpore. Here elections would be held, funerals and weddings, athletic contests, entertainments, concerts—Thorby recalled that Spirit of Sisu would be performed there and trembled with stage fright.

  Between stadium and ships was a midway—booths, rides, games, exhibits educational and entertaining, one-man pitches, dance halls that never closed, displays of engineering gadgets, fortunetellers, gambling for prizes and cash, open-air bars, soft drink counters offering anything from berry juices of the Pleiades worlds to a brown brew certified to be the ancient, authentic Terran Coca-Cola as licensed for bottling on Hekate.

  When he saw this maelstrom Thorby felt that he had wandered into Joy Street—bigger, brighter, and seven times busier than Joy Street with the fleet in. This was the fraki’s chance to turn a fairly honest credit while making suckers of the shrewdest businessmen in the Galaxy; this was the day, with the lid off and the Trader without his guards up—they’d sell you your own hat if you laid it on the counter.

  Fritz took Thorby dirtside to keep him out of trouble, although Fritz’s sophistication was hardly complete, since he had seen just one Great Gathering. The Chief Officer lectured the young people before granting hit-dirt, reminding them that Sisu had a reputation for proper behavior, and then issued each a hundred credits with a warning that it must last throughout the Gathering.

  Fritz advised Thorby to cache most of it. “When we go broke, we can sweet-talk Father out of pocket money. But it’s not smart to take it all.”

  Thorby agreed. He was not surprised when he felt the touch of a pickpocket; he grabbed a wrist to find out what he had landed.

  First he recovered his wallet. Then he looked at the thief. He was a dirty-faced young fraki who reminded Thorby poignantly of Ziggie, except that this kid had two hands. “Better luck next time,” he consoled him. “You don’t have the touch yet.”

  The kid seemed about to cry. Thorby started to turn him loose, then said, “Fritz, check your wallet.”

  Fritz did so, it was gone. “Well, I’ll be—”

  “Hand it over, kid.”

  “I didn’t take it! You let me go!”

  “Cough up . . . before I unscrew your skull.”

  The kid surrendered Fritz’s wallet; Thorby turned him loose. Fritz said, “Why did you do that? I was trying to spot a cop.”

  “That’s why.”

  “Huh? Talk sense.”

  “I tried to learn that profession once. It’s not easy.”

  “You? A poor joke, Thorby.”

  “Remember me? The ex-fraki, the beggar’s boy? That clumsy attempt to equalize the wealth made me homesick. Fritz, where I come from, a pickpocket has status. I was merely a beggar.”

  “Don’t let Mother hear that.”

  “I shan’t. But I am what I am and I know what I was and I don’t intend to forget. I never learned the pickpocket art, but I was a good beggar, I was taught by the best. My Pop. Baslim the Cripple. I’m not ashamed of him and all the Laws of Sisu can’t make me.”

  “I did not intend to make you ashamed,” Fritz said quietly.

  They walked on, savoring the crowd and the fun. Presently Thorby said, “Shall we try that wheel? I’ve spotted the gimmick.”

  Fritz shook his head. “Look at those so-called prizes.”

  “Okay. I was interested in how it was rigged.”

  “Thorby—”

  “Yeah? Why the solemn phiz?”

  “You know who Baslim the Cripple really was?”

  Thorby considered it. “He was my Pop. If he had wanted me to know anything else, he would have told me.”

  “Mmm . . . I suppose so.”

  “But you know?”

  “Some.”

  “Uh, I am curious about one thing. What was the debt that made Grandmother willing to adopt me?”

  “Uh, ‘I have said enough.’ “

  “You know best.”

  “Oh, confound it, the rest of the People know! It’s bound to come up at this Gathering.”

  “Don’t let me talk you into anything, Fritz.”

  “Well . . . look, Baslim wasn’t always a beggar.”

  “So I long since figured out.”

  “What he was is not for me to say. A lot of People kept his secret for years; nobody has told me that it is all right to talk. But one fact is no secret among the People . . . and you’re one of the People. A long time ago, Baslim saved a whole Family. The People have never forgotten it. The Hansea, it was . . . the New Hansea is sitting right over there. The one with the shield painted on her. I can’t tell you more, because a taboo was placed on it—the thing was so shameful that we never talk about it. I have said enough. But you could go over to the New Hansea and ask to look through her old logs. If you identified yourself—who you are in relation to Baslim—they couldn’t refuse. Though the Chief Officer might go to her cabin afterwards and have weeping hysterics.”

  “Hmm . . . I don’t want to know badly enough to make a lady cry. Fritz? Let’s try this ride.” So they did—and after speeds in excess of light and accelerations up to one hundred gravities, Thorby found a roller coaster too exciting. He almost lost his lunch.

  A Great Gathering, although a time of fun and renewed friendships, has its serious purposes. In addition to funerals, memorial services for lost ships, weddings, and much transferring of young females, there is also business affecting the whole People and, most important, the paramount matter of buying ships.

  Hekate has the finest shipyards in the explored Galaxy. Men and women have children; ships spawn, too. Sisu was gravid with people, fat with profit in uranium and thorium; it was time that the Family split up. At least a third of the families had the same need to trade wealth for living room; fraki shipbrokers were rubbing their hands, mentally figuring commissions. Starships do not sell like cold drinks; shipbrokers and salesmen often live on dreams. But perhaps a hundred ships would be s
old in a few weeks.

  Some would be new ships from the yards of Galactic Transport, Ltd., daughter corporation of civilization-wide Galactic Enterprises, or built by Space Engineers Corporation, or Hekate Ships, or Propulsion, Inc., or Hascomb & Sons—all giants in the trade. But there was cake for everyone. The broker who did not speak for a builder might have an exclusive on a second-hand ship, or a line to a rumor of a hint that the owners of a suitable ship might listen if the price was right—a man could make a fortune if he kept his eyes open and his ear to the ground. It was a time to by-pass mails and invest in expensive n-space messages; the feast would soon be over.

  A family in need of space had two choices: either buy another ship, split and become two families, or a ship could join with another in purchasing a third, to be staffed from each. Twinning gave much status. It was proof that the family which managed it were master traders, able to give their kids a start in the world without help. But in practice the choice usually dwindled to one: join with another ship and split the expense, and even then it was often necessary to pledge all three ships against a mortgage on the new one.

  It had been thirty years since Sisu had split up. She had had three decades of prosperity; she should have been able to twin. But ten years ago at the last Great Gathering Grandmother had caused Sisu to guarantee along with parent ships the mortgage against a ship newly born. The new ship gave a banquet honoring Sisu, then jumped off into dark and never came back. Space is vast. Remember her name at Gathering.

  The result was that Sisu paid off one-third of forty percent of the cost of the lost ship; the blow hurt. The parent ships would reimburse Sisu—debts are always paid—but they had left the last Gathering lean from having spawned; coughing up each its own liability had left them skin and bones. You don’t dun a sick man; you wait.

  Grandmother had not been stupid. The parent ships, Caesar Augustus and Dupont, were related to Sisu; one takes care of one’s own. Besides, it was good business; a trader unwilling to lend credit will discover that he has none. As it was, Sisu could write a draft on any Free Trader anywhere and be certain that it would be honored.

  But it left Sisu with less cash than otherwise at a time when the Family should split.

  Captain Krausa hit dirt the first day and went to the Commodore’s Flag, Norbert Wiener. His wife stayed aboard but was not idle; since her succession to Chief Officer, she hardly slept. Today she worked at her desk, stopping for face-to-face talks with other chief officers via the phone exchange set up by city services for the Gathering. When her lunch was fetched, she motioned to put it down; it was still untouched when her husband returned. He came in and sat down wearily. She was reading a slide rule and checked her answer on a calculator before she spoke. “Based on a Hascomb F-two ship, the mortgage would run just over fifty percent.”

  “Rhoda, you know Sisu can’t finance a ship unassisted.”

  “Don’t be hasty, dear. Both Gus and Dupont would co-sign . . . in their case, it’s the same as cash.”

  “If their credit will stretch.”

  “And New Hansea would jump at it—under the circumstances—and—”

  “Rhoda! You were young, two Gatherings ago, but you are aware that the debt lies equally on all . . . not just Hansea. That was unanimous.”

  “I was old enough to be your wife, Fjalar. Don’t read the Laws to me. But New Hansea would jump at the chance . . . under a secrecy taboo binding till the end of time. Nevertheless the carrying charges would eat too much. Did you get to see a Galactic Lambda?”

  “I don’t need to; I’ve seen the specs. No legs.”

  “You men! I wouldn’t call eighty gravities ‘no legs.’ “

  “You would if you had to sit in the worry seat. Lambda class were designed for slow freight inside the Hegemonic sphere; that’s all they’re good for.”

  “You’re too conservative, Fjalar.”

  “And I’ll continue to be where safety of a ship is concerned.”

  “No doubt. And I’ll have to find solutions that fit your prejudices. However, Lambda class is just a possibility. There is also you-know-which. She’ll go cheap.”

  He frowned. “An unlucky ship.”

  “It will take powerful cleansing to get those bad thoughts out. But think of the price.”

  “It’s more than bad thoughts in you-know-which-ship. I never heard of a chief officer suiciding before. Or a captain going crazy. I’m surprised they got here.”

  “So am I. But she’s here and she’ll be up for sale. And any ship can be cleansed.”

  “I wonder.”

  “Don’t be superstitious, dear. It’s a matter of enough care with the rituals, which is my worry. However, you can forget the you-know-which-one. I think we’ll split with another ship.”

  “I thought you were set on doing it alone?”

  “I’ve merely been exploring our strength. But there are things more important than setting up a new ship single-handed.”

  “There certainly are! Power, a good weapons system, working capital, blooded officers in key spots—why, we can’t man two ships. Take firecontrolmen alone. If—”

  “Stop fretting. We could handle those. Fjalar, how would you like to be Deputy Commodore?”

  He braked at full power. “Rhoda! Are you feverish?”

  “No.”

  “There are dozens of skippers more likely to be tapped. I’ll never be Commodore—and what’s more, I don’t want it.”

  “I may settle for Reserve Deputy, since Commodore Denbo intends to resign after the new deputy is elected. Never mind; you will be Commodore at the next Gathering.”

  “Preposterous!”

  “Why are men so impractical? Fjalar, all you think about is your control room and business. If I hadn’t kept pushing, you would never have reached deputy captain.”

  “Have you ever gone hungry?”

  “I’m not complaining, dear. It was a great day for me when I was adopted by Sisu. But listen. We have favors coming from many sources, not just Gus and Dupont. Whatever ship we join with will help. I intend to leave the matter open until after election—and I’ve had tentative offers all morning, strong ships, well connected. And finally, there’s New Hansea.”

  “What about New Hansea?”

  “Timed properly, with the Hanseatics proposing your name, you’ll be elected by acclamation.”

  “Rhoda!”

  “You won’t have to touch it. And neither will Thorby. You two will simply appear in public and be your charming, male, non-political selves. I’ll handle it. By the way, it’s too late to pull Loeen out of the play but I’m going to break that up fast. Your Mother did not see the whole picture. I want my sons married—but it is essential that Thorby not be married, nor paired off, until after the election. Now . . . did you go to the flagship?”

  “Certainly.”

  “What ship was he born in? It could be important.”

  Krausa gave a sigh. “Thorby was not born of the People.”

  “What? Nonsense! You mean that identification is not certain. Mmm . . . which missing ships are possibilities?”

  “I said he was not of the People! There is not a ship missing, nor a child missing from a ship, which can be matched with his case. He would have to be much older, or much younger, than he is.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “You mean you don’t want to!”

  “I don’t believe it. He’s People. You can tell it in his walk, his manner, his good mind, everything about him. Hmm . . . I’ll look at the files myself.”

  “Go ahead. Since you don’t believe me.”

  “Now, Fjalar, I didn’t say—”

  “Oh, yes, you did. If I told you it was raining dirt-side, and you didn’t want rain, you—”

  “Please, dear! You know it never rains this time of year on Hekate. I was just—”

  “Sky around us!”

  “There’s no need to lose your temper. It doesn’t become a captain.”

  “It doesn’t become a captain to have his word doubted in his own ship, either!”

  “I’m sorry, Fjalar.” She went on quietly, “It won’t hurt to look. If I widened the search, or looked through unfiled material—you know how clerks are with dead-file data. Mmm . . .
it would help if I knew who Thorby’s parents were—before election. While I shan’t permit him to marry before then, I might line up important support if it was assumed that immediately after, a wedding could be expec—”

  “Rhoda.”

  “What, dear? The entire Vega group could be swayed, if a presumption could be established about Thorby’s birth . . . if an eligible daughter of theirs—”

  “Rhoda!”

  “I was talking, dear.”

  “For a moment, I’ll talk. The Captain. Wife, he’s fraki blood. Furthermore, Baslim knew it . . . and laid a strict injunction on me to help him find his family. I had hoped—yes, and believed—that the files would show that Baslim was mistaken.” He frowned and chewed his lip. “A Hegemonic cruiser is due here in two weeks. That ought to give you time to assure yourself that I can search files as well as any clerk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is there doubt? Debts are always paid . . . and there is one more payment due.”

  She stared. “Husband, are you out of your mind?”

  “I don’t like it any better than you do. He’s not only a fine boy; he’s the most brilliant tracker we’ve ever had.”

  “Trackers!” she said bitterly. “Who cares about that? Fjalar, if you think that I will permit one of my sons to be turned over to fraki—” She choked up.

  “He is fraki.”

  “He is not. He is Sisu, just as I am. I was adopted, so was he. We are both Sisu, we will always be.”

  “Have it your way. I hope he will always be Sisu in his heart. But the last payment must be made.”

  “That debt was paid in full, long ago!”

  “The ledger doesn’t show it.”

  “Nonsense! Baslim wanted the boy returned to his family. Some fraki family—if fraki have families. So we gave him a family—our own, clan and sept. Is that not better payment than some flea-bitten fraki litter? Or do you think so little of Sisu?”

  She glared up at him, and the Krausa thought bitterly that there must be something to the belief that the pure blood of the People produced better brains. In dickering with fraki he never lost his temper. But Mother—and now Rhoda—could always put him in the wrong.

  At least Mother, hard as she had been, had never asked the impossible. But Rhoda . . . well, Wife was new to the job. He said tensely, “Chief Officer, this injunction was laid on me personally, not on Sisu. I have no choice.”

  “So? Very well, Captain—we’ll speak of it later. And now, with all respect to you, sir, I have work to do.”

  Thorby had a wonderful time at the Gathering but not as much fun as he expected; repeatedly Mother required him to help entertain chief officers of other ships. Often a visitor brought a daughter or granddaughter along and Thorby had to keep the girl busy while the elders talked. He did his best and even acquired facility in the half-insulting small talk of his age group. He learned something that he called dancing which would have done credit to any man with two left feet and knees that bent backwards. He could now put his arm around a girl when music called for it without chills and fever.

  Mother’s visitors quizzed him about Pop. He tried to be polite but it annoyed him that everyone knew more about Pop than he did—except the things that were important.

  But it did seem that duty could be shared. Thorby realized that he was junior son, but Fritz was unmarried, too. He suggested that if Fritz were to volunteer, the favor could be returned later.

  Fritz gave a raucous laugh. “What can you offer that can repay me for dirtside time at Gathering?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Precisely. Seriously, old knucklehead, Mother wouldn’t listen, even if I were insane enough to offer. She says you, she means you.” Fritz yawned. “Man, am I dead! Little red-head off the Saint Louis wanted to dance all night. Get out and let me sleep before the banquet.”

  “Can you spare a dress jacket?”

  “Do your own laundry. And cut the noise.”

  But on this morning one month after grounding Thorby was hitting dirt with Father, with no chance that Mother would change their minds; she was out of the ship. It was the Day of Remembrance. Services did not start until noon but Mother left early for something to do with the election tomorrow.

  Thorby’s mind was filled with other matters. The services would end with a memorial to Pop. Father had told him that he would coach him in what to do, but it worried him, and his nerves were not soothed by the fact that Spirit of Sisu would be staged that evening.

  His nerves over the play had increased when he discovered that Fritz had a copy and was studying it. Fritz had said gruffly, “Sure, I’m learning your part! Father thought it would be a good idea in case you fainted or broke your leg. I’m not trying to steal your glory; it’s intended to let you relax—if you can relax with thousands staring while you smooch Loeen.”

  “Well, could you?”

  Fritz looked thoughtful. “I could try. Loeen looks cuddly. Maybe I should break your leg myself.”

  “Bare hands?”

  “Don’t tempt me. Thorby, this is just precaution, like having two trackers. But nothing less than a broken leg can excuse you from strutting your stuff.”

  Thorby and his Father left Sisu two hours before the services. Captain Krausa said, “We might as well enjoy ourselves. Remembrance is a happy occasion if you think of it the right way—but those seats are hard and it’s going to be a long day.”

  “Uh, Father . . . just what is it I’ll have to do when it comes time for Pop—for Baslim?”

  “Nothing much. You sit up front during the sermon and give responses in the Prayer for the Dead. You know how, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll write it out for you. As for the rest . . . well, you’ll see me do the same for my Mother—your Grandmother. You watch and when it comes your turn, you do the same.”

  “All right, Father.”

  “Now let’s relax.”

  To Thorby’s surprise Captain Krausa took a slide-way outside the Gathering, then whistled down a ground car. It seemed faster than those Thorby had seen on Jubbul and almost as frantic as the Losians. They reached the rail station with nothing more than an exchange of compliments between their driver and another, but the ride was so exciting that Thorby saw little of the City of Artemis.

  He was again surprised when Father bought tickets. “Where are we going?”

  “A ride in the country.” The Captain glanced at his watch. “Plenty of time.”

  The monorail gave a fine sensation of speed. “How fast are we going, Father?”

  “Two hundred kilometers an hour, at a guess.” Krausa had to raise his voice.

  “It seems faster.”

  “Fast enough to break your neck. That’s as fast as a speed can be.”

  They rode for half an hour. The countryside was torn up by steel mills and factories for the great yards, but it was new and different; Thorby stared and decided that the Sargon’s reserve was a puny enterprise compared with this. The station where they got off lay outside a long, high wall; Thorby could see space ships beyond it. “Where are we?”

  “Military field. I have to see a man—and today there is just time.” They walked toward a gate. Krausa stopped, looked around; they were alone. “Thorby—”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Do you remember the message from Baslim you delivered to me?”

  “Sir?”

  “Can you repeat it?”

  “Huh? Why, I don’t know, Father. It’s been a long time.”

  “Try it. Start in: ‘To Captain Fjalar Krausa, master of Starship Sisu, from Baslim the Cripple: Greetings, old friend!—’ “

  ” ‘ “Greetings, old friend,” ‘ ” Thorby repeated. ” ‘Greetings to your family, clan, and sib, and’—why, I understand it!”

  “Of course,” the Krausa said gently, “this is the Day of Remembrance. Go on.”

  Thorby went on. Tears started down his cheeks as he heard Pop’s voice coming from his own throat: ” ‘—and my humblest respects to your revered mother. I am speaking to you through the mouth of my adopted son. He does not understand Suomic’—oh, but I do!”

  “Go on.”

  When Thorby reached: ” ‘I am already dead—’ ” he broke down. Krausa blew his nose vigorously, told him to proceed. Thorby managed to get to the end, though his voice was shaking. Then Krausa let him cry a moment before telling him sternly to wipe his face and brace up. “Son . . . you heard the middle part? You understood it?”

  “Yes . . . uh, yes. I guess so.”

  “Then you know what I have to do.”

  “You mean … I have to leave Sisu?”

  “What did Baslim say? ‘When opportunity presents—’ This is the first opportunity I’ve had . . . and I’ve had to squeeze to get it. It’s almost certainly the last. Baslim didn’t make me a gift of you, Son—just a loan. And now I must pay back the loan. You see that, don’t you?”

  “Uh . . . I guess so.”

  “Then let’s get on with it.” Krausa reached inside his jacket, pulled out a sheaf of bills and shoved them at Thorby. “Put this in your pocket. I would have made it more, but it was all I could draw without attracting your Mother’s suspicions. Perhaps I can send you more before you jump.”

  Thorby held it without looking at it, although it was more money than he had ever touched before. “Father . . . you mean I’ve already left Sisu?”

  Krausa had turned. He stopped. “Better so, Son. Good-bys are not comfort; only remembrance is a comfort. Besides, it has to be this way.”

  Thorby swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked quickly toward the guarded gate. They were almost there when Thorby stopped. “Father . . . I don’t want to go!”

  Krausa looked at him without expression. “You don’t have to.”

  “I thought you said I did have to?”

  “No. The injunction laid on me was to deliver you and to pass on the message Baslim sent to me. But there my duty ends, my debt is paid. I won’t order you to leave the Family. The rest was Baslim’s idea . . . conceived, I am sure, with the best of intentions for your welfare. But whether or not you are obligated to carry out his wishes is something between you and Baslim. I can’t decide it for you. Whatever debt you may or may not owe Baslim, it is separate from the debt the People owed to him.”

  Krausa waited while Thorby stood mute, trying to think. What had Pop expected of him? What had
he told him to do? “Can I depend on you? You won’t goof off and forget it?” Yes, but what, Pop? “Don’t burn any offerings . . . just deliver a message, and then one thing more: do whatever this man suggests.” Yes, Pop, but the man won’t tell me!

  Krausa said urgently, “We haven’t much time. I have to get back. But, Son, whatever you decide, it’s final. If you don’t leave Sisu today, you won’t get a second chance. I’m sure of that.”

  “It’s the very last thing that I want from you, son . . . can I depend on you?” Pop said urgently, inside his head.

  Thorby sighed. “I guess I have to, Father.”

  “I think so, too. Now let’s hurry.”

  The gate pass office could not be hurried, especially as Captain Krausa, although identifying himself and son by ship’s papers, declined to state his business with the commander of Guard Cruiser Hydra other than to say that it was “urgent and official.”

  But eventually they were escorted by a smart, armed fraki to the cruiser’s hoist and turned over to another. They were handed along inside the ship and reached an office marked “Ship’s Secretary—Enter Without Knocking.” Thorby concluded that Sisu was smaller than he had thought and he had never seen so much polished metal in his fife. He was rapidly regretting his decision.

  The Ship’s Secretary was a polite, scrubbed young man with the lace orbits of a lieutenant. He was also very firm. “I’m sorry, Captain, but you will have to tell me your business . . . if you expect to see the Commanding Officer.”

  Captain Krausa said nothing and sat tight.

  The nice young man colored, drummed on his desk. He got up. “Excuse me a moment.”

  He came back and said tonelessly, “The Commanding Officer can give you five minutes.” He led them into a larger office and left them. An older man was there, seated at a paper-heaped desk. He had his blouse off and showed no insignia of rank. He got up, put out his hand, and said, “Captain Krausa? Of Free Trader . . . Seezoo, is it? I’m Colonel Brisby, commanding.”

  “Glad to be aboard, Skipper.”

  “Glad to have you. How’s business?” He glanced at Thorby. “One of your officers?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Eh?”

  “Colonel? May I ask in what class you graduated?”

  “What? Oh-Eight. Why do you ask?”

  “I think you can answer that. This lad is Thorby Baslim, adopted son of Colonel Richard Baslim. The Colonel asked me to deliver him to you.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “What?”

  “The name means something to you?”

  “Of course it does.” He stared at Thorby. “There’s no resemblance.”

  ” ‘Adopted’ I said. The Colonel adopted him on Jubbul.”

  Colonel Brisby closed the door. Then he said to Krausa, “Colonel Baslim is dead. Or ‘missing and presumed dead,’ these past two years.”

  “I know. The boy has been with me. I can report some details of the Colonel’s death, if they are not known.”

  “You were one of his couriers?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can prove it?”

  “X three oh seven nine code FT.”

  “That can be checked. We’ll assume it is for the moment. By what means do you identify . . . Thorby Baslim?”

  Thorby did not follow the conversation. There was a buzzing in his ears, as if the tracker was being fed too much power, and the room was swelling and then growing smaller. He did figure out that this officer knew Pop, which was good . . . but what was this about Pop being a colonel? Pop was Baslim the Cripple, licensed mendicant under the mercy of . . . under the mercy . . .

  Colonel Brisby told him sharply to sit down, which he was glad to do. Then the Colonel speeded up the air blower. He turned to Captain Krausa. “All right, I’m sold. I don’t know what regulation I’m authorized to do it under . . . we are required to give assistance to ‘X’ Corps people, but this is not quite that. But I can’t let Colonel Baslim down.”

  ” ‘Distressed citizen,’ ” suggested Krausa.

  “Eh? I don’t see how that can be stretched to fit a person on a planet under the Hegemony, who is obviously not distressed—other than a little white around the gills, I mean. But I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you, Skipper.” Krausa glanced at his watch. “May I go? In fact I must.”

  “Just a second. You’re simply leaving him with me?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the way it must be.”

  Brisby shrugged. “As you say. But stay for lunch. I want to find out more about Colonel Baslim.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. You can reach me at the Gathering, if you need to.”

  “I will. Well, coffee at least.” The ship commander reached for a button.

  “Skipper,” Krausa said with distress, looking again at his watch, “I must leave now. Today is our Remembrance . . . and my Mother’s funeral is in fifty minutes.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say so? Goodness, man! You’ll never make it.”

  “I’m very much afraid so . . . but I had to do this.”

  “We’ll fix that.” The Colonel snatched open the door. “Eddie! An air car for Captain Krausa. Speed run. Take him off the top and put him down where he says. Crash!”

  “Aye aye, Skipper!”

  Brisby turned back, raised his eyebrows, then stepped into the outer office. Krausa was facing Thorby, his mouth working painfully. “Come here, Son.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I have to go now. Maybe you can manage to be at a Gathering . . . some day.”

  “I’ll try, Father!”

  “If not . . . well, the blood stays in the steel, the steel stays in the blood. You’re still Sisu.”

  ” ‘The steel stays in the blood.’ “

  “Good business, Son. Be a good boy.”

  “Good . . . business! Oh, Father!”

  “Stop it! You’ll have me doing it. Listen, I’ll take your responses this afternoon. You must not show up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your Mother loves you . . . and so do I.”

  Brisby tapped on the open door. “Your car is waiting, Captain.”

  “Coming, Skipper.” Krausa kissed Thorby on both cheeks and turned suddenly away, so that all Thorby saw was his broad back.

  Colonel Brisby returned presently, sat down, looked at Thorby and said, “I don’t know quite what to do with you. But we’ll manage.” He touched a switch. “Have some one dig up the berthing master-at-arms, Eddie.” He turned to Thorby. “We’ll make out, if you’re not too fussy. You traders live pretty luxuriously, I understand.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Baslim was a colonel? Of your service?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  Thorby had now had a few minutes to think—and old memories had been stirred mightily. He said hesitantly, “I have a message for you—I think.”

  “From Colonel Baslim?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m supposed to be in a light trance. But I think I can start it.” Carefully, Thorby recited a few code groups. “Is this for you?”

  Colonel Brisby again hastily closed the door. Then he said earnestly, “Don’t ever use that code unless you are certain everyone in earshot is cleared for it and the room has been debugged.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “No harm done. But anything in that code is hot. I just hope that it hasn’t cooled off in two years.” He touched the talker switch again. “Eddie, cancel the master-at-arms. Get me the psych officer. If he’s out of the ship, have him chased down.” He looked at Thorby. “I still don’t know what to do with you. I ought to lock you in the safe.”

  The long message was squeezed out of Thorby in the presence only of Colonel Brisby, his Executive Officer Vice Colonel “Stinky” Stancke, and the ship’s psychologist Medical-Captain Isadore Krishnamurti. The session went slowly; Dr. Kris did not often use hypnotherapy. Thorby was so tense that he resisted, and the Exec had a blasphemous time with recording equipment. But at last the psychologist straightened up and wiped his face. “That’s all, I think,” he said wearily. “But what is it?”

  “Forget you heard it, Doc,” advised Brisby. “Better yet, cut your throat.”

  “Gee, thanks, Boss.”

  Stancke said, “Pappy, let’s run him through again. I’ve got this mad scientist’s dream working better. His accent may have garbled it.”
/>
  “Nonsense. The kid speaks pure Terran.”

  “Okay, so it’s my ears. I’ve been exposed to bad influences—been aboard too long.”

  “If,” Brisby answered calmly, “that is a slur on your commanding officer’s pure speech, I consider the source. Stinkpot, is it true that you Riffs write down anything you want understood?”

  “Only with Araleshi . . . sir. Nothing personal, you asked. Well, how about it? I’ve got the noise filtered out.”

  “Doc?”

  “Hmm . . . The subject is fatigued. Is this your only opportunity?”

  “Eh? He’ll be with us quite a while. All right, wake him.”

  Shortly Thorby was handed over to the berthing P.O. Several liters of coffee, a tray of sandwiches, and one skipped meal later the Colonel and his second in command had recorded in clear the thousands of words of old Baslim the Beggar’s final report. Stancke sat back and whistled. “You can relax, Pappy. This stuff didn’t cool off—a half-life of a century, on a guess.”

  Brisby answered soberly, “Yes, and a lot of good boys will die before it does.”

  “You ain’t foolin’. What gets me is that trader kid—running around the Galaxy with all that ‘burn-before-reading’ between his ears. Shall I slide down and poison him?”

  “What, and have to fill out all those copies?”

  “Well, maybe Kris can wipe it out of his tender grey matter without resorting to a trans-orbital.”

  “Anybody touches that kid and Colonel Baslim will rise up out of his grave and strangle him, is my guess. Did you know Baslim, Stinky?”

  “One course under him in psychological weapons, my last year at the Academy. Just before he went ‘X’ Corps. Most brilliant mind I’ve ever met—except yours, of course, Pappy, sir, boss.”

  “Don’t strain yourself. No doubt he was a brilliant teacher—he would be tops at anything. But you should have known him before he was on limited duty. I was privileged to serve under him. Now that I have a ship of my own I just ask myself: ‘What would Baslim do?’ He was the best commanding officer a ship ever had. It was during his second crack at colonel—he had been up to wing marshal and put in for reduction to have a ship again, to get away from a desk.”

  Stancke shook his head. “I can’t wait for a nice cushy desk, where I can write recommendations nobody will read.”

“You aren’t Baslim. If it wasn’t hard, he didn’t like it.”

  “I’m no hero. I’m more the salt of the earth. Pappy, were you with him in the rescue of the Hansea?”

  “You think I would fail to wear the ribbon? No, thank goodness; I had been transferred. That was a hand-weapons job. Messy.”

  “Maybe you would have had the sense not to volunteer.”

  “Stinky, even you would volunteer, fat and lazy as you are—if Baslim asked for volunteers.”

  “I’m not lazy, I’m efficient. But riddle me this: what was a C.O. doing leading a landing party?”

  “The Old Man followed regulations only when he agreed with them. He wanted a crack at slavers with his own hands—he hated slavers with a cold passion. So he comes back a hero and what can the Department do? Wait until he gets out of hospital and court-martial him? Stinky, even top brass can be sensible when they have their noses rubbed in it. So they cited him for above-and-beyond under unique circumstances and put him on limited duty. But from here on, when ‘unique circumstances’ arise, every commanding officer knows that he can’t thumb through the book for an alibi. It’ll be up to him to continue the example.”

  “Not me,” Stancke said firmly.

  “You. When you’re a C.O. and comes time to do something unpleasant, there you’ll be, trying to get your tummy in and your chest out, with your chubby little face set in hero lines. You won’t be able to help it. The Baslim conditioned-reflex will hit you.”

  Around dawn they got to bed. Brisby intended to sleep late but long habit took him to his desk only minutes late. He was not surprised to find his professedly-lazy Exec already at work.

  His Paymaster-Lieutenant was waiting. The fiscal officer was holding a message form; Brisby recognized it. The night before, after hours of dividing Baslim’s report into phrases, then recoding it to be sent by split routes, he had realized that there was one more chore before he could sleep: arrange for identification search on Colonel Baslim’s adopted son. Brisby had no confidence that a waif picked up on Jubbul could be traced in the vital records of the Hegemony—but if the Old Man sent for a bucket of space, that was what he wanted and no excuses. Toward Baslim, dead or not, Colonel Brisby maintained the attitudes of a junior officer. So he had written a despatch and left word with the duty officer to have Thorby finger-printed and the prints coded at reveille. Then he could sleep.

  Brisby looked at the message. “Hasn’t this gone out?” he demanded.

  “The photo lab is coding the prints now, Skipper. But the Comm Office brought it to me for a charge, since it is for service outside the ship.”

  “Well, assign it. Do I have to be bothered with every routine matter?”

  The Paymaster decided that the Old Man had been missing sleep again. “Bad news, Skipper.”

  “Okay, spill it.”

  “I don’t know of a charge to cover it. I doubt if there is an appropriation to fit it even if we could figure out a likely-sounding charge.”

  “I don’t care what charge. Pick one and get that message moving. Use that general one. Oh-oh-something.”

  ” ‘Unpredictable Overhead, Administrative.’ It won’t work, Skipper. Making an identity search on a civilian cannot be construed as ship’s overhead. Oh, I can put that charge number on and you’ll get an answer. But—”

  “That’s what I want. An answer.”

  “Yes, sir. But eventually it reaches the General Accounting Office and the wheels go around and a card pops out with a red tag. Then my pay is checked until I pay it back. That’s why they make us blokes study law as well as accounting.”

  “You’re breaking my heart. Okay, Pay, if you’re too sissy to sign it, tell me what charge number that overhead thing is; I’ll write it in and sign my name and rank. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir. But, Skipper—”

  “Pay, I’ve had a hard night.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m required by law to advise you. You don’t have to take it, of course.”

  “Of course,” Brisby agreed grimly.

  “Skipper, have you any notion how expensive an identification search can be?”

  “It can’t be much. I can’t see why you are making such an aching issue of it. I want a clerk to get off his fundament and look in the files. I doubt if they’ll bill us. Routine courtesy.”

  “I wish I thought so, sir. But you’ve made this an unlimited search. Since you haven’t named a planet, first it will go to Tycho City, live files and dead. Or do you want to limit it to live files?”

  Brisby thought. If Colonel Baslim had believed that this young man had come from inside civilization, then it was likely that the kid’s family thought he was dead. No.

  “Too bad. Dead files are three times as big as the live. So they search at Tycho. It takes a while, even with machines—over twenty billion entries. Suppose you get a null result. A coded inquiry goes to vital bureaus on all planets, since Great Archives are never up to date and some planetary governments don’t send in records anyhow. Now the cost mounts, especially if you use n-space routing; exact coding on a fingerprint set is a fair-sized book. Of course if you take one planet at a time and use mail—”

  “No.”

  “Well . . . Skipper, why not put a limit on it? A thousand credits, or whatever you can afford if—I mean ‘when’—they check your pay.”

  “A thousand credits? Ridiculous!”

  “If I’m wrong, the limitation won’t matter. If I’m right—and I am, a thousand credits could just be a starter—then your neck isn’t out too far.”

  Brisby scowled. “Pay, you aren’t working for me to tell me I can’t do things.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re here to tell me how I can do what I’m going to do anyhow. So start digging through your books and find out how. Legally. And free.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Brisby did not go right to work. He was fuming—some day they would get the service so fouled up in red tape they’d never get a ship off the ground. He bet that the Old Man had gone into the Exotic Corps with a feeling of relief—”X” Corps agents didn’t have red tape; one of ’em finds it necessary to spend money, he just did so, ten credits or ten million. That was how to operate—pick your men, then trust them. No regular reports, no forms, no nothing—just do what needs to be done.

  Whereupon he picked up the ship’s quarterly fuel and engineering report. He put it down, reached for a message form, wrote a follow-up on Baslim’s report, informing Exotic Bureau that the unclassified courier who had delivered report was still in jurisdiction of signer and in signer’s opinion additional data could be had if signer were authorized to discuss report with courier at discretion.

  He decided not to turn it over to the code and cipher group; he opened his safe and set about coding it. He had just finished when the Paymaster knocked. Brisby looked up. “So you found the paragraph.”

  “Perhaps, Skipper. I’ve been talking with the Executive Officer.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I see we have subject person aboard.”

  “Now don’t tell me I need a charge for that!”

  “Not at all, Skipper. I’ll absorb his ration in the rush. You keep him aboard forever and I won’t notice. Things don’t get awkward until they get on the books. But how long do you expect to keep him? It must be more than a day or two, or you wouldn’t want an identity search.”

  The Commanding Officer frowned. “It may be quite a while. First I’ve got to find out who he is, where he’s from. Then, if we’re going that way, I intend to give him an untagged lift. If we aren’t—well, I’ll pass him along to a ship that is. Too complicated to explain, Pay—but necessary.”

  “Okay. Then why not enlist him?”

  “Huh?”

  “It would clear up everything.”

  Brisby frowned. “I see. I could take him along legally . . . and arrange a transfer. And it would give you a charge number. But . . . well, suppose Shiva III is the spot—and his enlistment is not up. Can’t just tell him to desert. Besides I don’t know that he wants to enlist.”

  “You can ask him. How old is he?”

  “I doubt if he knows. He’s a waif.”

  “So much the better. You ship him. Then when you find out where he has to go, you discover a
n error in his age . . . and correct it. It turns out that he reaches his majority in time to be paid off on his home planet.”

  Brisby blinked. “Pay, are all paymasters dishonest?”

  “Only the good ones. You don’t like it, sir?”

  “I love it. Okay, I’ll check. And I’ll hold up that despatch. We’ll send it later.”

  The Paymaster looked innocent. “Oh, no, sir, we won’t ever send it.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It won’t be necessary. We enlist him to fill vacancy in complement. We send in records to BuPersonnel. They make the routine check, name and home planet—Hekate, I suppose, since we got him here. By then we’re long gone. They don’t find him registered here. Now they turn it over to BuSecurity, who sends us a priority telling us not to permit subject personnel to serve in sensitive capacity. But that’s all, because it’s possible that this poor innocent citizen never got registered. But they can’t take chances, so they start the very search you want, first Tycho, then everywhere else, security priority. So they identify him and unless he’s wanted for murder it’s a routine muddle. Or they can’t identify him and have to make up their minds whether to register him, or give him twenty-four hours to get out of the Galaxy—seven to two they decide to forget it—except that someone aboard is told to watch him and report suspicious behavior. But the real beauty of it is that the job carries a BuSecurity cost charge.”

  “Pay, do you think that Security has agents in this vessel I don’t know about?”

  “Skipper, what do you think?”

  “Mmm . . . I don’t know—but if I were Chief of Security I would have! Confound it, if I lift a civilian from here to the Rim, that’ll be reported too—no matter what I log.”

  “Shouldn’t be surprised, sir.”

  “Get out of here! I’ll see if the lad will buy it.” He flipped a switch. “Eddie!” Instead of sending for Thorby, Brisby directed the Surgeon to examine him, since it was pointless to pressure him to enlist without determining whether or not he could. Medical-Major Stein, accompanied by Medical-Captain Krishnamurti, reported to Brisby before lunch.

  “Well?”

  “No physical objection, Skipper. I’ll let the Psych Officer speak for himself.”

  “All right. By the way, how old is he?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Yes, yes,” Brisby agreed impatiently, “but how old do you think he is?”

  Dr. Stein shrugged. “What’s his genetic picture? What environment? Any age-factor mutations? High or low gravity planet? Planetary metabolic index? He could be as young as ten standard years, as old as thirty, on physical appearance. I can assign a fictional adjusted age, on the assumption of no significant mutations and Terra-equivalent environment—an unjustified assumption until they build babies with data plates —an adjusted age of not less than fourteen standard years, not more than twenty-two.”

  “Would an adjusted age of eighteen fit?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Okay, make it just under that—minority enlistment.”

  “There’s a tattoo on him,” Dr. Krishnamurti offered, “which might give a clue. A slave mark.”

  “The deuce you say!” Colonel Brisby reflected that his follow-up despatch to “X” Corps was justified. “Dated?”

  “Just a manumission—a Sargonese date which fits his story. The mark is a factor’s mark. No date.”

  “Too bad. Well, now that he is clear with Medical, I’ll send for him.”

  “Colonel.”

  “Eh? Yes, Kris?”

  “I cannot recommend enlistment.”

  “Huh? He’s as sane as you are.”

  “Surely. But he is a poor risk.”

  “Why?”

  “I interviewed subject under light trance this morning. Colonel, did you ever keep a dog?”

  “No. Not many where I come from.”

  “Very useful laboratory animals, they parallel many human characteristics. Take a puppy, abuse him, kick him, mistreat him—he’ll revert to feral carnivore. Take his litter brother, pet him, talk to him, let him sleep with you, but train him—he’s a happy, well-behaved house pet. Take another from that same litter, pet him on even days and kick him on odd days. You’ll have him so confused that he’ll be ruined for either role; he can’t survive as a wild animal and he doesn’t understand what is expected of a pet. Pretty soon he won’t eat, he won’t sleep, he can’t control his functions; he just cowers and shivers.”

  “Hmm . . . do you psychologists do such things often?”

  “I never have. But it’s in the literature . . . and this lad’s case parallels it. He’s undergone a series of traumatic experiences in his formative years, the latest of which was yesterday. He’s confused and depressed. Like that dog, he may snarl and bite at any time. He ought not to be exposed to new pressures; he should be cared for where he can be given psychotherapy.”

  “Phooey!”

  The psychological officer shrugged. Colonel Brisby added, “I apologize, Doctor. But I know something about this case, with all respect to your training. This lad has been in good environment the past couple of years.” Brisby recalled the farewell he had unwillingly witnessed. “And before that, he was in the hands of Colonel Richard Baslim. Heard of him?”

  “I know his reputation.”

  “If there is any fact I would stake my ship on, it is that Colonel Baslim would never ruin a boy. Okay, so the kid has had a rough time. But he has also been succored by one of the toughest, sanest, most humane men ever to wear our uniform. You bet on your dogs; I’ll back Colonel Richard Baslim. Now . . . are you advising me not to enlist him?”

  The psychologist hesitated. Brisby said, “Well?”

  Major Stein interrupted. “Take it easy, Kris; I’m overriding you.”

  Brisby said, “I want a straight answer, then I’ll decide.”

  Dr. Krishnamurti said slowly, “Suppose I record my opinions but state that there are no certain grounds for refusing enlistment?”

  “Why?”

  “Obviously you want to enlist this boy. But if he gets into trouble—well, my endorsement could get him a medical discharge instead of a sentence. He’s had enough bad breaks.”

  Colonel Brisby clapped him on the shoulder. “Good boy, Kris! That’s all, gentlemen.”

  Thorby spent an unhappy night. The master-at-arms billeted him in senior P.O.s quarters and he was well treated, but embarrassingly aware of the polite way in which those around him did not stare at his gaudy Sisu dress uniform. Up till then he had been proud of the way Sisu’s dress stood out; now he was learning painfully that clothing has its proper background. That night he was conscious of snores around him . . . strangers . . . fraki—and he yearned to be back among People, where he was known, understood, recognized.

  He tossed on a harder bed than he was used to and wondered who would get his own?

  He found himself wondering whether anyone had ever claimed the hole he still thought of as “home.” Would they repair the door? Would they keep it clean and decent the way Pop liked? What would they do with Pop’s leg?

  Asleep, he dreamt of Pop and of Sisu, all mixed up. At last, with Grandmother shortened and a raider bearing down, Pop whispered, “No more bad dreams, Thorby. Never again, son. Just happy dreams.”

  He slept peacefully then—and awoke in this forbidding place with gabbling fraki all around him. Breakfast was substantial but not up to Aunt Athena’s high standards; however he was not hungry.

  After breakfast he was quietly tasting his misery when he was required to undress and submit to indignities. It was his first experience with medical men’s offhand behavior with human flesh—he loathed the poking and prodding.

  When the Commanding Officer sent for him Thorby was not even cheered by seeing the man who knew Pop. This room was where he had had to say a last “good-business” to Father; the thoughts lingering there were not good.

  He listened listlessly while Brisby explained. He woke up a little when he understood that he was being offered status—not much, he gathered. But status. The fraki had status among themselves. It had never occurred to him that fraki status could matter even to fraki.

  “You don’t have to,” Colonel Brisby concluded, “but it will make simpler the thing Col
onel Baslim wanted me to do—find your family, I mean. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Thorby almost said that he knew where his Family was. But he knew what the Colonel meant: his own sib, whose existence he had never quite been able to imagine. Did he really have blood relatives somewhere?

  “I suppose so,” he answered slowly. “I don’t know.”

  “Mmm . . .” Brisby wondered what it was like to have no frame to your picture. “Colonel Baslim was anxious to have me locate your family. I can handle it easier if you are officially one of us. Well? It’s guardsman third class . . . thirty credits a month, all you can eat and not enough sleep. And glory. A meager amount.”

  Thorby looked up. “This is the same Fam—service my Pop—Colonel Baslim, you call him—was in? He really was?”

  “Yes. Senior to what you will be. But the same service. I think you started to say ‘family.’ We like to think of the Service as one enormous family. Colonel Baslim was one of the more distinguished members of it.”

  “Then I want to be adopted.”

  “Enlisted.”

  “Whatever the word is.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Fraki weren’t bad when you got to know them.

  They had their secret language, even though they thought they talked Interlingua. Thorby added a few dozen verbs and a few hundred nouns as he heard them; after that he tripped over an occasional idiom. He learned that his light-years as a trader were respected, even though the People were considered odd. He didn’t argue; fraki couldn’t know better.

  H.G.C. Hydra lifted from Hekate, bound for the Rim worlds. Just before jump a money order arrived accompanied by a supercargo’s form which showed the draft to be one eighty-third of Sisu’s appreciation from Jubbulpore to Hekate—as if, thought Thorby, he were a girl being swapped. It was an uncomfortably large sum and Thorby could find no entry charging him interest against a capital share of the ship—which he felt should be there for proper accounting; it wasn’t as if he had been born in the ship. Life among the People had made the beggar boy conscious of money in a sense that alms never could—books must balance and debts must be paid.

  He wondered what Pop would think of all that money. He felt easier when he learned that he could deposit it with the Paymaster.

With the draft was a warm note, wishing him good business wherever he went and signed: “Love, Mother.” It made Thorby feel better and much worse.

  A package of belongings arrived with a note from Fritz: “Dear Brother, Nobody briefed me about recent mysterious happenings, but things were crisp around the old ship for a few days. If such were not unthinkable, I would say there had been a difference of opinion at highest level. Me, I have no opinions, except that I miss your idle chatter and blank expressions. Have fun and be sure to count your change.

  “Fritz

  “P.S. The play was an artistic success—and Loeen is cuddly.”

  Thorby stored his Sisu belongings; he was trying to be a Guardsman and they made him uncomfortable. He discovered that the Guard was not the closed corporation the People were; it required no magic to make a Guardsman if a man had what it took, because nobody cared where a man came from or what he had been. The Hydra drew its company from many planets; there were machines in BuPersonnel to ensure this. Thorby’s shipmates were tall and short, bird-boned and rugged, smooth and hairy, mutated and superficially unmutated. Thorby hit close to norm and his Free Trader background was merely an acceptable eccentricity; it made him a spaceman of sorts even though a recruit.

  In fact, the only hurdle was that he was a raw recruit. “Guardsman 3/c” he might be but a boot he would remain until he proved himself, most especially since he had not had boot training.

  But he was no more handicapped than any recruit in a military outfit having proud esprit de corps. He was assigned a bunk, a mess, a working station, and a petty officer to tell him what to do. His work was compartment cleaning, his battle station was runner for the Weapons Officer in case battle phones should fail—it meant that he was available to fetch coffee.

  Otherwise he was left in peace. He was free to join a bull session as long as he let his seniors sound off, he was invited into card games when a player was needed, he was not shut out of gossip, and he was privileged to lend jumpers and socks to seniors who happened to be short. Thorby had had experience at being junior; it was not difficult.

  The Hydra was heading out for patrol duty; the mess talk centered around “hunting” prospects. The Hydra had fast “legs,” three hundred gravities; she sought action with outlaws where a merchantman such as the Sisu would avoid it if possible. Despite her large complement and heavy weapons, the Hydra was mostly power plant and fuel tanks.

  Thorby’s table was headed by his petty officer, Ordnanceman 2/c Peebie, known as “Decibel.” Thorby was eating one day with his ears tuned down, while he debated visiting the library after dinner or attending the stereo show in the messroom, when he heard his nickname: “Isn’t that right, Trader?”

  Thorby was proud of the nickname. He did not like it in Peebie’s mouth but Peebie was a self-appointed wit—he would greet Thorby with the nickname, inquire solicitously, “How’s business?” and make gestures of counting money. So far, Thorby had ignored it.

  “Isn’t what right?”

  “Why’n’t y’keep y’r ears open? Can’t you hear anything but rustle and clink? I was telling ’em what I told the Weapons Officer: the way to rack up more kills is to go after ’em, not pretend to be a trader, too scared to fight and too fat to run.”

  Thorby felt a simmer. “Who,” he said, “told you that traders were scared to fight?”

  “Quit pushin’ that stuff! Whoever heard of a trader burning a bandit?”

  Peebie may have been sincere; kills made by traders received no publicity. But Thorby’s burn increased. “I have.”

  Thorby meant that he had heard of traders’ burning raiders; Peebie took it as a boast. “Oh, you did, did you? Listen to that, men—our peddler is a hero. He’s burned a bandit all by his own little self! Tell us about it. Did you set fire to his hair? Or drop potassium in his beer?”

  “I used,” Thorby stated, “a Mark XIX one-stage target-seeker, made by Bethlehem-Antares and armed with a 20 megaton plutonium warhead. I launched a timed shot on closing to beaming range on a collision-curve prediction.”

  There was silence. Finally Peebie said coldly, “Where did you read that?”

  “It’s what the tape showed after the engagement. I was senior starboard firecontrolman. The portside computer was out—so I know it was my shot that burned him.”

  “Now he’s a weapons officer! Peddler, don’t peddle it here.”

  Thorby shrugged. “I used to be. A weapons control officer, rather. I never learned much about ordnance.”

  “Modest, isn’t he? Talk is cheap, Trader.”

  “You should know, Decibel.”

  Peebie was halted by his nickname; Thorby did not rate such familiarity. Another voice cut in, saying sweetly, “Sure, Decibel, talk is cheap. Now you tell about the big kills you’ve made. Go ahead.” The speaker was non-rated but was a clerk in the executive office and immune to Peebie’s displeasure.

  Peebie glowered. “Enough of this prattle,” he growled. “Baslim, I’ll see you at oh eight hundred in combat control—we’ll find out how much you know about firecontrol.”

  Thorby was not anxious to be tested; he knew nothing about the Hydra’s equipment. But an order is an order; he was facing Peebie’s smirk at the appointed time.

  The smirk did not last. Hydra’s instruments bore no resemblance to those in the Sisu, but the principles were the same and the senior gunnery sergeant (cybernetics) seemed to find nothing unlikely in an ex-trader knowing how to shoot. He was always looking for talent; people to handle ballistic trackers for the preposterous problems of combat at sub-light-speed were as scarce among Guardsmen as among the People.

  He questioned Thorby about the computer he had handled. Presently he nodded. “I’ve never seen anything but schematics on a Dusseldorf tandem rig; that approach is obsolete. But if you can get a hit with that junk, we can use you.” The sergeant turned to Peebie. “Thanks, Decibel. I’ll mention it to the Weapons Officer. Stick around, Baslim.”

  Peebie looked astonished. “He’s got work to do, Sarge.”

  Sergeant Luter shrugged. “Tell your leading P.O. that I need Baslim here.”

  Thorby had been shocked to hear Sisu’s beautiful computers called “junk.” But shortly he knew what Luter meant; the massive brain that fought for the Hydra was a genius among computers. Thorby would never control it alone—but soon he was an acting ordnanceman 3/c (cybernetics) and relatively safe from Peebie’s wit. He began to feel like a Guardsman—very junior but an accepted shipmate.

  Hydra was cruising above speed-of-light toward the Rim world Ultima Thule, where she would refuel and start prowling for outlaws. No query had reached the ship concerning Thorby’s identity. He was contented with his status in Pop’s old outfit; it made him proud to feel that Pop would be proud of him. He did miss Sisu, but a ship with no women was simpler to live in; compared with Sisu the Hydra had no restrictive regulations.

  But Colonel Brisby did not let Thorby forget why he had been enlisted. Commanding officers are many linkages away from a recruit; a non-rated man might not lay eyes on his skipper except at inspections. But Brisby sent for Thorby repeatedly.

  Brisby received authorization from the Exotic Corps to discuss Colonel Baslim’s report with Baslim’s courier, bearing in mind the critical classification of the subject. So Brisby called Thorby in.

  Thorby was first warned of the necessity of keeping his mouth shut. Brisby told him that the punishment for blabbing would be as heavy as a court-martial could hand out. “But that’s not the point. We have to be sure that the question never arises. Otherwise we can’t discuss it.”

  Thorby hesitated. “How can I know that I’ll keep my mouth shut when I don’t know what it is?”

  Brisby looked annoyed. “I can order you to.”

  “Yes, sir. And I’ll say, ‘Aye aye, sir.’ But does that make you certain that I wouldn’t risk a court-martial?”

  “But— This is ridiculous! I want to talk about Colonel Baslim’s work. But you’re to keep your yap shut, you understand me? If you don’t, I’ll tear you to pieces with my bare hands. No young punk is going to quibble with me where the Old Man’s work is concerned!”

  Thorby looked relieved. “Why did

n’t you say it was that, Skipper? I wouldn’t blab about anything of Pop’s—why, that was the first thing he taught me.”

  “Oh.” Brisby grinned. “I should have known. Okay.”

  “I suppose,” Thorby added thoughtfully, “that it’s all right to talk to you.”

  Brisby looked startled. “I hadn’t realized that this cuts two ways. But it does. I can show you a despatch from his corps, telling me to discuss his report with you. Would that convince you?”

  Brisby found himself showing a “Most Secret” despatch to his most junior, acting petty officer, to convince said junior that his C.O. was entitled to talk with him. At the time it seemed reasonable; it was not until later that the Colonel wondered.

  Thorby read the translated despatch and nodded. “Anything you want, Skipper. I’m sure Pop would agree.”

  “Okay. You know what he was doing?”

  “Well . . . yes and no. I saw some of it. I know what sort of things he was interested in having me notice and remember. I used to carry messages for him and it was always very secret. But I never knew why.” Thorby frowned. “They said he was a spy.”

  “Intelligence agent sounds better.”

  Thorby shrugged. “If he was spying, he’d call it that. Pop never minced words.”

  “No, he never minced words,” Brisby agreed, wincing as he recalled being scorched right through his uniform by a dressing-down. “Let me explain. Mmm . . . know any Terran history?”

  “Uh, not much.”

  “It’s a miniature history of the race. Long before space travel, when we hadn’t even filled up Terra, there used to be dirtside frontiers. Every time new territory was found, you always got three phenomena: traders ranging out ahead and taking their chances, outlaws preying on the honest men—and a traffic in slaves. It happens the same way today, when we’re pushing through space instead of across oceans and prairies. Frontier traders are adventurers taking great risks for great profits. Outlaws, whether hill bands or sea pirates or the raiders in space, crop up in any area not under police protection. Both are temporary. But slavery is another matter—the most vicious habit humans fall into and the hardest to break. It starts up in every new land and it’s terribly hard to root out. After a culture falls ill of it, it gets rooted in the economic system and laws, in men’s habits and attitudes. You abolish it; you drive it underground—there it lurks, ready to spring up again, in the minds of people who think it is their ‘natural’ right to own other people. You can’t reason with them; you can kill them but you can’t change their minds.”

  Brisby sighed. “Baslim, the Guard is just the policeman and the mailman; we haven’t had a major war in two centuries. What we do work at is the impossible job of maintaining order on the frontier, a globe three thousand light-years in circumference—no one can understand how big that is; the mind can’t swallow it.

  “Nor can human beings police it. It gets bigger every year. Dirtside police eventually close the gaps. But with us, the longer we try the more there is. So to most of us it’s a job, an honest job, but one that can never be finished.

  “But to Colonel Richard Baslim it was a passion. Especially he hated the slave trade, the thought of it could make him sick at his stomach—I’ve seen. He lost his leg and an eye—I suppose you know—while rescuing a shipload of people from a slaving compound.

  “That would satisfy most officers—go home and retire. Not old Spit-and-Polish! He taught a few years, then he went to the one corps that might take him, chewed up as he was, and presented a plan.

  “The Nine Worlds are the backbone of the slave trade. The Sargony was colonized a long time ago, and they never accepted Hegemony after they broke off as colonies. The Nine Worlds don’t qualify on human rights and don’t want to qualify. So we can’t travel there and they can’t visit our worlds.

  “Colonel Baslim decided that the traffic could be rendered uneconomic if we knew how it worked in the Sargony. He reasoned that slavers had to have ships, had to have bases, had to have markets, that it was not just a vice but a business. So he decided to go there and study it.

  “This was preposterous—one man against a nine-planet empire . . . but the Exotic Corps deals in preposterous notions. Even they would probably not have made him an agent if he had not had a scheme to get his reports out. An agent couldn’t travel back and forth, nor could he use the mails—there aren’t any between us and them—and he certainly couldn’t set up an n-space communicator; that would be as conspicuous as a brass band.

  “But Baslim had an idea. The only people who visit both the Nine Worlds and our own are Free Traders. But they avoid politics like poison, as you know better than I, and they go to great lengths not to offend local customs. However Colonel Baslim had a personal ‘in’ to them.

  “I suppose you know that those people he rescued were Free Traders. He told ‘X’ Corps that he could report back through his friends. So they let him try. It’s my guess that no one knew that he intended to pose as a beggar—I doubt if he planned it; he was always great at improvising. But he got in and for years he observed and got his reports out.

  “That’s the background and now I want to squeeze every possible fact out of you. You can tell us about methods—the report I forwarded never said a word about methods. Another agent might be able to use his methods.”

  Thorby said soberly, “I’ll tell you anything I can. I don’t know much.”

  “You know more than you think you do. Would you let the psych officer put you under again and see if we can work total recall?”

  “Anything is okay if it’ll help Pop’s work.”

  “It should. Another thing—” Brisby crossed his cabin, held up a sheet on which was the silhouette of a spaceship. “What ship is this?”

  Thorby’s eyes widened. “A Sargonese cruiser.”

  Brisby snatched up another one. “This?”

  “Uh, it looks like a slaver that called at Jubbulpore twice a year.”

  “Neither one,” Brisby said savagely, “is anything of the sort. These are recognition patterns out of my files—of ships built by our biggest shipbuilder. If you saw them in Jubbulpore, they were either copies, or bought from us!”

  Thorby considered it. “They build ships there.”

  “So I’ve been told. But Colonel Baslim reported ships’ serial numbers—how he got them I couldn’t guess; maybe you can. He claims that the slave trade is getting help from our own worlds!” Brisby looked unbearably disgusted.

  Thorby reported regularly to the Cabin, sometimes to see Brisby, sometimes to be interviewed under hypnosis by Dr. Krishnamurti. Brisby always mentioned the search for Thorby’s identity and told him not to be discouraged; such a search took a long time. Repeated mention changed Thorby’s attitude about it from something impossible to something which was going to be true soon; he began thinking about his family, wondering who he was?—it was going to be nice to know, to be like other people.

  Brisby was reassuring himself; he had been notified to keep Thorby off sensitive work the very day the ship jumped from Hekate when he had hoped that Thorby would be identified at once. He kept the news to himself, holding fast to his conviction that Colonel Baslim was never wrong and that the matter would be cleared up.

  When Thorby was shifted to Combat Control, Brisby worried when the order passed across his desk—that was a “security” area, never open to visitors—then he told himself that a man with no special training couldn’t learn anything there that could really affect security and that he was already using the lad in much more sensitive work. Brisby felt that he was learning things of importance—that the Old Man, for example, had used the cover personality of a one-legged beggar to hide two-legged activities . . . but had actually been a beggar; he and the boy had lived only on alms. Brisby admired such artistic perfection—it should be an example to other agents.

  But the Old Man always had been a shining example.

  So Brisby left Thorby in combat control. He omitted to make permanent Thorby’s acting promotion in order that the record of change in rating need not be forwarded to BuPersonnel. But he became anxious to receive the despatch that would tell him who Thorby was.

  His executive was w

ith him when it came in. It was in code, but Brisby recognized Thorby’s serial number; he had written it many times in reports to ‘X’ Corps. “Look at this, Stinky! This tells us who our foundling is. Grab the machine; the safe is open.” Ten minutes later they had processed it; it read:

  “—NULL RESULT FULL IDENTSEARCH BASLIM THORBY GDSMN THIRD. AUTH & DRT TRANSFER ANY RECEIVING STATION RETRANSFER HEKATE INVESTIGATION DISPOSITION—CHFBUPERS.”

  “Stinky, ain’t that a mess?”

  Stancke shrugged. “It’s how the dice roll, boss.”

  “I feel as if I had let the Old Man down. He was sure the kid was a citizen.”

  “I misdoubt there are millions of citizens who would have a bad time proving who they are. Colonel Baslim may have been right—and still it can’t be proved.”

  “I hate to transfer him. I feel responsible.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “You never served under Colonel Baslim. He was easy to please . . . all he wanted was one-hundred-percent perfection. And this doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Quit blaming yourself. You have to accept the record.”

  “Might as well get it over with. Eddie! I want to see Ordnanceman Baslim.”

  Thorby noticed that the Skipper looked grim—but then he often did. “Acting Ordnanceman Third Class Baslim reporting, sir.”

  “Thorby . . .”

  “Yes, sir?” Thorby was startled. The Skipper sometimes used his first name because that was what he answered to under hypnosis—but this was not such a time.

  “The identification report on you came.”

  “Huh?” Thorby was startled out of military manners. He felt a surge of joy—he was going to know who he was!

  “They can’t identify you.” Brisby waited, then said sharply, “Did you understand?”

  Thorby swallowed. “Yes, sir. They don’t know who I am. I’m not . . . anybody.”

  “Nonsense! You’re still yourself.”

  “Yes, sir. Is that all, sir? May I go?”

  “Just a moment. I have to transfer you back to Hekate.” He added hastily, seeing Thorby’s expression, “Don’t worry. They’ll probably let you serve out your enlistment if you want to. In any case, they can’t do anything to you; you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Yes, sir,” Thorby repeated dully.

  Nothing and nobody— He had a blinding image of an old, old nightmare . . . standing on the block, hearing an auctioneer chant his description, while cold eyes stared at him. But he pulled himself together and was merely quiet the rest of the day. It was not until the compartment was dark that he bit his pillow and whispered brokenly, “Pop . . . oh, Pop!”

  The Guards uniform covered Thorby’s legs, but in the showers the tattoo on his left thigh could be noticed. When this happened, Thorby explained without embarrassment what it signified. Responses varied from curiosity, through half-disbelief, to awed surprise that here was a man who had been through it—capture, sale, servitude, and miraculously, free again. Most civilians did not realize that slavery still existed; Guardsmen knew better.

  No one was nasty about it.

  But the day after the null report on identification Thorby encountered “Decibel” Peebie in the showers. Thorby did not speak; they had not spoken much since Thorby had been moved out from under Peebie, even though they sat at the same table. But now Peebie spoke. “Hi, Trader!”

  “Hi.” Thorby started to bathe.

  “What’s on your leg? Dirt?”

  “Where?”

  “On your thigh. Hold still. Let’s see.”

  “Keep your hands to yourself!”

  “Don’t be so touchy. Turn around to the light. What is it?”

  “It’s a slaver’s mark,” Thorby explained curtly.

  “No foolin’? So you’re a slave?”

  “I used to be.”

  “They put chains on you? Make you kiss your master’s foot?”

  “Don’t be silly!”

  “Look who’s talking! You know what, Trader boy? I heard about that mark—and I think you had it tattooed yourself. To make big talk. Like that one about how you blasted a bandit ship.”

  Thorby cut his shower short and got out.

  At dinner Thorby was helping himself from a bowl of mashed potatoes. He heard Peebie call out something but his ears filtered out “Decibel’s” endless noise.

  Peebie repeated it. “Hey, Slave! Pass the potatoes! You know who I mean! Dig the dirt out of your ears!”

  Thorby passed him the potatoes, bowl and all, in a flat trajectory, open face of the bowl plus potatoes making perfect contact with the open face of Decibel.

  The charge against Thorby was “Assaulting a Superior Officer, the Ship then being in Space in a Condition of Combat Readiness.” Peebie appeared as complaining witness.

  Colonel Brisby stared over the mast desk and his jaw muscles worked. He listened to Peebie’s account: “I asked him to pass the potatoes . . . and he hit me in the face with them.”

  “That was all?”

  “Well, sir, maybe I didn’t say please. But that’s no reason—”

  “Never mind the conclusions. The fight go any farther?”

  “No, sir. They separated us.”

  “Very well. Baslim, what have you to say for yourself?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brisby stopped to think, while his jaw muscles twitched. He felt angry, an emotion he did not permit himself at mast—he felt let down. Still, there must be more to it.

  Instead of passing sentence he said, “Step aside. Colonel Stancke—”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “There were other men present. I want to hear from them.”

  “I have them standing by, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  Thorby was convicted—three days bread & water, solitary, sentence suspended, thirty days probation; acting rank stricken.

  Decibel Peebie was convicted (court trial waived when Brisby pointed out how the book could be thrown at him) of “Inciting to Riot, specification: using derogatory language with reference to another Guardsman’s Race, Religion, Birthplace, or Condition previous to entering Service, the Ship then being etc.”— sentence three days B & W, sol., suspended, reduction one grade, ninety days probation in ref. B & W, sol., only.

  The Colonel and Vice Colonel went back to Brisby’s office. Brisby was looking glum; mast upset him at best. Stancke said, “Too bad you had to clip the Baslim kid. I think he was justified.”

  “Of course he was. But ‘Inciting to riot’ is no excuse for riot. Nothing is.”

  “Sure, you had to. But I don’t like that Peebie character. I’m going to make a careful study of his efficiency marks.”

  “Do that. But, confound it, Stinky—I have a feeling I started the fight myself.”

  “Huh?”

  “Two days ago I had to tell Baslim that we hadn’t been able to identify him. He walked out in a state of shock. I should have listened to my psych officer. The lad has scars that make him irresponsible under the right—I mean the ‘wrong’—stimulus. I’m glad it was mashed potatoes and not a knife.”

  “Oh, come now, boss! Mashed potatoes are hardly a deadly weapon.”

  “You weren’t here when he got the bad news. Not knowing who he is hurts him.”

  Stancke’s pudgy face pouted in thought. “Boss? How old was this kid when he was captured?”

  “Eh? Kris thinks he was about four.”

  “Skipper, that backwoods place where you were born: at what age were you fingerprinted, blood-typed, retina-photographed and so forth?”

  “Why, when I started school.”

  “Me, too. I’ll bet they wait that long most places.”

  Brisby blinked. “That’s why they wouldn’t have anything on him!”

  “Maybe. But on Riff they take identity on a baby before he leaves the delivery room.”

  “My people, too. But—”

  “Sure, sure! It’s common practice. But how?”

  Brisby looked blank, then banged the desk. “Footprints! And we didn’t send them in.” He slapped the talkie. “Eddie! Get Baslim here on the double!”

  Thorby was glumly removing the chevron he had worn by courtesy for so short a time. He was scared by the peremptory order; it boded ill. But he hurried. Colonel Brisby glared at him. “Baslim, take off your shoes!”

  “Sir?”

  “Take off your shoes!”

  Brisby’s despatch questioning failure to identify and supplying BuPers with footprints was answered in forty-eight hours. It reached the Hydra as she made her final approach to Ultima Thule. Colonel Brisby decoded it when the ship had been secured dirtside.

  It read: “—GUARDSMAN THORBY BASLIM IDENTIFIED MISSING PERSON THOR BRADLEY RUDBEK TERRA NOT HEKATE TRANSFER RUDBEK FASTEST MILORCOM TERRA DISCHARGE ARRIVAL NEXTKIN NOTIFIED REPEAT FASTEST CHFBUPERS.”

  Brisby was chuckling. “Colonel Baslim is never wrong. Dead or alive, he’s never wrong!”

  “Boss . . .”

  “Huh?”

  “Read it again. Notice who he is.”

  Brisby reread the despatch. Then he said in a hushed voice, “Why do things like this always happen to Hydra?” He strode over and snatched the door. “Eddie!”

  Thorby was on beautiful Ultima Thule for two hours and twenty-seven minutes; what he saw of the famous scenery after coming three hundred light-years was the field between the Hydra and Guard Mail Courier Ariel. Three weeks later he was on Terra. He felt dizzy.

  CHAPTER 17

  Lovely Terra, Mother of Worlds! What poet, whether or not he has been privileged to visit her, has not tried to express the homesick longing of men for mankind’s birthplace . . . her cool green hills, cloud-graced skies, restless oceans, her warm maternal charm.

  Thorby’s first sight of legendary Earth was by view screen of G.M.C. Ariel. Guard Captain N’Gangi, skipper of the mail ship, stepped up the gain and pointed out arrow-sharp shadows of the Egyptian Pyramids. Thorby didn’t realize the historical significance and was looking in the wrong place. But he enjoyed seeing a planet from space; he had never been thus privileged before.

  Thorby had a dull time in the Ariel. The mail ship, all legs and tiny payload, carried a crew of three engineers and three astrogators, all of whom were usually on watch or asleep. He started off badly because Captain N’Gangi had been annoyed by a “hold for passenger” despatch from the Hydra—mail ships don’t like to hold; the mail must go through.

  But Thorby be

haved himself, served the precooked meals, and spent his time ploughing through the library (a drawer under the skipper’s bunk); by the time they approached Sol the commanding officer was over his pique . . . to have the feeling brought back by orders to land at Galactic Enterprises’ field instead of Guard Base. But N’Gangi shook hands as he gave Thorby his discharge and the paymaster’s draft.

  Instead of scrambling down a rope ladder (mail couriers have no hoists), Thorby found that a lift came up to get him. It leveled off opposite the hatch and offered easy exit. A man in spaceport uniform of Galactic Enterprises met him. “Mr. Rudbek?”

  “That’s me—I guess.”

  “This way, Mr. Rudbek, if you please.”

  The elevator took them below ground and into a beautiful lounge. Thorby, mussed and none too clean from weeks in a crowded steel box, was uneasy. He looked around.

  Eight or ten people were there, two of whom were a grey-haired, self-assured man and a young woman. Each was dressed in more than a year’s pay for a Guardsman. Thorby did not realize this in the case of the man but his Trader’s eye spotted it in the female; it took money to look that demurely provocative.

  In his opinion the effect was damaged by her high-fashion hairdo, a rising structure of green blending to gold. He blinked at the cut of her clothes; he had seen fine ladies in Jubbulpore where the climate favored clothing only for decoration, but the choice in skin display seemed different here. Thorby realized uneasily that he was again going to have to get used to new customs.

  The important-looking man met him as he got out of the lift. “Thor! Welcome home, lad!” He grabbed Thorby’s hand. “I’m John Weemsby. Many is the time I’ve bounced you on my knee. Call me Uncle Jack. And this is your cousin Leda.”

  The girl with green hair placed hands on Thorby’s shoulders and kissed him. He did not return it; he was much too startled. She said, “It’s wonderful to have you home, Thor.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “And now you must greet your grandparents,” Weemsby announced. “Professor Bradley . . . and your Grandmother Bradley.”

  Bradley was older than Weemsby, slight and erect, a paunch, neatly trimmed beard; he was dressed like Weemsby in daytime formal jacket, padded tights and short cape, but not as richly. The woman had a sweet face and alert blue eyes; her clothing did not resemble that of Leda but seemed to suit her. She pecked Thorby on the cheek and said gently, “It’s like having my son come home.”

  The elderly man shook hands vigorously. “It’s a miracle, son! You look just like our boy—your father. Doesn’t he, dear?”

  “He does!”

  There was chitchat which Thorby answered as well as he could. He was confused and terribly self-conscious; it was more embarrassing to meet these strangers who claimed him as their blood than it had been to be adopted into Sisu. These old people—they were his grandparents? Thorby couldn’t believe it even though he supposed they were.

  To his relief the man—Weemsby?—who claimed to be his Uncle Jack said with polite authority, “We had better go. I’ll bet this boy is tired. So I’ll take him home. Eh?”

  The Bradleys murmured agreement; the party moved toward the exit. Others in the room, all men none of whom had been introduced, went with them. In the corridor they stepped on a glideway which picked up speed until walls were whizzing past. It slowed as they neared the end—miles away, Thorby judged—and was stationary for them to step off.

  This place was public; the ceiling was high and the walls were lost in crowds; Thorby recognized the flavor of a transport station. The silent men with them moved into blocking positions and their party proceeded in a direct line regardless of others. Several persons tried to break through and one man managed it. He shoved a microphone at Thorby and said rapidly, “Mr. Rudbek, what is your opinion of the—”

  A guard grabbed him. Mr. Weemsby said quickly, “Later, later! Call my office; you’ll get the story.”

  Lenses were trained on them, but from high up and far away. They moved inio another passageway, a gate closed behind them. Its glideway deposited them at an elevator which took them to a small enclosed airport. A craft was waiting and beyond it a smaller one, both sleek, smooth, flattened ellipsoids. Weemsby stopped. “You’ll be all right?” he asked Mrs. Bradley.

  “Oh, surely,” answered Professor Bradley.

  “The car was satisfactory?”

  “Excellent. A nice hop—and, I’m sure, a good one back.”

  “Then we’ll say good-by. I’ll call you—when he’s had a chance to get oriented. You understand?”

  “Oh, surely. We’ll be waiting.” Thorby got a peck from his grandmother, a clap on the shoulder from his grandfather. Then he embarked with Weemsby and Leda in the larger car. Its skipper saluted Mr. Weemsby, then saluted Thorby—Thorby managed to return it.

  Mr. Weemsby paused in the central passage. “Why don’t you kids go forward and enjoy the hop? I’ve got calls waiting.”

  “Certainly, Daddy.”

  “You’ll excuse me, Thor? Business goes on—it’s back to the mines for Uncle Jack.”

  “Of course . . . Uncle Jack.”

  Leda led him forward and they sat down in a transparent bubble on the forward surface. The car rose straight up until they were several thousand feet high. It made a traffic-circle sweep over a desert plain, then headed north toward mountains.

  “Comfy?” asked Leda.

  “Quite. Uh, except that I’m dirty and mussed.”

  “There’s a shower abaft the lounge. But we’ll be home shortly—so why not enjoy the trip?”

  “All right.” Thorby did not want to miss any of fabulous Terra. It looked, he decided, like Hekate—no, more like Woolamurra, except that he had never seen so many buildings. The mountains—

  He looked again. “What’s that white stuff? Alum?”

  Leda looked. “Why, that’s snow. Those are the Sangre de Cristos.”

  ” ‘Snow,’ ” Thorby repeated. “That’s frozen water.”

  “You haven’t seen snow before?”

  “I’ve heard of it. It’s not what I expected.”

  “It is frozen water—and yet it isn’t exactly; it’s more feathery.” She reminded herself of Daddy’s warning; she must not show surprise at anything.

  “You know,” she offered, “I think I’ll teach you to ski.”

  Many miles and some minutes were used explaining what skiing was and why people did it. Thorby filed it away as something he might try, more likely not. Leda said that a broken leg was “all that could happen.” This is fun? Besides, she had mentioned how cold it could be. In Thorby’s mind cold was linked with hunger, beatings, and fear. “Maybe I could learn,” he said dubiously, “but I doubt it.”

  “Oh, sure you can!” She changed the subject. “Forgive my curiosity, Thor, but there is a faint accent in your speech.”

  “I didn’t know I had an accent—”

  “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “You weren’t. I suppose I picked it up in Jubbulpore. That’s where I lived longest.”

  ” ‘Jubbulpore’ . . . let me think. That’s—”

  “Capital of the Nine Worlds.”

  “Oh, yes! One of our colonies, isn’t it?”

  Thorby wondered what the Sargon would think of that. “Uh, not exactly. It is a sovereign empire now—their tradition is that they were never anything else. They don’t like to admit that they derive from Terra.”

  “What an odd point of view.”

  A steward came forward with drinks and dainty nibbling foods. Thor accepted a frosted tumbler and sipped cautiously. Leda continued, “What were you doing there, Thor? Going to school?”

  Thorby thought of Pop’s patient teaching, decided that was not what she meant. “I was begging.”

  “What?”

  “I was a beggar.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A beggar. A licensed mendicant. A person who asks for alms.”

  “That’s what I thought you said,” she answered. “I know what a beggar is; I’ve read books. But—excuse me, Thor; I’m just a home girl—I was startled.”

  She was not a “home girl”; she was a sophisticated woman adjusted to her environment. Since her mother’s death she had been her father’s hostess and could converse with people from other planets with

aplomb, handling small talk of a large dinner party with gracious efficiency in three languages. Leda could ride, dance, sing, swim, ski, supervise a household, do arithmetic slowly, read and write if necessary, and make the proper responses. She was an intelligent, pretty, well-intentioned woman, culturally equivalent to a superior female head-hunter—able, adjusted and skilled.

  But this strange lost-found cousin was a new bird to her. She said hesitantly, “Excuse my ignorance, but we don’t have anything like that on Earth. I have trouble visualizing it. Was it terribly unpleasant?”

  Thorby’s mind flew back; he was squatting in lotus seat in the great Plaza with Pop sprawled beside him, talking. “It was the happiest time of my life,” he said simply.

  “Oh.” It was all she could manage.

  But Daddy had left them so that she could get to work. Asking a man about himself never failed. “How does one get started, Thor? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “I was taught. You see, I was up for sale and—” He thought of trying to explain Pop, decided to let it wait. “—an old beggar bought me.”

  ” ‘Bought’ you?”

  “I was a slave.”

  Leda felt as if she had stepped off into water over her head. Had he said “cannibal,” “vampire,” or “warlock” she would have been no more shocked. She came up, mentally gasping. “Thor—if I have been rude, I’m sorry—but we all are curious about the time—goodness! it’s been over fifteen years—that you have been missing. But if you don’t want to answer, just say so. You were a nice little boy and I was fond of you—please don’t slap me down if I ask the wrong question.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “How could I? There haven’t been slaves for centuries.”

  Thorby wished that he had never had to leave the Hydra, and gave up. He had learned in the Guard that the slave trade was something many fraki in the inner worlds simply hadn’t heard of. “You knew me when I was little?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Why can’t I remember you? I can’t remember anything back before I was a—I can’t remember Terra.”

  She smiled. “I’m three years older than you. When I saw you last, I was six—so I remember—and you were three, so you’ve forgotten.”

 

“Oh.” Thorby decided that here was a chance to find out his own age. “How old are you now?”

  She smiled wryly. “Now I’m the same age you are—and I’ll stay that age until I’m married. Turn about, Thorby—when you ask the wrong question, I shan’t be offended. You don’t ask a lady her age on Terra; you assume that she is younger than she is.”

  “So?” Thorby pondered this curious custom. Among People a female claimed the highest age she could, for status.

  “So. For example, your mother was a lovely lady but I never knew her age. Perhaps she was twenty-five when I knew her, perhaps forty.”

  “You knew my parents?”

  “Oh, yes! Uncle Creighton was a darling with a boomy voice. He used to give me handfuls of dollars to buy candy sticks and balloons with my own sweaty little hand.” She frowned. “But I can’t remember his face. Isn’t that silly? Never mind, Thor; tell me anything you want to. I’d be happy to hear anything you don’t mind telling.”

  “I don’t mind,” Thorby answered, “but, while I must have been captured, I don’t remember it. As far as I remember, I never had parents; I was a slave, several places and masters—until I reached Jubbulpore. Then I was sold again and it was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.”

  Leda lost her company smile. She said in a still voice, “You really mean it. Or do you?”

  Thorby suffered the ancient annoyance of the returned traveler. “If you think that slavery has been abolished . . . well, it’s a big galaxy. Shall I roll up my trouser leg and show you?”

  “Show me what, Thor?”

  “My slave’s mark. The tattoo a factor uses to identify merchandise.” He rolled up his left trouser. “See? The date is my manumission—it’s Sargonese, a sort of Sanskrit; I don’t suppose you can read it.”

  She stared, round-eyed. “How horrible! How perfectly horrible!”

  He covered it. “Depends on your master. But it’s not good.”

  “But why doesn’t somebody do something?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a long way off.”

  “But—” She stopped as her father came out.

  “Hi, kids. Enjoying the hop, Thor?”

  “Yes, sir. The scenery is wonderful.”

  “The Rockies aren’t a patch on the Himalayas. But our Tetons are pretty wonderful . . . and there they are. We’ll be home soon.” He pointed. “See? There’s Rudbek.”

  “That city is named Rudbek?”

  “It used to be Johnson’s Hole, or some such, when it was a village. But I wasn’t speaking of Rudbek City; I meant our home—your home—’Rudbek.’ You can see the tower above the lake . . . with the Grand Tetons behind it. Most magnificent setting in the world. You’re Rudbek of Rudbek at Rudbek . . . ‘Rudbek Cubed,’ your father called it . . . but he married into the name and wasn’t impressed by it. I like it; it has a rolling thunder, and it’s good to have a Rudbek back in residence.”

  Thorby wallowed in his bath, from needle shower, through hot pool whose sides and bottom massaged him with a thousand fingers, to lukewarm swimming plunge that turned cooler while he was in it. He was cautious in the last, having never learned to swim.

  And he had never had a valet. He had noticed that Rudbek had dozens of people in it—not many for its enormous size, but he began to realize that most of them were servants. This impressed him not as much as it might have; he knew how many, many slaves staffed any rich household on Jubbul; he did not know that a living servant on Terra was the peak of ostentatious waste, greater than sedan chairs on Jubbul, much greater than the lavish hospitality at Gatherings. He simply knew that valets made him nervous and now he had a squad of three. Thorby refused to let anyone bathe him; he gave in to being shaved because the available razor was a classic straight-edge and his own would not work on Rudbek’s power supply. Otherwise he merely accepted advice about unfamiliar clothing.

  The clothing waiting for him in wardrobe loads did not fit perfectly; the chief valet snipped and rewelded, muttering apologies. He had Thorby attired, ruffled jabot to tights, when a footman appeared. “Mr. Weemsby sends greetings to Rudbek and asks that he come to the great hall.”

  Thorby memorized the route as he followed.

  Uncle Jack, in midnight and scarlet, was waiting with Leda, who was wearing . . . Thorby was at loss; colors kept changing and some of it was hardly there. But she looked well. Her hair was now iridescent. He spotted among her jewels a bauble from Finster and wondered if it had shipped in Sisu—why, it was possible that he had listed it himself!

  Uncle Jack said jovially, “There you are, lad! Refreshed? We won’t wear you out, just a family dinner.”

  The dinner included twelve people and started with a reception in the great hall, drinks, appetizers, passed by soft-footed servants, music, while others were presented. “Rudbek of Rudbek, Lady Wilkes—your Aunt Jennifer, lad, come from New Zealand to welcome you”—”Rudbek of Rudbek, Judge Bruder and Mrs. Bruder—Judge is Chief Counsel,” and so on. Thorby memorized names, linked them with faces, thinking that it was like the Family—except that relationship titles were not precise definitions; he had trouble estimating status. He did not know which of eighty-odd relations “cousin” meant with respect to Leda, though he supposed that she must be a first cross-cousin, since Uncle Jack had a surname not Rudbek; so he thought of her as taboo—which would have dismayed her.

  He did realize that he must be in the sept of a wealthy family. But what his status was nobody mentioned, nor could he figure out status of others. Two of the youngest women dropped him curtseys. He thought the first had stumbled and tried to help her. But when the second did it, he answered by pressing his palms together.

  The older women seemed to expect him to treat them with respect. Judge Bruder he could not classify. He hadn’t been introduced as a relative—yet this was a family dinner. He fixed Thorby with an appraising eye and barked, “Glad to have you back, young man! There should be a Rudbek at Rudbek. Your holiday has caused trouble—hasn’t it, John?”

  “More than a bit,” agreed Uncle Jack, “but we’ll get straightened out. No hurry. Give the lad a chance to find himself.”

  “Surely, surely. Thumb in the dike.”

  Thorby wondered what a dike was, but Leda came up and placed her hand on his elbow. She steered him to the banquet hall; others followed. Thorby sat at one end of a long table with Uncle Jack at the other; Aunt Jennifer was on Thorby’s right and Leda on his left. Aunt Jennifer started asking questions and supplying answers. He admitted that he had just left the Guard, she had trouble understanding that he had not been an officer; he let it ride and mentioned nothing about Jubbulpore—Leda had made him wary of the subject. It did not matter; he asked a question about New Zealand and received a guidebook lecture.

  Then Leda turned from Judge Bruder and spoke to Thorby; Aunt Jennifer turned to the man on her right.

  The tableware was in part strange, especially chop tongs and skewers. But spoons were spoons and forks were forks; by keeping his eye on Leda he got by. Food was served formally, but he had seen Grandmother so served; table manners were not great trouble to a man coached by Fritz’s sharp-tongued kindness.

  Not until the end was he stumped. The Butler-in-Chief presented him with an enormous goblet, splashed wetness in it and waited. Leda said softly, “Taste it, nod, and put it down.” He did so; as the butler moved away, she whispered, “Don’t drink it, it’s bottled lightning. By the way, I told Daddy, ‘No toasts.’ “

  At last the meal was over. Leda again cued him. “Stand up.” He did and everyone followed.

  The “family dinner” was just a beginning. Uncle Jack was in evidence only at dinners, and not always then. He excused his absences with, “Someone has to keep the fires burning. Business won’t wait.” As a trader Thorby understood that Business was Business, but he looked forward to a long talk with Uncle Jack, instead of so much social life. Leda was helpful but not informative. “Daddy is awfully busy. Different companies and things. It’s too complicated for me. Let’s hurry; the others are waiting.”

  Others were always waiting. Dancing, skiing—Thorby loved the flying sensation but considered it a chancy way to travel, particularly when he fetched u

p in a snow bank, having barely missed a tree—card parties, dinners with young people at which he took one end of the table and Leda the other, more dancing, hops to Yellowstone to feed the bears, midnight suppers, garden parties. Although Rudbek estate lay in the lap of the Tetons with snow around it, the house had an enormous tropical garden under a dome so pellucid that Thorby did not realize it was there until Leda had him touch it. Leda’s friends were fun and Thorby gradually became sophisticated in small talk. The young men called him “Thor” instead of “Rudbek” and called Leda “Slugger.” They treated him with familiar respect, and showed interest in the fact that he had been in the Guard and had visited many worlds, but they did not press personal questions. Thorby volunteered little, having learned his lesson.

  But he began to tire of fun. A Gathering was wonderful but a working man expects to work.

  The matter came to a head. A dozen of them were skiing and Thorby was alone on the practice slope. A man glided down and snowplowed to a stop. People hopped in and out at the estate’s field day and night; this newcomer was Joel de la Croix.

  “Hi, Thor.”

  “Hi, Joe.”

  “I’ve been wanting to speak to you. I’ve an idea I would like to discuss, after you take over. Can I arrange to see you, without being baffled by forty-‘leven secretaries?”

  “When I take over?”

  “Or later, at your convenience. I want to talk to the boss; after all, you’re the heir. I don’t want to discuss it with Weemsby . . . even if he would see me.” Joel looked anxious. “All I want is ten minutes. Say five if I don’t interest you at once. ‘Rudbek’s promise.’ Eh?”

  Thorby tried to translate. Take over? Heir? He answered carefully, “I don’t want to make any promises now, Joel.”

  De la Croix shrugged. “Okay. But think about it. I can prove it’s a moneymaker.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Thorby agreed. He started looking for Leda. He got her alone and told her what Joel had said.

  She frowned slightly. “It probably wouldn’t hurt, since you aren’t promising anything. Joel is a brilliant engineer. But better ask Daddy.”

  “That’s not what I meant. What did he mean: ‘take over’?”

  “Why, you will, eventually.”

  “Take over what?”

  “Everything. After all, you’re Rudbek of Rudbek.”

  “What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

  “Why, why—” She swept an arm at mountain and lake, at Rudbek City beyond. “All of it. Rudbek. Lots of things. Things personally yours, like your sheep station in Australia and the house in Majorca. And business things. Rudbek Associates is many things—here and other planets. I couldn’t begin to describe them. But they’re yours, or maybe ‘ours’ for the whole family is in it. But you are the Rudbek of Rudbek. As Joel said, the heir.”

  Thorby looked at her, while his lips grew dry. He licked them and said, “Why wasn’t I told?”

  She looked distressed. “Thor dear! We’ve let you take your time. Daddy didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Well,” he said, “I’m worried now. I had better talk to Uncle Jack.”

  John Weemsby was at dinner but so were many guests. As they were leaving Weemsby motioned Thorby aside. “Leda tells me you’re fretting.”

  “Not exactly. I want to know some things.”

  “You shall—I was hoping that you would tire of your vacation. Let’s go to my study.”

  They went there; Weemsby dismissed his second-shift secretary and said, “Now what do you want to know?”

  “I want to know,” Thorby said slowly, “what it means to be ‘Rudbek of Rudbek.’ “

  Weemsby spread his hands. “Everything . . . and nothing. You are titular head of the business, now that your father is dead . . . if he is.”

  “Is there any doubt?”

  “I suppose not. Yet you turned up.”

  “Supposing he is dead, what am I? Leda seems to think I own just about everything. What did she mean?”

  Weemsby smiled. “You know girls. No head for business. The ownership of our enterprises is spread around—most of it is in our employees. But, if your parents are dead, you come into stock in Rudbek Associates, which in turn has an interest in—sometimes a controlling interest—in other things. I couldn’t describe it now. I’ll have the legal staff do it—I’m a practical man, too busy making decisions to worry about who owns every share. But that reminds me . . . you haven’t had a chance to spend much money, but you might want to.” Weemsby opened a drawer, took out a pad. “There’s a megabuck. Let me know if you run short.”

  Thorby thumbed through it. Terran currency did not bother him: a hundred dollars to the credit—which he thought of as five loaves of bread, a trick the Supercargo taught him—a thousand credits to the super-credit, a thousand supercredits to the megabuck. So simple that the People translated other currencies into it, for accounting.

  But each sheet was ten thousand credits . . . and there were a hundred sheets. “Did I . . . inherit this?”

  “Oh, that’s just spending money—checks, really. You convert them at dispensers in stores or banks. You know how?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t get a thumbprint on the sensitized area until you insert it in the dispenser. Have Leda show you—if that girl could make money the way she spends it, neither you nor I would have to work. But,” Weemsby added, “since we do, let’s do a little.” He took out a folder and spread papers. “Although this isn’t hard. Just sign at the bottom of each, put your thumbprint by it, and I’ll call Beth in to notarize. Here, we can open each one to the last page. I had better hold ’em—the consarned things curl up.”

  Weemsby held one for Thorby’s signature. Thorby hesitated, then instead of signing, reached for the document. Weemsby held on. “What’s the trouble?”

  “If I’m going to sign, I ought to read it.” He was thinking of something Grandmother used to be downright boring about.

  Weemsby shrugged. “They are routine matters that Judge Bruder prepared for you.” Weemsby placed the document on the others, tidied the stack, and closed the folder. “These papers tell me to do what I have to do anyway. Somebody has to do the chores.”

  “Why do I have to sign?”

  “This is a safety measure.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Weemsby sighed. “The fact is, you don’t understand business. No one expects you to; you haven’t had any chance to learn. But that’s why I have to keep slaving away; business won’t wait.” He hesitated. “Here’s the simplest way to put it. When your father and mother went on a second honeymoon, they had to appoint someone to act while they were gone. I was the natural choice, since I was their business manager and your grandfather’s before that—he died before they went away. So I was stuck with it while they went jaunting. Oh, I’m not complaining; it’s not a favor one would refuse a member of the family. Unfortunately they did not come back, so I was left holding the baby.

  “But now you are back and we must make sure everything is orderly. First it is necessary for your parents to be declared legally dead—that must be done before you can inherit. That will take a while. So here I am, your business manager, too—manager for all the family—and I don’t have anything from you telling me to act. These papers do that.”

  Thorby scratched his cheek. “If I haven’t inherited yet, why do you need anything from me?”

  Weemsby smiled. “I asked that myself. Judge Bruder thinks it is best to tie down all possibilities. Now since you are of legal age—”

  ” ‘Legal age’?” Thorby had never heard the term; among the People, a man was old enough for whatever he could do.

  Weemsby explained. “So, since the day you passed your eighteenth birthday, you have been of legal age, which simplifies things—it means you don’t have to become a ward of a court. We have your parents’ authorization; now we add yours—and then it doesn’t matter how long it takes the courts to decide that your parents are dead, or to settle their wills. Judge Bruder and I and the others who have to do the work can carry on without interruption. A time gap is avoided . . . one that might cost the business many megabucks. Now do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Let’s get it done.” Weemsby started to open the folder.
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br />   Grandmother always said to read before signing— then think it over. “Uncle Jack, I want to read them.”

  “You wouldn’t understand them.”

  “Probably not.” Thorby picked up the folder. “But I’ve got to learn.”

  Weemsby reached for the folder. “It isn’t necessary.”

  Thorby felt a surge of obstinacy. “Didn’t you say Judge Bruder prepared these for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I want to take them to my apartment and try to understand them. If I’m ‘Rudbek of Rudbek’ I ought to know what I’m doing.”

  Weemsby hesitated, then shrugged. “Go ahead. You’ll find that I’m simply trying to do for you what I have always been doing.”

  “But I still ought to understand what I’m doing.”

  “Very well! Goodnight.”

  Thorby read till he fell asleep. The language was baffling but the papers did seem to be what Uncle Jack said they were—instructions to John Weemsby to continue the routine business of a complex setup. He fell asleep full of terms like “full power of attorney,” “all manners of business,” “receive and pay monies,” “revocable only by mutual consent,” “waiver of personal appearance,” “full faith and credence,” and “voting proxy in all stockholding and/or directorial meetings, special or annual.”

  As he dozed off it occurred to him that he had not asked to see the authorizations given by his parents.

  Sometime during the night he seemed to hear Grandmother’s impatient voice: “—then think it over! If you don’t understand it, and the laws under which it will be executed, then don’t sign it!—no matter how much profit may appear to be in store. Too lazy and too eager can ruin a trader.”

  He stirred restlessly.

  CHAPTER 18

  Hardly anyone came down for breakfast in Rudbek. But breakfast in bed was not in Thorby’s training; he ate alone in the garden, luxuriating in hot mountain sunshine and lush tropical flowers while enjoying the snowy wonderland around him. Snow fascinated him—he had never dreamed that anything could be so beautiful.

  But the following morning Weemsby came into the garden only moments after Thorby sat down. A chair was placed under Weemsby; a servant quickly laid a place. He said, “Just coffee. Good morning, Thor.”

“Good morning, Uncle Jack.”

  “Well, did you get your studying done?”

  “Sir? Oh, yes. That is, I fell asleep reading.”

  Weemsby smiled. “Lawyerese is soporific. Did you satisfy yourself that I had told you correctly what they contained?”

  “Uh, I think so.”

  “Good.” Weemsby put down his coffee and said to a servant, “Hand me a house phone. Thor, you irritated me last night.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “But I realize you were right. You should read what you sign—I wish I had time to! I have to accept the word of my staff in routine matters or I would never have time for policy . . . and I assumed that you would do the same with me. But caution is commendable.” He spoke into the phone. “Carter, fetch those papers from Rudbek’s apartment. The garden.”

  Thorby wondered if Carter could find the stuff—there was a safe in his study but he had not learned to use it, so he had hidden the papers behind books. He started to mention it but Uncle Jack was talking.

  “Here is something you will want to see . . . an inventory of real property you own—or will own, when the wills are settled. These holdings are unconnected with the business.”

  Thorby looked through it with amazement. Did he really own an island named Pitcairn at fifteen something south and a hundred and thirty west—whatever that meant? A domehome on Mars? A shooting lodge in Yukon—where was “Yukon” and why shoot there? You ought to be in free space to risk shooting. And what were all these other things?

  He looked for one item. “Uncle Jack? How about Rudbek?”

  “Eh? You’re sitting on it.”

  “Yes . . . but do I own it? Leda said I did.”

  “Well, yes. But it’s entailed—that means your great-great-grandfather decided that it should never be sold . . . so that there would always be a Rudbek at Rudbek.”

  “Oh.”

  “I thought you might enjoy looking over your properties. I’ve ordered a car set aside for you. Is that one we hopped here in satisfactory?”

  “What? Goodness, yes!” Thorby blinked.

  “Good. It was your mother’s and I’ve been too sentimental to dispose of it. But it has had all latest improvements added. You might persuade Leda to hop with you; she is familiar with most of that list. Take some young friends along and make a picnic of it, as long as you like. We can find a congenial chaperone.”

  Thorby put the list down. “I probably will, Uncle Jack . . . presently. But I ought to get to work.”

  “Eh?”

  “How long does it take to learn to be a lawyer here?”

  Weemsby’s face cleared. “I see. Lawyers’ quaint notions of language can shock a man. It takes four or five years.”

  “It does?”

  “The thing for you is two or three years at Harvard or some other good school of business.”

  “I need that?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Unh . . . you know more about it than I do—”

  “I should! By now.”

  “—but couldn’t I learn something about the business before I go to school? I haven’t any idea what it is?”

  “Plenty of time.”

  “But I want to learn now.”

  Weemsby started to cloud, then smiled and shrugged. “Thor, you have your mother’s stubbornness. All right, I’ll order a suite for you at the main office in Rudbek City—and staff it with people to help you. But I warn you, it won’t be fun. Nobody owns a business; the business owns him. You’re a slave to it.”

  “Well . . . I ought to try.”

  “Commendable spirit.” The phone by Weemsby’s cup blinked; he picked it up, frowned, said, “Hold on.” He turned to Thorby. “That idiot can’t find those papers.”

  “I meant to tell you. I hid them—I didn’t want to leave them out.”

  “I see. Where are they?”

  “Uh, I’ll have to dig them out.”

  Weemsby said in the phone, “Forget it.” He tossed the phone to a servant and said to Thorby, “Then fetch them, if you don’t mind.”

  Thorby did mind. So far he had had four bites; it annoyed him to be told to run an errand while eating. Besides . . . was he “Rudbek of Rudbek?” or still messenger for the weapons officer? “I’ll be going up after breakfast.”

  Uncle Jack looked vexed. But he answered, “I beg your pardon. If you can’t tear yourself away, would you please tell me where to find them? I have a hard day ahead and I would like to dispose of this triviality and go to work. If you don’t mind.”

  Thorby wiped his mouth. “I would rather not,” he said slowly, “sign them now.”

  “What? You told me that you had satisfied yourself.”

  “No, sir, I told you that I had read them. But I don’t understand them. Uncle Jack, where are the papers that my parents signed?”

  “Eh?” Weemsby looked at him sharply. “Why?”

  “I want to see them.”

  Weemsby considered. “They must be in the vault at Rudbek City.”

  “All right. I’ll go there.”

  Weemsby suddenly stood up. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go to work,” he snapped. “Young man, some day you will realize what I have done for you! In the meantime, since you choose to be uncooperative, I still must get on with my duties.”

  He left abruptly. Thorby felt hurt—he didn’t want to be uncooperative . . . but if they had waited for years, why couldn’t they wait a little longer and give him a chance?

  He recovered the papers, then phoned Leda. She answered, with vision switched off. “Thor dear, what are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

  He explained that he wanted to go to the family’s business offices. “I thought maybe you could direct me.”

  “You say Daddy said to?”

  “He’s going to assign me an office.”

  “I won’t just direct you; I’ll take you. But give a girl a chance to get a face on and swallow orange juice.”

  He discovered that Rudbek was connected with their offices in Rudbek City by high-speed sliding tunnel. They arrived in a private foyer guarded by an elderly receptionist. She looked up. “Hello, Miss Leda! How nice to see you!”

  “You, too, Aggie. Will you tell Daddy we’re here?”

  “Of course.” She looked at Thorby.

  “Oh,” said Leda. “I forgot. This is Rudbek of Rudbek.”

  Aggie jumped to her feet. “Oh, dear me! I didn’t know—I’m sorry, sir!”

  Things happened quickly. In minutes Thorby found himself with an office of quiet magnificence, with a quietly magnificent secretary who addressed him by his double-barreled title but expected him to call her “Dolores.” There seemed to be unfimited genies ready to spring out of walls at a touch of her finger.

  Leda stuck with him until he was installed, then said, “I’ll run along, since you insist on being a dull old businessman.” She looked at Dolores. “Or will it be dull? Perhaps I should stay.” But she left.

  Thorby was intoxicated with being immensely wealthy and powerful. Top executives called him “Rudbek,” junior executives called him “Rudbek of Rudbek,” and those still more junior crowded their words with “sirs”—he could judge status by how he was addressed.

  While he was not yet active in business—he saw Weemsby rarely and Judge Bruder almost never—anything he wanted appeared quickly. A word to Dolores and a respectful young man popped in to explain legal matters; another word and an operator appeared to show moving stereocolor of business interests anywhere, even on other planets. He spent days looking at such pictures, yet still did not see them all.

  His office became so swamped with books, spools, charts, brochures, presentations, file jackets, and figures, that Dolores had the office next door refitted as a library. There were figures on figures, describing in fiscal analog enterprises too vast to comprehend otherwise. There were so many figures, so intricately related, that his head ached. He began to have misgivings about the vocation of tycoon. It wasn’t all just being treated with respect, going through doors first, and always getting what you asked for. What was the point if you were so snowed under that you could not enjoy it? Being a Guardsman was easier.

  Still, it was nice to be important. Most of his life he had been nobody, and at best he had been very junior.
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br />   If only Pop could see him now!—surrounded by lavish furnishings, a barber to trim his hair while he worked (Pop used to cut it under a bowl), a secretary to anticipate his wishes, and dozens of people eager to help. But Pop’s face in this dream was wearing Pop’s reproving expression; Thorby wondered what he had done wrong, and dug harder into the mess of figures.

  Eventually a pattern began to emerge. The business was Rudbek & Associates, Ltd. So far as Thorby could tell this firm did nothing. It was chartered as a private investment trust and just owned things. Most of what Thorby would own, when his parents’ wills were proved, was stock in this company. Nor would he own it all; he felt almost poverty-stricken when he discovered that mother and father together held only eighteen percent of many thousand shares.

  Then he found out about “voting” and “non-voting”; the shares coming to him were eighteen-fortieths of the voting shares; the remainder was split between relatives and non-relatives.

  Rudbek & Assocs. owned stock in other companies—and here it got complicated. Galactic Enterprises, Galactic Acceptance Corporation, Galactic Transport, Interstellar Metals, Three Planets Fiscal (which operated on twenty-seven planets), Havermeyer Laboratories (which ran barge lines and bakeries as well as research stations)—the list looked endless. These corporations, trusts, cartels, and banking houses seemed as tangled as spaghetti. Thorby learned that he owned (through his parents) an interest in a company called “Honace Bros., Pty.” through a chain of six companies—18% of 31% of 43% of 19% of 44% of 27%, a share so microscopic that he lost track. But his parents owned directly seven per cent of Honace Brothers—with the result that his indirect interest of one-twentieth of one per cent controlled it utterly but paid little return, whereas seven per cent owned directly did not control—but paid one hundred and forty times as much.

  It began to dawn on him that control and ownership were only slightly related; he had always thought of “ownership” and “control” as being the same thing; you owned a thing, a begging bowl, or a uniform jacket—of course you controlled it!

  The converging, diverging, and crossing of corporations and companies confused and disgusted him. It was as complex as a firecontrol computer without a computer’s cool logic. He tried to draw a chart and could not make it work. The ownership of each entity was tangled in common stocks, preferred stocks, bonds, senior and junior issues, securities with odd names and unknown functions; sometimes one company owned a piece of another directly and another piece through a third, or two companies might each own a little of the other, or sometimes a company owned part of itself in a tail-swallowing fashion. It didn’t make sense.

  This wasn’t “business”—what the People did was business . . . buy, sell, make a profit. But this was a silly game with wild rules.

  Something else fretted him. He had not known that Rudbek built spaceships. Galactic Enterprises controlled Galactic Transport, which built ships in one of its many divisions. When he realized it he felt a glow of pride, then discovered gnawing uneasiness—something Colonel Brisby had said . . . something Pop had proved: that the “largest” or it might have been “one of the largest” builders of starships was mixed up in the slave trade.

  He told himself he was being silly—this beautiful office was about as far from the dirty business of slave traffic as anything could be. But as he was dropping to sleep one night he came wide awake with the black, ironic thought that one of those slave ships in whose stinking holds he had ridden might have been, at that very time, the property of the scabby, frightened slave he was then.

  It was a nightmare notion; he pushed it away. But it took the fun out of what he was doing.

  One afternoon he sat studying a long memorandum from the legal department—a summary, so it said, of Rudbek & Assocs.’ interests—and found that he had dragged to a halt. It seemed as if the writer had gone out of his way to confuse things. It would have been as intelligible in ancient Chinese—more so; Sargonese included many Mandarin words.

  He sent Dolores out and sat with his head in his hands. Why, oh, why hadn’t he been left in the Guard? He had been happy there; he had understood the world he was in.

  Then he straightened up and did something he had been putting off; he returned a vuecall from his grandparents. He had been expected to visit them long since, but he had felt compelled to try to learn his job first.

  Indeed he was welcome! “Hurry, son—we’ll be waiting.” It was a wonderful hop across prairie and the mighty Mississippi (small from that height) and over city-pocked farm land to the sleepy college town of Valley View, where sidewalks were stationary and time itself seemed slowed. His grandparents’ home, imposing for Valley View, was homey after the awesome halls of Rudbek.

  But the visit was not relaxing. There were guests at dinner, the president of the college and department heads, and many more after dinner—some called him “Rudbek of Rudbek,” others addressed him uncertainly as “Mr. Rudbek,” and still others, smug with misinformation as to how the nabob was addressed by familiars, simply as “Rudbek.” His grandmother twittered around, happy as only a proud hostess can be, and his grandfather stood straight and addressed him loudly as “Son.”

  Thorby did his best to be a credit to them. He soon realized that it was not what he said but the fact of talking to Rudbek that counted.

  The following night, which his grandmother reluctantly kept private, he got a chance to talk. He wanted advice.

  First information was exchanged. Thorby learned that his father, on marrying the only child of his grandfather Rudbek, had taken his wife’s family name. “It’s understandable,” Grandfather Bradley told him. “Rudbek has to have a Rudbek. Martha was heir but Creighton had to preside—board meetings and conferences and at the dinner table for that matter. I had hoped that my son would pursue the muse of history, as I have. But when this came along, what could I do but be happy for him?”

  His parents and Thorby himself had been lost as a consequence of his father’s earnest attempt to be in the fullest sense Rudbek of Rudbek—he had been trying to inspect as much of the commercial empire as possible. “Your father was always conscientious and when your Grandfather Rudbek died before your father completed his apprenticeship, so to speak, Creighton left John Weemsby in charge—John is, I suppose you know, the second husband of your other grandmother’s youngest sister Aria—and Leda, of course, is Aria’s daughter by her first marriage.”

  “No, I hadn’t known.” Thorby translated the relationships into Sisu terms . . . and reached the startling conclusion that Leda was in the other moiety!—if they had such things here, which they didn’t. And Uncle Jack—well, he wasn’t “uncle”—but how would you say it in English?

  “John had been a business secretary and factotum to your other grandfather and he was the perfect choice, of course; he knew the inner workings better than anyone, except your grandfather himself. After we got over the shock of our tragic loss we realized that the world must go on and that John could handle it as well as if he had been Rudbek himself.”

  “He’s been simply wonderful!” grandmother chirped.

  “Yes, he has. I must admit that your grandmother and I became used to a comfortable scale of living after Creighton married. College salaries are never what they should be; Creighton and Martha were very generous. Your grandmother and I might have found it difficult after we realized that our son was gone, never to come back, had not John told us not to worry. He saw to it that our benefit continued just as before.”

  “And increased it,” Grandmother Bradley added emphatically.

  “Well, yes. All the family—we think of ourselves as part of Rudbek family even though we bear a proud name of our own—all of the family have been pleased with John’s stewardship.”

  Thorby was interested in something other than “Uncle Jack’s” virtues. “You told me that we left Akka, jumping for Far-Star, and never made it? That’s a long, long way from Jubbul.”

  “I suppose it is. The College has only a small Galactovue and I must admit that it is hard to realize that what appears to be an inch or so is actually many light-years.”

  “About a hundred and seventy light-years, in this case.”

  “Let me see, how much would that be in miles?”

  “You don’t measure it that way, any more than you measure that couchomat you’re on in microns.”

  “Come now, young man, don’t be pedantic.”

  “I wasn’t being, Grandfather. I was thinking that it was a long way from where I was captured to where I was last sold. I hadn’t known it.”

  “I heard you use that term ‘sold’ once before. You must realize that it is not correct. After all, the serfdom practiced in the Sargony is not chattel slavery. It derives from the ancient Hindu guild or ‘caste’ system—a stabilized social order with mutual obligations, up and down. You must not call it ‘slavery.’ “

  “I don’t know any other word to translate the Sargonese term.”

  “I could think of several, though I don’t know Sargonese . . . it’s not a useful tongue in scholarship. But, my dear Thor, you aren’t a student of human histories and culture. Grant me a little authority in my own field.”

  “Well . . .” Thorby felt baffled. “I don’t know System English perfectly and there’s a lot of history I don’t know—there’s an awful lot of history.”

  “So there is. As I am the first to admit.”

  “But I can’t translate any better—I was sold and I was a slave!”

  “Now, Son.”

  “Don’t contradict your grandfather, dear, that’s a good boy.”

  Thorby shut up. He had already mentioned his years as a beggar—and had discovered that his grandmother was horrified, had felt that he had disgraced himself, though she did not quite say so. And he had already found that while his grandfather knew much about many things, he was just as certain of his knowledge when Thorby’s eyes had reported things differently. Thorby concluded glumly that it was part of being senior and nothing could be done about it. He listened while Grandfather Bradley discoursed on the history of the Nine Worlds. It didn’t agree with what the Sargonese believed but wasn’t too far from what Pop had taught him—other than about slavery. He was glad when the talk drifted back to the Rudbek organization. He admitted his difficulties.

“You can’t build Rome in a day, Thor.”

  “It looks as if I never would learn! I’ve been thinking about going back into the Guard.”

  His grandfather frowned. “That would not be wise.”

  “Why not, sir?”

  “If you don’t have talent for business, there are other honorable professions.”

  “Meaning the Guard isn’t?”

  “Mmm . . . your grandmother and I are philosophical pacifists. It cannot be denied that there is never a moral justification for taking human life.”

  “Never,” agreed grandmother firmly.

  Thorby wondered what Pop would think? Shucks, he knew!—Pop cut ’em down like grass to rescue a load of slaves. “What do you do when a raider jumps you?”

  “A what?”

  “A pirate. You’ve got a pirate on your tail and closing fast.”

  “Why, you run, I suppose. It’s not moral to stay and do battle. Thor, nothing is ever gained by violence.”

  “But you can’t run; he has more legs. It’s you or him.”

  “You mean ‘he.’ Then you surrender; that defeats his purpose . . . as the immortal Gandhi proved.”

  Thorby took a deep breath. “Grandfather, I’m sorry but it doesn’t defeat his purpose. You have to fight. Raiders take slaves. The proudest thing I ever did was to burn one.”

  “Eh? ‘Burn one’?”

  “Hit him with a target-seeker. Blast him out of the sky.”

  Grandmother gasped. At last his grandfather said stiffly, “Thor, I’m afraid you’ve been exposed to bad influences. Not your fault, perhaps. But you have many misconceptions, both in fact and in evaluation. Now be logical. If you ‘burned him’ as you say, how do you know he intended—again, as you say—to ‘take slaves’? What could he do with them? Nothing.”

  Thorby kept silent. It made a difference which side of the Plaza you saw a thing from . . . and if you didn’t have status, you weren’t listened to. That was a universal rule.

  Grandfather Bradley continued, “So we’ll say no more about it. On this other matter I’ll give you the advice I would give your departed father: if you feel that you have no head for trade, you don’t have to enter it. But to run away and join the Guard, like some childish romantic—no, Son! But you needn’t make up your mind for years. John is a very able regent; you don’t have a decision facing you.” He stood up. “I know, for I’ve discussed this with John, and he’s willing, in all humility, to carry the burden a little farther . . . or much farther, if need be. And now we had all better seek our pillows. Morning comes early.”

  Thor left the next morning, with polite assurances that the house was his—which made him suspect that it was. He went to Rudbek City, having reached a decision during a restless night. He wanted to sleep with a live ship around him. He wanted to be back in Pop’s outfit; being a billionaire boss wasn’t his style.

  He had to do something first; dig out those papers that father and mother had signed, compare them with the ones prepared for him—since father must have known what was needed—sign them, so that Uncle Jack could get on with the work after he was gone. Grandfather was right about that; John Weemsby knew how to do the job and he didn’t. He should be grateful to Uncle Jack. He would thank him before he left. Then off Terra and out to where people talked his language!

  He buzzed Uncle Jack’s office as soon as he reached his own, was told that he was out of town. He decided that he could write a note and make it sound better—oh yes! Must say good-by to Leda. So he buzzed the legal department and told them to dig his parents’ authorizations out of the vault and send them to his office.

  Instead of papers, Judge Bruder arrived. “Rudbek, what’s this about your ordering certain papers from the vault?”

  Thorby explained. “I want to see them.”

  “No one but officers of the company can order papers from the vault.”

  “What am I?”

  “I’m afraid you are a young man with confused notions. In time, you will have authority. But at the moment you are a visitor, learning something about your parents’ affairs.”

  Thorby swallowed it; it was true, no matter how it tasted. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What’s the progress in the court action to have my parents declared dead?”

  “Are you trying to bury them?”

  “Of course not. But it has to be done, or so Uncle Jack says. So where are we?”

  Bruder sniffed. “Nowhere. Through your doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Young man, do you think that the officers of this company will initiate a process which would throw affairs of the firm into incredible confusion unless you take necessary steps to guard against it? Why, it may take years to settle the wills—during which, business would come to a stop . . . simply because you neglected to sign a few simple instruments which I prepared weeks ago.”

  “You mean nothing will be done until I sign?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I don’t understand. Suppose I were dead—or had never been born. Does business stop every time a Rudbek dies?”

  “Mmm . . . well, no. A court authorizes matters to proceed. But you are here and we must take that into consideration. Now see here, I’m at the end of my patience. You seem to think, simply because you’ve read a few balance sheets, that you understand business. You don’t. For example your belief that you can order instruments turned over to you that were given to John Weemsby personally and are not even company property. If you were to attempt to take charge of the firm at this time—if we proceeded with your notion to have your parents declared dead—I can see that we would have all sorts of confusion while you were finding your balance. We can’t afford it. The company can’t afford it. Rudbek can’t afford it. So I want those papers signed today and no more shilly-shallying. You understand?”

  Thorby lowered his head. “I won’t.”

  “What do you mean, ‘You won’t’?”

  “I won’t sign anything until I know what I’m doing. If I can’t even see the papers my parents signed, then I certainly won’t.”

  “We’ll see about that!”

  “I’m going to sit tight until I find out what’s going on around here!”

  CHAPTER 19

  Thorby discovered that finding out was difficult. Things went on much as before but were not the same. He had vaguely suspected that the help he was being given in learning the business had sometimes been too much not well enough organized; he felt smothered in unrelated figures, verbose and obscure “summaries,” “analyses” that did not analyze. But he had known so little that it took time to become even a suspicion.

  The suspicion became certainty from the day he defied Judge Bruder. Dolores seemed eager as ever and people still hopped when he spoke but the lavish flow of information trickled toward a stop. He was stalled with convincing excuses but could never quite find out what he wanted to know. A “survey is being prepared” or the man who “has charge of that is out of the city” or “those are vault files and none of the delegated officers are in today.” Neither Judge Bruder nor Uncle Jack was ever available and their assistants were politely unhelpful. Nor was he able to corner Uncle Jack at the estate. Leda told him that “Daddy often has to go away on trips.”

  Things began to be confused in his own office. Despite the library Dolores had set up she could not seem to find, or even recall, papers that he had marked for retention. Finally he lost his temper and bawled her out.

  She took it quietly. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m trying very hard.”

  Thorby apologized. He knew a slow-down when he saw one; he had checked enough stevedores to know. But this poor creature could not help herself; he was lashing out at the wrong person. He added placatingly, “I really am sorry. Take the day off.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t, sir.”

  “Who says so? Go home.”

  “I’d rather not, sir.”

  “Well . . . suit yourself. But go lie down in the ladies’ lounge or something. That’s an order. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She looked worried and left. Thorby sat at his chaste, bare, unpowered executive desk and thought.

  It was what he needed: to be alone without a flood of facts and figures. He started digesting what he had soaked up.

Presently he started listing the results.

  Item: Judge Bruder and Uncle Jack had put him in Coventry for refusing to sign the proxies.

  Item: He might be “Rudbek of Rudbek”—but Uncle Jack would continue to run things until Thorby’s parents were legally dead.

  Item: Judge Bruder had told him bluntly that no steps would be taken about the above until he admitted his incompetence and signed proxies.

  Item: He did not know what his parents had signed. He had tried to force a showdown—and had failed.

  Item: “Ownership” and “control” were very different. Uncle Jack controlled everything that Thorby owned; Uncle Jack owned merely a nominal one share to qualify him as acting chairman of the board. (Leda owned a chunk as she was a Rudbek while Uncle Jack wasn’t—but Uncle Jack probably controlled her stock too; Leda paid no attention to business.)

  Conclusions:—

  What conclusions? Was Uncle Jack doing something crooked and didn’t dare let him find out? Well, it didn’t look like it. Uncle Jack had salary and bonuses so large that only a miser would want more money simply as money. His parents’ accounts seemed in order—they showed a huge balance; the megabuck Uncle Jack had handed him hardly made a dent. The only other withdrawals were for Grandfather and Grandmother Bradley, plus a few sums around the family or charged to the estates—nothing important, another couple of megabucks.

  Conclusion: Uncle Jack was boss, liked being boss, and meant to go on being boss if possible.

  “Status” . . . Uncle Jack had high status and was fighting to keep it. Thorby felt that he understood him at last. Uncle Jack put up with the overwork he complained about because he liked being boss—just as captains and chief officers worked themselves silly, even though every member of a Free Trader family owned the same share. Uncle Jack was “chief officer” and didn’t intend to surrender his supreme status to someone a third his age who (let’s face it!) wasn’t competent for the work the status required.

  In this moment of insight Thorby felt that he ought to sign those proxies for Uncle Jack, who had earned the job whereas Thorby had merely inherited it. Uncle Jack must have been terribly disappointed when he had turned up alive; it must have seemed an utterly unfair twist of fate.

  Well, let him have it! Settle things and join the Guard.

  But Thorby was not ready to back down to Judge Bruder. He had been pushed around—and his strongest reflex was resistance to any authority he had not consented to; it had been burned into his soul with whips. He did not know this—he just knew that he was going to be stubborn. He decided that Pop would want him to be.

  Thought of Pop reminded him of something. Was Rudbek connected, even indirectly, with the slave trade? He realized now why Pop wanted him to hang on—he could not quit until he knew . . . nor until he had put a stop to it if the unspeakable condition did exist. But how could he find out? He was Rudbek of Rudbek . . . but they had him tied with a thousand threads, like the fellow in that story Pop had told . . . “Gulliver and his Starship,” that was it.

  Well, let’s see, Pop had reported to “X” Corps that there was a tie-up among some big spaceship outfit, the Sargon’s government, and the raider-slavetraders. Raiders had to have ships. Ships . . . there was a book he had read last week, Galactic Transport’s history of every ship they had built, from #0001 to the latest. He went into his library. Hmm . . . tall red book, not a tape.

  Confounded thing was missing . . . like a lot of things lately. But he had almost renshawed the book, being interested in ships. He started making notes.

  Most of them were in service inside the Hegemony, some in Rudbek interests, some in others. Some of his ships had been sold to the People, a pleasing thought. But some had wound up registered to owners he could not place . . . and yet he thought he knew the names, at least, of all outfits engaged in legitimate interstellar trade under the Hegemony—and he certainly would recognize any Free Trader clan.

  No way to be sure of anything from his desk, even if he had the book. Maybe there was no way, from Terra . . . maybe even Judge Bruder and Uncle Jack would not know if something fishy were going on.

  He got up and switched on the Galactovue he had had installed. It showed only the explored fraction of the Galaxy—even so, the scale was fantastically small.

  He began operating controls. First he lighted in green the Nine Worlds. Then he added, in yellow, pestholes avoided by the People. He lighted up the two planets between which he and his parents had been captured, then did the same for every missing ship of the People concerning which he happened to know the span of the uncompleted jump.

  The result was a constellation of colored lights, fairly close together as star distances go and in the same sector as the Nine Worlds. Thorby looked at it and whistled. Pop had known what he was talking about—yet it would be hard to spot unless displayed like this.

  He began thinking about cruising ranges and fueling stations maintained by Galactic Transport out that way . . . then added in orange the banking offices of Galactic Acceptance Corporation in the “neighborhood.”

  Then he studied it.

  It was not certain proof—yet what other outfit maintained such activities facing that sector? He intended to find out.

  CHAPTER 20

  Thorby found that Leda had ordered dinner in the garden. They were alone, and falling snow turned the artificial sky into an opalescent bowl. Candles, flowers, a string trio, and Leda herself made the scene delightful but Thorby failed to enjoy it, even though he liked Leda and considered the garden the best part of Rudbek Hall. The meal was almost over when Leda said, “A dollar for your thoughts.”

  Thorby looked guilty. “Uh, nothing.”

  “It must be a worrisome nothing.”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “Want to tell Leda?”

  Thorby blinked. Weemsby’s daughter was the last one he could talk to. His gloom was caused by wonder as to what he could do if he became convinced that Rudbek was mixed up in slavery. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a businessman.”

  “Why, Daddy says you have a surprising head for figures.”

  Thorby snorted. “Then why doesn’t he—” He stopped.

  “Why doesn’t he what?”

  “Uh . . .” Doggone it, a man had to talk to somebody . . . someone who sympathized—or bawled him out if necessary. Like Pop. Like Fritz. Yeah, like Colonel Brisby. He was surrounded by people, yet utterly alone—except that Leda seemed to want to be friendly. “Leda, how much of what I say to you do you tell your father?”

  To his amazement she blushed. “What made you say that, Thor?”

  “Well, you are pretty close to him. Aren’t you?”

  She stood up suddenly. “If you’ve finished, let’s walk.”

  Thorby stood up. They strolled paths, watched the storm, listened to its soft noises against the dome. She guided them to a spot away from the house and shielded by bushes and there sat down on a boulder. “This is a good spot—for private conversation.”

  “It is?”

  “When the garden was wired, I made sure that there was somewhere I could be kissed without Daddy’s snoopers listening in.”

  Thorby stared. “You mean that?”

  “Surely you realize you are monitored almost everywhere but the ski slopes?”

  “I didn’t. And I don’t like it.”

  “Who does? But it is a routine precaution with anything as big as Rudbek; you mustn’t blame Daddy. I just spent some credits to make sure the garden wasn’t as well wired as he thought. So if you have anything to say you don’t want Daddy to hear, you can talk now. He’ll never know. That’s a cross-my-heart promise.”

  Thorby hesitated, then checked the area. He decided that if a microphone were hidden nearby it must be disguised as a flower . . . which was possible. “Maybe I ought to save it for the ski slope.”

  “Relax, dear. If you trust me at all, trust me that this place is safe.”

  “Uh, all right.” He found himself blurting out his frustrations . . . his conclusion that Uncle Jack was intentionally thwarting him unless he would turn over his potential power. Leda listened gravely. “That’s it. Now

—am I crazy?”

  She said, “Thor, you know that Daddy has been throwing me at you?”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t see how you could miss it. Unless you are utterly—but then, perhaps you are. Just take it as true. It’s one of those obvious marriages that everyone is enthusiastic about . . . except maybe the two most concerned.”

  Thorby forgot his worries in the face of this amazing statement. “You mean . . . well, uh, that you—” He trailed off.

  “Heavens, dear! If I intended to go through with it, would I have told you anything? Oh, I admit I promised, before you arrived, to consider it. But you never warmed to the idea—and I’m too proud to be willing under those circumstances even if the preservation of Rudbek depended on it. Now what’s this about Daddy not letting you see the proxies that Martha and Creighton gave him?”

  “They won’t let me see them; I won’t sign until they do.”

  “But you’ll sign if they do?”

  “Uh . . . maybe I will, eventually. But I want to see what arrangements my parents made.”

  “I can’t see why Daddy opposes such a reasonable request. Unless . . .” She frowned.

  “Unless what?”

  “What about your shares? Have those been turned over to you?”

  “What shares?”

  “Why, yours. You know what shares I hold. They were given to me when I was born, by Rudbek—your grandfather, I mean. My uncle. You probably got twice as many, since you were expected to become the Rudbek someday.”

  “I haven’t any shares.”

  She nodded grimly. “That’s one reason Daddy and the Judge don’t want you to see those papers. Our personal shares don’t depend on anyone; they’re ours to do as we please with, since we are both legal age. Your parents voted yours, just as Daddy still votes mine—but any proxy they assigned concerning your shares can’t be any good now. You can pound the desk and they’ll have to cough up, or shoot you.” She frowned. “Not that they would shoot. Thor, Daddy is a good sort, most ways.”

  “I never said he wasn’t.”

  “I don’t love him but I’m fond of him. But when it comes down to it, I’m a Rudbek and he’s not. That’s silly, isn’t it? Because we Rudbeks aren’t anything special; we’re just shrewd peasants. But I’ve got a worry, too. You remember Joel de la Croix?”

“He’s the one that wanted an interview with me?”

  “That’s right. Joey doesn’t work here any more.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “He was a rising star in the engineering department of Galactic—didn’t you know? The office says he left to accept other employment; Joey says he was fired for going over their heads to speak to you.” She frowned. “I didn’t know what to believe. Now I believe Joey. Well, Thor, are you going to take it lying down? Or prove that you are Rudbek of Rudbek?”

  Thorby chewed his lip. “I’d like to go back into the Guard and forget the whole mess. I used to wonder what it was like to be rich. Now I am and it turns out to be mostly headaches.”

  “So you’d walk out on it?” Her voice was faintly scornful.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m going to stay and find out what goes on. Only I don’t know how to start. You think I should pound Uncle Jack’s desk and demand my shares?”

  “Unnh . . . not without a lawyer at your side.”

  “There are too many lawyers in this now!”

  “That’s why you need one. It will take a sharp one to win a scrap with Judge Bruder.”

  “How do I find one?”

  “Goodness, I don’t use lawyers. But I can find out. Now let’s stroll and chat—in case anybody is interested.”

  Thorby spent a glum morning studying corporation law. Just past lunch Leda called. “Thor, how about taking me skiing? The storm is over and the snow is just right.” She looked at him eagerly.

  “Well—”

  “Oh, come on!”

  He went. They said nothing until they were far from the house. Then Leda said, “The man you need is James J. Garsch, New Washington.”

  “I thought that must be why you called. Do you want to ski? I’d like to go back and call him.”

  “Oh, my!” she shook her head sadly. “Thor, I may have to marry you just to mother you. You go back to the house and call a lawyer outside Rudbek—one whose reputation is sky-high. What happens?”

  “What?”

  “You might wake up in a quiet place with big muscular nurses around you. I’ve had a sleepless night and I’m convinced they mean business. So I had to make up my mind. I was willing for Daddy to run things forever . . . but if he fights dirty, I’m on your side.”

  “Thanks, Leda.”

  ” ‘Thanks’ he says! Thor, this is for Rudbek. Now to business. You can’t grab your hat and go to New Washington to retain a lawyer. If I know Judge Bruder, he has planned what to do if you try. But you can go look at some of your estate . . . starting with your house in New Washington.”

  “That’s smart, Leda.”

  “I’m so smart I dazzle myself. If you want it to look good, you’ll invite me along—Daddy has told me that I ought to show you around.”

  “Why, sure, Leda. If it won’t be too much trouble.”

  “I’ll simply force myself. We’ll actually do some sightseeing, in the Department of North America, at least. The only thing that bothers me is how to get away from the guards.”

  “Guards?”

  “Nobody high up in Rudbek ever travels without bodyguards. Why, you’d be run ragged by reporters and crackpots.”

  “I think,” Thorby said slowly, “that you must be mistaken in my case. I went to see my grandparents. There weren’t any guards.”

  “They specialize in being unobtrusive. I’ll bet there were always at least two in your grandmother’s house while you were there. See that solitary skier? Long odds he’s not skiing for fun. So we have to find a way to get them off your neck while you look up Counselor Garsch. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

  Thorby was immensely interested in the great capital but still more interested in getting on with his purpose. Leda did not let him hurry. “First we sight-see. We naturally would.”

  The house, simple compared with Rudbek—twenty rooms, only two of them large—was as ready as if he had stepped out the day before. Two of the servants he recognized as having been at Rudbek. A ground car, with driver and footman in Rudbek livery, was waiting. The driver seemed to know where to take them; they rode around in the semi-tropic winter sunshine and Leda pointed out planetary embassies and consulates. When they passed the immense pile which is headquarters of the Hegemonic Guard, Thorby had the driver slow down while he rubbernecked. Leda said, “That’s your alma mater, isn’t it?” Then she whispered, “Take a good look. The building opposite its main door is where you are going.”

  They got out at the Replica Lincoln Memorial, walked up the steps and felt the same hushed awe that millions have felt when looking at that brooding giant figure. Thorby had a sudden feeling that the statue looked like Pop—not that it did—but still it did. His eyes filled with tears.

  Leda whispered, “This place always gets me—it’s like a haunted church. You know who he was? He founded America. Ancient history is awesome.”

  “He did something else.”

  “What?”

  “He freed slaves.”

  “Oh.” She looked up with sober eyes. “That means something special to you . . . doesn’t it?”

  “Very special.” He considered telling Leda his strongest reason for pushing the fight, since they were alone and this was a place that wouldn’t be bugged. But he couldn’t. He felt that Pop would not mind—but he had promised Colonel Brisby.

  He puzzled over inscriptions on the walls, in letters and spelling used before English became System English. Leda tugged his sleeve and whispered, “Come on. I can never stay here long or I start crying.” They tiptoed away.

  Leda decided that she just had to see the show at the Milky Way. So they got out and she told the driver to pick them up in three hours and ten minutes, then Thorby paid outrageous scalpers’ prices for a double booth and immediate occupancy.

  “There!” she sighed as they started inside. “That’s half of it. The footman will drop off as they round the corner, but we’re rid of the driver for a while; there isn’t a place to park around here. But the footman will be right behind us, if he wants to keep his job. He’s buying a ticket this minute. Or maybe he’s already inside. Don’t look.”

  They started up the escalator. “This gives us a few seconds; he won’t get on until we curve out of sight. Now listen. The people holding these seats will leave as soon as we show the tickets—only I’m going to hang onto one, pay him to stay. Let’s hope it’s a man because our nursemaid is going to spot that booth in minutes . . . seconds, if he was able to get our booth number down below. You keep going. When he finds our booth he’ll see me in it with a man. He won’t see the man’s face in the dark but he’ll be certain of me because of this outlandish, night-glow outfit I’m wearing. So he’ll be happy. You zip out any exit but the main lobby; the driver will probably wait there. Try to be in the outer lobby a few minutes before the time I told them to have the car. If you don’t make it, hire a flea-cab and go home. I’ll complain aloud that you didn’t like the show and went home.”

  Thorby decided that the “X” Corps had missed a bet in Leda. “Won’t they report that they lost track of me?”

  “They’ll be so relieved they’ll never breathe it. Here we are—keep moving. See you!”

  Thorby went out a side exit, got lost, got straightened out by a cop, at last found the building across from Guard SHQ. The building directory showed that Garsch had offices on the 34th terrace; a few minutes later he faced a receptionist whose mouth was permanently pursed in “No.”

  She informed him frostily that the Counselor never saw anyone except by appointment. Did he care to make an inquiry appointment with one of the Counselor’s associates? “Name, please!”

  Thorby glanced around, the room was crowded. She slapped a switch. “Speak up!” she snapped. “I’ve turned on the privacy curtain.”

  “Please tell Mr. Garsch that Rudbek of Rudbek would like to see him.”

  Thorby thought that she was about to tell him not to tell fibs. Then she got up hastily and left.

  She came back and said quietly, “The Counselor can give you five minutes. This way, sir.”

  James J. Garsch’s private office was in sharp contrast with building and suite; he himself looked like an unmade bed. He wore trousers, not tights, and his belly bulged over his belt. He had not sh

aved that day; his grizzled beard matched the fringe around his scalp. He did not stand up. “Rudbek?”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. James J. Garsch?”

  “The same. Identification? Seems to me I saw your face in the news but I don’t recollect.”

  Thorby handed over his ID folder. Garsch glanced at the public ID, studied the rare and more difficult-to-counterfeit ID of Rudbek & Assocs.

  He handed it back. “Siddown. What can I do for you?”

  “I need advice . . . and help.”

  “That’s what I sell. But Bruder has lawyers running out of his ears. What can I do for you?”

  “Uh, is this confidential?”

  “Privileged, son. The word is ‘privileged.’ You don’t ask a lawyer that; he’s either honest or he ain’t. Me, I’m middlin’ honest. You take your chances.”

  “Well . . . it’s a long story.”

  “Then make it short. You talk. I listen.”

  “You’ll represent me?”

  “You talk, I listen,” Garsch repeated. “Maybe I’ll go to sleep. I ain’t feeling my best today. I never do.”

  “All right.” Thorby launched into it. Garsch listened with eyes closed, fingers laced over his bulge.

  “That’s all,” concluded Thorby, “except that I’m anxious to get straightened out so that I can go back into the Guard.”

  Garsch for the first time showed interest. “Rudbek of Rudbek? In the Guard? Let’s not be silly, son.”

  “But I’m not really ‘Rudbek of Rudbek.’ I’m an enlisted Guardsman who got pitched into it by circumstances beyond my control.”

  “I knew that part of your story; the throb writers ate it up. But we all got circumstances we can’t control. Point is, a man doesn’t quit his job. Not when it’s his.”

  “It’s not mine,” Thorby answered stubbornly.

  “Let’s not fiddle. First, we get your parents declared dead. Second, we demand their wills and proxies. If they make a fuss, we get a court order . . . and even the mighty Rudbek folds up under a simple subpoena-or-be-locked-up-for-contempt.” He bit a fingernail. “Might be some time before the estate is settled and you are qualified. Court might appoint you to act, or the wills may say who, or the court might appoint somebody else. But it won’t be those two, if what you say is correct. Even one of Bruder’s pocket judges wouldn’t dare; it would be too raw and he’d know he’d be reversed.”

  “But what can I do if they won’t even start the action to have my parents declared dead?”

  “Who told you you had to wait on them? You’re the interested party; they might not even qualify as amicus curiae. If I recall the gossip, they’re hired hands, qualified with one nominal share each. You’re the number-one interested party, so you start the action. Other relatives? First cousins, maybe?”

  “No first cousins. I don’t know what other heirs there may be. There’s my grandparents Bradley.”

  “Didn’t know they were alive. Will they fight you?”

  Thorby started to say no, changed his mind. “I don’t know.”

  “Cross it when we come to it. Other heirs . . . well, we won’t know till we get a squint at the wills—and that probably won’t happen until a court forces them. Any objection to hypnotic evidence? Truth drugs? Lie detectors?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re the best witness that they are dead, not just long time missing.”

  “But if a person is missing long enough?”

  “Depends. Any term of years is just a guide to the court, not a rule of law. Time was when seven years would do it—but that’s no longer true. Things are roomier now.”

  “How do we start?”

  “Got any money? Or have they got you hogtied on that? I come high. I usually charge for each exhale and inhale.”

  “Well, I’ve got a megabuck . . . and a few thousand more. About eight.”

  “Hmm . . . Haven’t said I’d take this case. Has it occurred to you that your life may be in danger?”

  “Huh! No, it hasn’t.”

  “Son, people do odd things for money, but they’ll do still more drastic things for power over money. Anybody sittin’ close to a billion credits is in danger; it’s like keeping a pet rattlesnake. If I were you and started feeling ill, I’d pick my own doctor. I’d be cautious about going through doors and standing close to open windows.” He thought. “Rudbek is not a good place for you now; don’t tempt them. Matter of fact, you ought not to be here. Belong to the Diplomatic Club?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You do now. People ‘ud be surprised if you didn’t. I’m often there, around six. Got a room there, sort of private. Twenty eleven.”

  ” ‘Twenty eleven.’ “

  “I still haven’t said I’d take it. Got any idea what I’d have to do if I lose this case?”

  “Eh? No, sir.”

  “What was that place you mentioned? Jubbulpore? That’s where I’d have to move.” Suddenly he grinned. “But I’ve been spoiling for a fight. Rudbek, eh? Bruder. You mentioned a megabuck?”

  Thorby got out his book of checking certificates, passed them over. Garsch riffled through it, shoved it into a drawer. “We won’t convert this now; they’re almost certainly noting your withdrawals. Anyhow, it’s going to cost you more. G’bye. Say in a couple of days.”

  Thorby left, feeling bucked up. He had never met a more mercenary, predatory old man—he reminded Thorby of the old, scarred freedmen professionals who swaggered around the New Amphitheater.

  As he came outdoors he saw Guard Headquarters. He looked again—then ducked through murderous traffic and ran up its steps.

  CHAPTER 21

  Thorby found a circle of receptionist booths around the great foyer. He pushed through crowds pouring out and went into one. A contralto voice said, “Punch your name. State department and office into the microphone. Wait until the light appears, then state your business. You are reminded that working hours are over and only emergencies are now handled.”

  Thorby punched, “Thorby Baslim,” into the machine, then said, “Exotic Corps.”

  He waited. The tape repeated, “Punch your name. State the department and office into—” It suddenly cut off. A man’s voice said, “Repeat that.”

  “Exotic Corps.”

  “Business?”

  “Better check my name in your files.”

  At last another female voice chanted, “Follow the light immediately over your head. Do not lose it.”

  He followed it up escalators, down slideways, and into an unmarked door, where a man not in uniform led him through two more. He faced another man in civilian clothes who stood up and said, “Rudbek of Rudbek. I am Wing Marshal Smith.”

  “Thorby Baslim, please, sir. Not ‘Rudbek.’ “

  “Names aren’t important but identities are. Mine isn’t ‘Smith,’ but it will do. I suppose you have identification?”

  Thorby produced his ID again. “You probably have my fingerprints.”

  “They’ll be here in a moment. Do you mind supplying them again?”

  While Thorby had his prints taken, a print file card popped out onto the Marshal’s desk. He put both sets into a comparator, seemed to pay no attention but until it flashed green he spoke only politenesses.

  Then he said, “All right, Thorby Baslim . . . Rudbek. What can I do for you?”

  “Maybe it’s what I can do for you?”

  “So?”

  “I came here for two reasons,” Thorby stated. “The first is, I think I can add something to Colonel Baslim’s final report. You know who I mean?”

  “I knew him and admired him very much. Go on.”

  “The second is—I’d like to go back into the Guard and go ‘X’ Corps.” Thorby couldn’t recall when he had decided this, but he had—not just Pop’s oufit, Pop’s own corps. Pop’s work.

  “Smith” raised his brows. “So? Rudbek of Rudbek?”

  “I’m getting that fixed.” Thorby sketched rapidly how he must settle his parents’ estate, arrange for handling of their affairs. “Then I’m free. I know it’s presumptuous of an acting ordnanceman third class—no, I was busted from that; I had a fight—for a boot Guardsman to talk about ‘X’ Corps, but I think I’ve got things you could use. I know the People . . . the Free Traders, I mean. I speak several languages. I know how to behave in the Nine Worlds. I’ve been around a bit, not much and I’m no astrogator . . . but I’ve traveled a littl

e. But besides that, I’ve seen how Pop—Colonel Baslim—worked. Maybe I could do some of it.”

  “You have to love this work to do it. Lots of times it’s nasty . . . things a man wouldn’t do, for his own self-respect, if he didn’t think it was necessary.”

  “But I do! Uh, I was a slave. You knew that? Maybe it would help if a man knew how a slave feels.”

  “Perhaps. Though it might make you too emotional. Besides, slave traffic isn’t all we are interested in. A man comes here, we don’t promise him certain work. He does what he’s told. We use him. We usually use him up. Our casualty rate is high.”

  “I’ll do what I’m told. I just happen to be interested in the slave traffic. Why, most people here don’t seem to know it exists.”

  “Most of what we deal in the public wouldn’t believe. Can you expect the people you see around you to take seriously unbelievable stories about far-away places? You must remember that less than one percent of the race ever leaves its various planets of birth.”

  “Uh, I suppose so. Anyhow they don’t believe it.”

  “That’s not our worst handicap. The Terran Hegemony is no empire; it is simply leadership in a loose confederation of planets. The difference between what the Guard could do and what it is allowed to do is very frustrating. If you have come here thinking that you will see slavery abolished in your lifetime, disabuse your mind. Our most optimistic target date is two centuries away—and by that time slavery will have broken out in planets not even discovered today. Not a problem to be solved once and for all. A continuing process.”

  “All I want to know is, can I help?”

  “I don’t know. Not because you describe yourself as a junior enlisted man . . . we’re all pretty much the same rank in this place. The Exotic Corps is an idea, not an organization chart. I’m not worried about what Thorby Baslim can do; he can do something, even if it’s only translating. But Rudbek of Rudbek . . . mmm, I wonder.”

  “But I told you I was getting rid of that!”

  “Well—let’s wait until you have. By your own statement you are not presenting yourself for enrollment today. What about the other reason? Something to add to Colonel Baslim’s report?”

Thorby hesitated. “Sir, Colonel Brisby, my CO., told me that P— Colonel Baslim had proved a connection between the slave trade and some big starship-building outfit.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes, sir. You could look it up in Colonel Baslim’s report.”

  “I don’t need to. Go on.”

  “Well . . . is it Rudbek he was talking about? Galactic Transport, that is?”

  “Smith” considered it. “Why ask me if your company is mixed up in slave trade? You tell us.”

  Thorby frowned. “Is there a Galactovue around here?”

  “Down the hall.”

  “May I use it?”

  “Why not?” The Wing Marshal led him through a private corridor into a conference room dominated by a star-flecked stereo display. It was much the biggest Thorby had ever seen.

  He had to ask questions; it had complicated controls. Then he got to work. His face puckering with strain, Thorby painted in colored lights amid fairy stars the solid picture he had built in the Galactovue in his office. He did not explain and the officer watched in silence. Thorby stepped back at last. “That’s all I know now.”

  “You missed a few.” The Wing Marshal added some lights in yellow, some in red, then working slowly, added half a dozen missing ships. “But that’s quite a feat to do from memory and a remarkable concatenation of ideas. I see you included yourself—maybe it does help to have a personal interest.” He stepped back. “Well, Baslim, you asked a question. Are you ready to answer it?”

  “I think Galactic Transport is in it up to here! Not everybody, but enough key people. Supplying ships. And repairs and fuel. Financing, maybe.”

  “Mmm . . .”

  “Is all this physically possible otherwise?”

  “You know what they would say if you accused them of slave trading—”

  “Not the trade itself. At least I don’t think so.”

  “Connected with it. First they would say that they had never heard of any slave trade, or that it was just a wild rumor. Then they would say that, in any case, they just sell ships—and is a hardware dealer who sells a knife responsible if a husband carves his wife?”

  “The cases aren’t parallel.”

  “They wouldn’t concede that. They would say that they were not breaking any laws and even stipulating that there might be slavery somewhere, how can you expect people to get worked up over a possible evil light-years away? In which they are correct; you can’t expect people to, because they won’t. Then some smarmy well-dressed character will venture the opinion that slavery—when it existed—was not so bad, because a large part of the population is really happier if they don’t have the responsibilities of a free man. Then he’ll add that if they didn’t sell ships, someone else would—it’s just business.”

  Thorby thought of nameless little Thorbys out there in the dark, crying hopelessly with fear and loneliness and hurt, in the reeking holds of slavers—ships that might be his. “One stroke of the lash would change his slimy mind!”

  “Surely. But we’ve abolished the lash here. Sometimes I wonder if we should have.” He looked at the display. “I’m going to record this; it has facets not yet considered together. Thanks for coming in. If you get more ideas, come in again.”

  Thorby realized that his notion of joining the corps had not been taken seriously. “Marshal Smith . . . there’s one other thing I might do.”

  “What?”

  “Before I join, if you let me . . . or maybe after; I don’t know how you do such things . . . I could go out as Rudbek of Rudbek, in my own ship, and check those places—the red ones, ours. Maybe the boss can dig out things that a secret agent would have trouble getting close to.”

  “Maybe. But you know that your father started to make an inspection trip once. He wasn’t lucky in it.” Smith scratched his chin. “We’ve never quite accounted for that one. Until you showed up alive, we assumed that it was natural disaster. A yacht with three passengers, a crew of eight and no cargo doesn’t look like worthwhile pickings for bandits in business for profit—and they generally know what they’re doing.”

  Thorby was shocked. “Are you suggesting that—”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. But bosses prying into employees’ sidelines have, in other times and places, burned their fingers. And your father was certainly checking.”

  “About the slave trade?”

  “I couldn’t guess. Inspecting. In that area. I’ve got to excuse myself. But do come see me again . . . or phone and someone will come to you.”

  “Marshal Smith . . . what parts of this, if any, can be talked over with other people?”

  “Eh? Any of it. As long as you don’t attribute it to this corps, or to the Guard. But facts as you know them—” He shrugged. “—who will believe you? Although if you talk to your business associates about your suspicions, you may arouse strong feelings against you personally . . . some of those feelings sincere and honest. The others? I wish I knew.”

  Thorby was so late that Leda was both vexed and bursting with curiosity. But she had to contain it not only because of possible monitoring but because of an elderly aunt who had called to pay her respects to Rudbek of Rudbek, and was staying the night. It was not until next day, while examining Aztec relics in the Fifth of May Museum, that they were able to talk.

  Thorby recounted what Garsch had said, then decided to tell more. “I looked into rejoining the Guard yesterday.”

  “Thor!”

  “Oh, I’m not walking out. But I have a reason. The Guard is the only organization trying to put a stop to slave traffic. But that is all the more reason why I can’t enlist now.” He outlined his suspicions about Rudbek and the traffic.

  Her face grew pale. “Thor, that’s the most horrible idea I ever heard. I can’t believe it.”

  “I’d like to prove it isn’t true. But somebody builds their ships, somebody maintains them. Slavers are not engineers; they’re parasites.”

  “I still have trouble believing that there is such a thing as slavery.”

  He shrugged. “Ten lashes will convince anybody.”

  “Thor! You don’t mean they whipped you?”

  “I don’t remember clearly. But the scars are on my back.”

  She was very quiet on the way home.

  Thorby saw Garsch once more, then they headed for the Yukon, in company with the elderly aunt, who had somehow attached herself. Garsch had papers for Thorby to sign and two pieces of information. “The first action has to be at Rudbek, because that was the legal residence of your parents. The other thing is, I did some digging in newspaper files.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your grandfather did give you a healthy block of stock. It was in stories about the whoop-te-do when you were born. The Bourse Journal listed the shares by serial numbers. So we’ll hit ’em with that, too—on the same day. Don’t want one to tip off the other.”

  “You’re the doctor.”

  “But I don’t want you in Rudbek until the clerk shouts ‘Oyez!’ Here’s a mail-drop you can use to reach me . . . even phone through, if you have to. And right smartly you set up a way for me to reach you.”

  Thorby puzzled over that requirement, being hemmed in as he was by bodyguards. “Why don’t you, or somebody—a young man, maybe—phone my cousin with a code message? People are always phoning her and most of them are young men. She’ll tell me and I’ll find a place to phone back.”

  “Good idea. He’ll ask if she knows how many shopping days are left till Christmas. All right—see you in court.” Garsch grinned. “This is going to be fun. And very, very expensive for you. G’bye.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Have a nice vacation?” Uncle Jack smiled at him. “You’ve led us quite a chase. You shouldn’t do that, boy.”

  Thorby wanted to hit him but, although the guards let go his arms when they shoved him into the room, his wrists were tied.

  Uncle Jack stopped smiling and glanced at Judge Bruder. “Thor, you’ve never appreciated that Judge Bruder and I worked for your father, and for your grandfather. Naturally we know what’s best. But you’ve given us trouble and now we’ll show you how we handle little boys who don’t appreciate decent treatment. We teach them. Ready, Judge?”

  Judge Bruder smiled savagely and took the whip from behind him. “Bend him over the desk!”

  Thorby woke up gasping. Whew, a bad one! He looked around the small hotel room he was in and tried to remember where he was. For days he had moved daily, sometimes half around the planet. He had become sophisticated in the folkways of this planet, enough not to attract attention, and even had a new ID card, quite as good as a real one. It had not been difficult, once he realized that underworlds were much the same everywhere.

  He remembered now—this was America de Sud.

  The bed alarm sounded—just midnight, time to leave. He dressed and glanced at his baggage, decided to abandon it. He walked down the backstairs, out the back way.

  Aunt Lizzie had not liked the Yukon cold but she put up with it. Eventually someone called and reminded Leda that there were few shopping days to Christmas, so they left. At Uranium City Thorby managed to return the call. Garsch grinned. “I’ll see you in the district court in-and-for the county of Rudbek, division four, at nine-fifty-nine the morning of January fourth. Now get lost completely.”

  So at San Francisco Thorby and Leda had a tiff in the presence of Aunt Lizzie; Leda wanted to go to Nice, Thorby insisted on Australia. Thorby said angrily, “Keep the air car! I’ll go by myself.” He flounced out and bought a ticket for Great Sydney.

  He pulled a rather old washroom trick, tubed under the Bay, and, convinced that his bodyguard had been evaded, counted the cash Leda had slipped him as privately as they had quarreled publicly. It came to a little under two hundred thousand credits. There was a note saying that she was sorry it wasn’t more but she had not anticipated needing money.

  While waiting at the South American field Thorby counted what was left of Leda’s money and reflected that he had cut it fine, both time and money. Where did it all go?

  Photographers and reporters gave him a bad time at Rudbek city; the place swarmed with them. But he pushed through and met Garsch inside the bar at nine-fifty-eight. The old man nodded. “Siddown. Hizzoner will be out soon.”

  The judge came out and a clerk intoned the ancient promise of justice: “—draw nigh and ye shall be heard!” Garsch remarked, “Bruder has this judge on a leash.”

  “Huh? Then why are we here?”

  “You’re paying me to worry. Any judge is a good judge when he knows he’s being watched. Look behind you.”

  Thorby did so. The place was so loaded with press that a common citizen stood no chance. “I did a good job, if I do say so.” Garsch hooked a thumb at the front row. “The galoot with the big nose is the ambassador from Proxima. The old thief next to him is chairman of the judiciary committee. And—” He broke off.

  Thorby could not spot Uncle Jack but Bruder presided over the other table—he did not look at Thorby. Nor could Thorby find Leda. It made him feel very much alone. But Garsch finished opening formalities, sat down and whispered. “Message for you. Young lady says to say ‘Good luck.’ “

  Thorby was active only in giving testimony and that after many objections, counter objections, and warnings from the bench. While he was being sworn, he recognized in the front row a retired chief justice of the Hegemonic Ultimate Court who had once dined at Rudbek. Then Thorby did not notice anything, for he gave his testimony in deep trance surrounded by hypnotherapists.

  Although every point was chewed endlessly, only once did the hearing approach drama. The court sustained an objection by Bruder in such fashion that a titter of unbelief ran around the room and someone stamped his feet. The judge turned red. “Order! The bailiffs will clear the room!”

  The move to comply started, over protests of reporters. But the front two rows sat tight and stared at the judge. The High Ambassador from the Vegan League leaned toward his secretary and whispered; the secretary started slapping a Silent-Steno.

  The judge cleared his throat. “—unless this unseemly behavior ceases at once! This court will not tolerate disrespect.”

  Thorby was almost surprised when it ended: “—must therefore be conclusively presumed that Creighton Bradley Rudbek and Martha Bradley Rudbek did each die, are now dead, and furthermore did meet their ends in common disaster. May their souls rest in peace. Let it be so recorded.” The court banged his gavel. “If custodians of wills of the decedents, if wills there be, are present in this court, let them now come forward.”

  There was no hearing about Thorby’s own shares; Thorby signed a receipt for certificates thereto in the judge’s chambers. Neither Weemsby nor Bruder was present.

  Thorby took a deep breath as Garsch and he came out of chambers. “I can hardly believe that we’ve won.”

  Garsch grinned. “Don’t kid yourself. We won the first round on points. Now it begins to get expensive.”

  Thorby’s mouth sagged. Rudbek guards moved in and started taking them through the crowd.

  Garsch had not overstated it. Bruder and Weemsby sat tight, still running Rudbek & Assocs., and continued to fight. Thorby never did see his parents’ proxies—his only interest in them now was to see whether, as he suspected, the differences between the papers Bruder had prepared and those of his parents lay in the difference between “revocable” and “revocable only by mutual agreement.”

  But when the court got around to ordering them produced, Bruder claimed that they had been destroyed in routine clearing from files of expired instruments. He received a ten-day sentence for contempt, suspended, and that ended it.

  But, while Weemsby was no longer voting the shares of Martha and Creighton Rudbek, neither was Thorby; the shares were tied up while the wills were being proved. In the meantime, Bruder and Weemsby remained officers of Rudbek & Assocs., with a majority of directors backing them. Thorby was not even allowed in Rudbek Building, much less in his old office.

  Weemsby never went back to Rudbek estate; his belongings were sent to him. Thorby moved Garsch into Weemsby’s apartment. The old man slept there often; they were very busy.

  At one point Garsch told him that there were ninety-seven actions, for or against, moving or pending, relating to the settlement of his estate. The wills were simple in essence; Thorby was the only major heir. But there were dozens of minor bequests; there were relatives who might get something if the wills were set aside; the question of “legally dead” was again raised, the presumption of “common disaster” versus deaths at different times was hashed again; and Thorby’s very identity was questioned. Neither Bruder nor Weemsby appeared in these actions; some relative or stockholder was always named as petitioner—Thorby was forced to conclude that Uncle Jack had kept everyone happy.

  But the only action that grieved him was brought by his grandparents Bradley, asking that he be made their ward because of incompetence. The evidence, other than the admitted fact that he was new to the complexities of Terran life, was his Guardsman medical record—a Dr. Krishnamurti had endorsed that he was “potentially emotionally unstable and should not be held fully answerable for actions under stress.”

  Garsch had him examined in blatant publicity by the physician to the Secretary General of the Hegemonic Assembly. Thorby was found legally sane. It was followed by a stockholder’s suit asking that Thorby be found professionally unequipped to manage the affairs of Rudbek & Assocs., in private and public interest.

  Thorby was badly squeezed by these maneuvers; he was finding it ruinously expensive to be rich. He was heavily in debt from legal costs and running Rudbek estate and had not been able to draw his own accumulated royalties as Bruder and Weemsby continued to contend, despite repeated adverse decisions, that his identity was uncertain.

  But a weary time later a court three levels above the Rudbek district court awarded to Thorby (subject to admonitions as to behavior and unless revoked by court) the power to vote his parents’ stock until such time as their estates were settled.

  Thorby called a general meeting of stockholders, on stockholders’ initiative as permitted by the bylaws, to elect officers.

  The meeting was in the auditorium of Rudbek Building; most stockholders on Terra showed up even if represented by proxy. Even Leda popped in at the last minute, called out merrily, “Hello, everybo

dy!” then turned to her stepfather. “Daddy, I got the notice and decided to see the fun—so I jumped into the bus and hopped over. I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

  She barely glanced at Thorby, although he was on the platform with the officers. Thorby was relieved and hurt; he had not seen her since they had parted at San Francisco. He knew that she had residence at Rudbek Arms in Rudbek City and was sometimes in town, but Garsch had discouraged him from getting in touch with her—”Man’s a fool to chase a woman when she’s made it plain she doesn’t want to see him.”

  So he simply reminded himself that he must pay back her loan—with interest—as soon as possible.

  Weemsby called the meeting to order, announced that in accordance with the call the meeting would nominate and elect officers. “Minutes and old business postponed by unanimous consent.” Bang! “Let the secretary call the roll for nominations for chairman of the board.” His face wore a smile of triumph.

  The smile worried Thorby. He controlled, his own and his parents’, just under 45% of the voting stock. From the names used in bringing suits and other indirect sources he thought that Weemsby controlled about 31%; Thorby needed to pick up 6%. He was counting on the emotional appeal of “Rudbek of Rudbek”—but he couldn’t be sure, even though Weemsby needed more than three times as many “uncertain” votes . . . uncertain to Thorby; they might be in Weemsby’s pocket.

  But Thorby stood up and nominated himself, through his own stock. “Thor Rudbek of Rudbek!”

  After that it was pass, pass, pass, over and over again—until Weemsby was nominated. There were no other nominations.

  “The Secretary will call the roll,” Weemsby intoned.

  “Announce your votes by shares as owners, followed by votes as proxy. The Clerk will check serial numbers against the Great Record. Thor Rudbek . . . of Rudbek.”

  Thorby voted all 45%-minus that he controlled, then sat down feeling very weary. But he got out a pocket calculator. There were 94,000 voting shares; he did not trust himself to keep tally in his head. The Secretary read on, the clerk droned his checks of the record. Thorby needed to pick up 5657 votes, to win by one vote.

He began slowly to pick up odd votes—232, 906, 1917—some of them directly, some through proxy. But Weemsby picked up votes also. Some shareholders answered, “Pass to proxy,” or failed to respond—as the names marched past and these missing votes did not appear, Thorby was forced to infer that Weemsby held those proxies himself. But still the additional votes for “Rudbek of Rudbek” mounted—2205, 3036, 4309 . . . and there it stuck. The last few names passed.

  Garsch leaned toward him. “Just the sunshine twins left.”

  “I know.” Thorby put away his calculator, feeling sick—so Weemsby had won, after all.

  The Secretary had evidently been instructed what names to read last. “The Honorable Curt Bruder!”

  Bruder voted his one qualifying share for Weemsby. “Our Chairman, Mr. John Weemsby.”

  Weemsby stood up and looked happy. “In my own person, I vote one share. By proxies delivered to me and now with the Secretary I vote—” Thorby did not listen; he was looking for his hat.

  “The tally being complete, I declare—” the Secretary began.

  “No!”

  Leda was on her feet. “I’m here myself. This is my first meeting and I’m going to vote!”

  Her stepfather said hastily, “That’s all right, Leda—mustn’t interrupt.” He turned to the Secretary. “It doesn’t affect the result.”

  “But it does! I cast one thousand eight hundred and eighty votes for Thor, Rudbek of Rudbek!”

  Weemsby stared. “Leda Weemsby!”

  She retorted crisply, “My legal name is Leda Rudbek.”

  Bruder was shouting, “Illegal! The vote has been recorded. It’s too—”

  “Oh, nonsense!” shouted Leda. “I’m here and I’m voting. Anyhow, I cancelled that proxy—I registered it in the post office in this very building and saw it delivered and signed for at the ‘principal offices of this corporation’—that’s the right phrase, isn’t it, Judge?— ten minutes before the meeting was called to order. If you don’t believe me, send down for it. But what of it?—I’m here. Touch me.” Then she turned and smiled at Thorby.

  Thorby tried to smile back, and whispered savagely to Garsch, “Why did you keep this a secret?”

  “And let ‘Honest John’ find out that he had to beg, borrow, or buy some more votes? He might have won. She kept him happy, just as I told her to. That’s quite a girl, Thorby. Better option her.”

  Five minutes later Thorby, shaking and white, got up and took the gavel that Weemsby had dropped. He faced the crowd. “We will now elect the rest of the board,” he announced, his voice barely under control. The slate that Garsch and Thorby had worked out was passed by acclamation—with one addition: Leda.

  Again she stood up. “Oh, no! You can’t do this to me.”

  “Out of order. You’ve assumed responsibility, now accept it.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, sat down.

  When the Secretary declared the result, Thorby turned to Weemsby. “You are General Manager also, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re fired. Your one share reverts. Don’t try to go back to your former office; just get your hat and go.”

  Bruder jumped up. Thorby turned to him. “You, too. Sergeant-at-Arms, escort them out of the building.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Thorby looked glumly at a high stack of papers, each item, flagged “urgent.” He picked up one, started to read—put it down and said, “Dolores, switch control of my screen to me. Then go home.”

  “I can stay, sir.”

  “I said, ‘Go home.’ How are you going to catch a husband with circles under your eyes?”

  “Yes, sir.” She changed connections. “Good night, sir.”

  “Good night.”

  Good girl, there. Loyal, he thought. Well, he hoped. He hadn’t dared use a new broom all the way; the administration had to have continuity. He signaled a number.

  A voice without a face said, “Scramble Seven.”

  ” ‘Prometheus Bound,’ ” Thorby answered, “and nine makes sixteen.”

  “Scramble set up.”

  “Sealed,” Thorby agreed.

  The face of Wing Marshal “Smith” appeared. “Hi, Thor.”

  “Jake, I’ve got to postpone this month’s conference again. I hate to—but you should see my desk.”

  “Nobody expects you to devote all your time to corps matters.”

  “Doggone it, that’s exactly what I planned to do—clean this place up fast, put good people in charge, grab my hat and enlist for the corps! But it’s not that simple.”

  “Thor, no conscientious officer lets himself be relieved until his board is all green. We both knew that you had lots of lights blinking red.”

  “Well . . . all right, I can’t make the conference. Got a few minutes?”

  “Shoot,” agreed “Smith.”

  “I think I’ve got a boy to hunt porcupines. Remember?”

  ” ‘Nobody eats a porcupine.’ “

  “Right! Though I had to see a picture of one to understand what you meant. To put it in trader terms, the way to kill a business is to make it unprofitable. Slave-raiding is a business, the way to kill it is to put it in the red. Porcupine spines on the victims will do it.”

  “If we had the spines,” the “X” Corps director agreed dryly. “You have an idea for a weapon?”

  “Me? What do you think I am? A genius? But I think I’ve found one. Name is Joel de la Croix. He’s supposed to be about the hottest thing M.I.T. ever turned out. I’ve gossiped with him about what I used to do as a firecontrolman in Sisu. He came up with some brilliant ideas without being prodded. Then he said, ‘Thor, it’s ridiculous for a ship to be put out of action by a silly little paralysis beam when it has enough power in its guts to make a small star.’ “

  “A very small star. But I agree.”

  “Okay. I’ve got him stashed in our Havermeyer Labs in Toronto. As soon as your boys okay him, I want to hand him a truckload of money and give him a free hand. I’ll feed him all I know about raider tactics and so forth—trance tapes, maybe, as I won’t have time to work with him much. I’m being run ragged here.”

  “He’ll need a team. This isn’t a home-workshop project.”

  “I know. I’ll funnel names to you as fast as I have them. Project Porcupine will have all the men and money it can use. But, Jake, how many of these gadgets can I sell to the Guard?”

  “Eh?”

  “I’m supposed to be running a business. If I run it into the ground, the courts will boost me out. I’m going to let Project Porcupine spend megabucks like water—but I’ve got to justify it to directors and stockholders. If we come up with something, I can sell several hundred units to Free Traders, I can sell some to ourselves—but I need to show a potential large market to justify the expenditure. How many can the Guard use?”

  “Thor, you’re worrying unnecesarily. Even if you don’t come up with a superweapon—and your chances aren’t good—all research pays off. Your stockholders won’t lose.”

  “I am not worrying unnecessarily! I’ve got this job by a handful of votes; a special stockholders meeting could kick me out tomorrow. Sure research pays off, but not necessarily quickly. You can count on it that every credit I spend is reported to people who would love to see me bumped—so I’ve got to have reasonable justification.”

  “How about a research contract?”

  “With a vice colonel staring down my boy’s neck and telling him what to do? We want to give him a free hand.”

  “Mmm . . . yes. Suppose I get you a letter-of-intent? We’ll make the figure as high as possible. I’ll have to see the Marshal-in-Chief. He’s on Luna at the moment and I can’t squeeze time to go to Luna this week. You’ll have to wait a few days.”

  “I’m not going to wait; I’m going to assume that you can do it. Jake, I’m going to get things rolling and get out of this crazy job—if you won’t have me in the corps I can always be an ordnanceman.”

  “Come on down this evening. I’ll enlist you—then I’ll order you to detached duty, right where you are.”

  Thorby’s chin dropped. “Jake! You wouldn’t do that to me!”

  “I would if you were silly enough to place yourself under my orders, Rudbek.”

  “But—” Thorby shut up. There was no use arguing; there was too much work to be done.

“Smith” added, “Anything else?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I’ll have a first check on de la Croix by tomorrow. See you.”

  Thorby switched off, feeling glummer than ever. It was not the Wing Marshal’s half-whimsical threat, nor even his troubled conscience over spending large amounts of other people’s money on a project that stood little chance of success; it was simply that he was swamped by a job more complex than he had believed possible.

  He picked up the top item again, put it down, pressed the key that sealed him through to Rudbek estate. Leda was summoned to the screen. “I’ll be late again. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll delay dinner. They’re enjoying themselves and I had the kitchen make the canapés substantial.”

  Thorby shook his head. “Take the head of the table. I’ll eat here. I may sleep here.”

  She sighed. “If you sleep. Look, my stupid dear, be in bed by midnight and up not before six. Promise?”

  “Okay. If possible.”

  “It had better be possible, or you will have trouble with me. See you.”

  He didn’t even pick up the top item this time; he simply sat in thought. Good girl, Leda . . . she had even tried to help in the business—until it had become clear that business was not her forte. But she was one bright spot in the gloom; she always bucked him up. If it wasn’t patently unfair for a Guardsman to marry— But he couldn’t be that unfair to Leda and he had no reason to think she would be willing anyhow. It was unfair enough for him to duck out of a big dinner party at the last minute. Other things. He would have to try to treat her better.

  It had all seemed so self-evident: just take over, fumigate that sector facing the Sargony, then pick somebody else to run it. But the more he dug, the more there was to do. Taxes . . . the tax situation was incredibly snarled; it always was. That expansion program the Vegan group was pushing—how could he judge unless he went there and looked? And would he know if he did? And how could he find time?

  Funny, but a man who owned a thousand starships automatically never had time to ride in even one of them. Maybe in a year or two—

  No, those confounded wills wouldn’t even be settled in that time!—two years now and the courts were still chewing it. Why couldn’t death be handled decently and simply the way the People did it?

  In the meantime he wasn’t free to go on with Pop’s work.

  True, he had accomplished a little. By letting “X” Corps have access to Rudbek’s files some of the picture had filled in—Jake had told him that a raid which had wiped out one slaver pesthole had resulted directly from stuff the home office knew and hadn’t known that it knew.

  Or had somebody known? Some days he thought Weemsby and Bruder had had guilty knowledge, some days not—for all that the files showed was legitimate business . . . sometimes with wrong people. But who knew that they were the wrong people?

  He opened a drawer, got out a folder with no “URGENT” flag on it simply because it never left his hands. It was, he felt, the most urgent thing in Rudbek, perhaps in the Galaxy—certainly more urgent than Project Porcupine because this matter was certain to cripple, or at least hamper, the slave trade, while Porcupine was a long chance. But his progress had been slow—too much else to do.

  Always too much. Grandmother used to say never to buy too many eggs for your basket. Wonder where she got that?—the People never bought eggs. He had both too many baskets and too many eggs for each. And another basket every day.

  Of course, in a tough spot he could always ask himself: “What would Pop do?” Colonel Brisby had phrased that—”I just ask myself, ‘What would Colonel Baslim do?’ ” It helped, especially when he had to remember also what the presiding judge had warned him about the day his parents’ shares had been turned over to him: “No man can own a thing to himself alone, and the bigger it is, the less he owns it. You are not free to deal with this property arbitrarily nor foolishly. Your interest does not override that of other stockholders, nor of employees, nor of the public.”

  Thorby had talked that warning over with Pop before deciding to go ahead with Porcupine.

  The judge was right. His first impulse on taking over the business had been to shut down every Rudbek activity in that infected sector, cripple the slave trade that way. But you could not do that. You could not injure thousands, millions, of honest men to put the squeeze on criminals. It required more judicious surgery.

  Which was what he was trying to do now. He started studying the unmarked folder.

  Garsch stuck his head in. “Still running under the whip? What’s the rush, boy?”

  “Jim, where can I find ten honest men?”

  “Huh? Diogenes was satisfied to hunt for one. Gave him more than he could handle.”

  “You know what I mean—ten honest men each qualified to take over as a planetary manager for Rudbek.” Thorby added to himself, “—and acceptable to ‘X’ Corps.”

  “Now I’ll tell one.”

  “Know any other solution? I’ll have each one relieve a manager in the smelly sector and send the man he relieves back—we can’t fire them; we’ll have to absorb them. Because we don’t know. But the new men we can trust and each one will be taught how the slave trade operates and what to look for.”

  Garsch shrugged. “It’s the best we can do. But forget the notion of doing it in one bite; we won’t find that many qualified men at one time. Now look, boy, you ain’t going to solve it tonight no matter how long you stare at those names. When you are as old as I am, you’ll know you can’t do everything at once—provided you don’t kill yourself first. Either way, someday you die and somebody else has to do the work. You remind me of the man who set out to count stars. Faster he counted, the more new stars kept turning up. So he went fishing. Which you should, early and often.”

  “Jim, why did you agree to come here? I don’t see you quitting work when the others do.”

  “Because I’m an old idiot. Somebody had to give you a hand. Maybe I relished a chance to take a crack at anything as dirty as the slave trade and this was my way—I’m too old and fat to do it any other way.”

  Thorby nodded. “I thought so. I’ve got another way—only, confound it, I’m so busy doing what I must do that I don’t have time for what I ought to do . . . and I never get a chance to do what I want to do!”

  “Son, that’s universal. The way to keep that recipe from killing you is occasionally to do what you want to do anyhow. Which is right now. There’s all day tomorrow ain’t touched yet . . . and you are going out with me and have a sandwich and look at pretty girls.”

  “I’m going to have dinner sent up.”

  “No, you aren’t. Even a steel ship has to have time for maintenance. So come along.”

  Thorby looked at the stack of papers. “Okay.”

  The old man munched his sandwich, drank his lager, and watched pretty girls, with a smile of innocent pleasure. They were indeed pretty girls; Rudbek City attracted the highest-paid talent in show business.

  But Thorby did not see them. He was thinking.

  A person can’t run out on responsibility. A captain can’t, a chief officer can’t. But he did not see how, if he went on this way, he would ever be able to join Pop’s corps. But Jim was right; here was a place where the filthy business had to be fought, too.

  Even if he didn’t like this way to fight it? Yes. Colonel Brisby had once said, about Pop: “It means being so devoted to freedom that you are willing to give up your own . . . be a beggar . . . or a slave . . . or die—that freedom may live.”

  Yes, Pop, but I don’t know how to do this job. I’d do it . . . I’m trying to do it. But I’m just fumbling. I don’t have any talent for it.

  Pop answered, “Nonsense! You can learn to do anything if you apply yourself. You’re going to learn if I have to beat your silly head in!”

  Somewhere behind Pop Grandmother was nodding agreement and looking stern. Thorby nodded back at her. “Yes, Grandmother. Okay, Pop. I’ll try.”

  “You’ll do more than try!”

  “I’ll do it, Pop.”

  “Now eat your dinner.”

  Obediently Thorby reached for his spoon, then noticed that it was a sandwich instead of a bowl of stew. Garsch said, “What are you muttering about?”

  “Nothing. I just made up my mind.”

  “Give your mind a rest and use your eyes instead. There’s a time and a place for everything.”

  “You’re right, Jim.”

  “Goodnight, son,” the old beggar whispered. “Good dreams . . . and good luck!”
 

The End

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The astronomy of multiple star systems and the influence on the planetary inhabitants thereof.

Here we take a look at the very interesting world of multiple star systems. But not just the fascinating world of the physics involved, but also we look at how these systems would influence the evolution of sentient life on planets within those systems. It’s a great subject and far larger than any trivial study of Newtonian physics applied to orbital bodies would ever be.

Why is this important?

Well, you see, where a physical species evolves from greatly affects the way it matures as it evolves. A fish in an ocean that relies on warn ocean currents cannot readily survive in the Arctic. A migratory species like ducks and geese would have a difficult time relocating to a planet with a different gravitational field, or in the presence of a much larger planetary neighbor.

In fact, the general odds are that they will not really care about other species that live outside of their inherent “comfort zones”.

You see, the science fiction ideal that humans can adapt all over the universe is wrong. Adaptation is difficult. It is difficult for most species, and while species can travel to the earth and visit us, the idea that they would settle down here, is not as easy as your would think.

That is true with their “interest” with us humans as well.

Pro Tip:

The extraterrestrial species that interact with humans are from this general region within our galaxy. They are here for reasons, and for them, it really isn't all that comfortable. They need to generate special "environments" and "bodies" to function in this sphere of space (if they did not originate here).

It's not just planetary considerations: air, temperature, humidity, type of light, food, enzymes, bacteria, germs, viruses, etc...

It's the gravitational influences of stars, planets and moons on the biological behaviors of the extraterrestrial visitors.

And it’s not ONLY being in a “habitable zone” within a solar system that is important. It is many other factors. And one of the greatest influences is gravitational. Not only in the strength of a gravitational field (too strong is too uncomfortable, and too light cannot maintain an atmosphere.) but in the way the major gravitational bodies orbit around and near the planets that one inhabits.

To really understand other extraterrestrial species, you really need to understand the orbital dynamics of the solar system where they were evolved from.

It absolutely affects how they as a species "think". And in our universe, where thoughts control reality, it has a very great influence in... EVERYTHING.

Now, the study of the orbital dynamics of stellar bodies is (in itself) an awfully fun subject. Personally, I could spend hours writing about this stuff. I don’t know why I have such an affinity for it, but it’s just plain out cool. You know, crack open the fridge and pull out a beer and pop the top and delve right on in. Maybe order a pizza while you are at it.

Anyways, let’s get into the complexities of Orbital Dynamics 101 and then take a good interesting look at how these dynamics would influence societies and the evolution of native life.

The “Enlightened Ones”

Oh. Uh huh.

Some people believe that non-physical beings come from a physical place. And that they are interested in us humans.

Certain Pleiadians are highly evolved, more so than most of the  human species.  

The Pleiadian Realm from the Pleiades is the next step or level in our human evolution.  It is for this reason that certain knowledge is being given to us by specially enlightened Pleiadian beings.  There are those that want to help us toward our higher spiritual destiny.  These Special Pleiadian Forces reside at a very high frequency that is lighter than what we know.  And thus, the term is often applied.  The higher and lighter the frequency, the closer to the God source one becomes.

Eventually, all will become Pure Light at the center of creation, which is God or Spirit or whatever name you choose to call it.  As we evolve, gaining wisdom and true understanding about our real essence, we begin to open up more to Love, and to feel our connection with one another and the universe.  In the Earth realm, Love is only experienced and known at a low level compared to all that truly exists.  The God/Spirit frequency is beyond anything we know.  It is Pure Love – It is  is Pure Light.  As we strive and come closer to that center of creation, we will know Love completely and be totally In the Light.

-Pleiadians Come From The Pleiades Star Cluster in the Constellation Taurus

Uh huh.

Well, the actual way that this sort of things works is that you are the product of your environment.

And the physical environment around the Pleiades star cluster is anything but tranquil and peaceful. It is, rather a screeching howling mess of young hot stars and all sorts of quantum interactions which create a dangerous (to humans at least) stew of nightmarish complexity.

It might be beautiful. Sort of like how a leopard is beautiful right before it tears your arm off.

The Pleiades star cluster.
The Pleiades star cluster.

But, it’s completely at odds with the physical universe to expect that sentient physical creatures would happily evolve in this region.

For starters, the stars in this region are far too young. Our Sun is around 4 billion years old, and thus you have humans in our primitive state. These stars are just infants, not yet even babies, and to expect the evolution of intelligent life on a planet that (at best) is still gaseous and molten is ridiculous.

The Pleiades star cluster, also known as the Seven Sisters and Messier 45, is a conspicuous object in the night sky with a prominent place in ancient mythology. The cluster contains hundreds of stars, of which only a handful are commonly visible to the unaided eye. 

The stars in the Pleiades are thought to have formed together around 100 million years ago, making them 1/50th the age of our sun, and they lie some 130 parsecs (425 light years) away.

-The Pleiades

A typical Solar System in the Pleiades

Most large stars (in our universe) are part of enormous solar systems. For the Pleiades it is even more pronounced. How do we know? Well, we can see it with our own two eyes.

These solar systems have two, three, four, five and more (!) stars all orbiting each other in complete (apparent) disarray.

Consider Alcyone.

Alcyone, Eta Tauri (η Tau) is a multiple star system located in the constellation Taurus, the Bull. With an apparent magnitude of 2.87, it is the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster. Following the well-known naming conventions, the primary star in the system, formally named Alcyone, has three companions.

Alcyone, Eta Tauri (η Tau).
Alcyone, Eta Tauri (η Tau).

They are;

  • Alcyone B (24 Tauri); a white (A0) main sequence star.
  • Alcyone C has the variable star designation V647 Tauri and is classified as a Delta Scuti variable.
  • Alcyone D is a white (F3) main sequence star with a visual magnitude of 9.15.

So right off the bat, we know that the most visible star in the Pleiades is a four-star system. In fact, almost all of the other visible stars in the Pleiades are multiple star systems.

Imagine that!

Stars are generally in binary, trinary or larger solar systems. In fact, four star systems are not rare at all…

“About four percent of solar-type stars are in quadruple systems, which is up from previous estimates because observational techniques are steadily improving,” said co-author Andrei Tokovinin of the Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory in Chile. The planet in the system is a gas giant, with 10 times...

-Planet discovered in four-star solar system - ZME Science

Four star systems are pretty interesting. Here’s a nice graphic on the orbital arrangement of system 30Ari. This image shows the newly discovered planet around 30AriB, which would be designated 30Ari-B-a (I would guess.).

The solar system 30Ari showing the relationships between the various stars in the four-star solar system.
The solar system 30Ari showing the relationships between the various stars in the four-star solar system.

Some other stars.

I just cannot get the idea out of my skull that there are those that believe that “Star Children” and other “advanced” extraterrestrials from the Pleiades want to help humans on earth. It really is preposterous.

Pleiadians : Human Like Extraterrestrial Light Beings ...
https://www.psychedelicadventure.net/2009/02/...

The Pleiadians or the Plejarans as revealed to Billy Eduard Meier are human like Extraterrestrial beings who originate from a world known as Erra, one of the 10 planets orbiting the star Taygeta, located in the Pleiades (or the Seven Sisters). The Pleiades can be found in the constellation of Taurus, the bull. They are about 400 light years away from us.

10 10 10 Spiritual Mastery · Eckhart Tolle Stillness Speaks
Pleiadians - A Thorough Explanation
https://www.tokenrock.com/explain-pleiadians-138.html

Salla and other associated researchers confirm the existence of extraterrestrials who can easily integrate with human society as being from star systems such as Lyra, Pleiades, Sirius, Procyon, Tau Ceti, Ummo, Andromeda and Arcturus.

Pleiadians - The People of Erra - Aliens
Pleiadians
The Pleiadians are said to be a collection of alien species who hail from a small star system in the Taurus constellation, Pleiades. According to sources the Pleiadians allegedly inhabit a number of planets withing the Pleaides star system including planets by the names of Erra, Ptaah, Quetzal and Semjase with Erra current serving as...

The sad thing about all this is that there are people that believe this nonsense, and what’s worse expect me to somehow validate it.

Just for “shits and giggles” let’s look at some of the other stars in the Pleiades star cluster.

Asterope is a main sequence star with the stellar classification B8 V. It is part of a binary star system. The star is part of a double star system sometimes referred to as Sterope I and Sterope II. The two stars, 21 Tauri and 22 Tauri, both belong to the Pleiades cluster. Both are “fast spinners”.

Electra has the stellar classification B6 IIIe, indicating a giant star appearing bluish in color. It has a mass about five times that of the Sun and a radius 6.06 times solar. With an effective temperature of 13,484 K, it is 940 times more luminous than the Sun. The star is a very fast spinner, with a projected rotational velocity of 181 km/s, and possibly more at the equator. The star’s estimated age is 115 million years. It is part of a binary system. Electra has a close companion less than an astronomical unit away. The two stars have an orbital period of about 100 days.

Taygeta is part of a binary star system designated 19 Tauri A. It has the stellar classification B6IV, indicating a subgiant star appearing blue-white in color. 19 Tauri A is a spectroscopic binary whose components are separated by only 0.012 seconds of arc. The two stars complete an orbit every 1,313 days (3.6 years) with an average separation of 4.6 astronomical units. The companion is considerably fainter, with an apparent magnitude of 6.1. It is believed to also be a class B star with about 3.2 solar masses and a luminosity 150 times that of the Sun.

Some of the relative locations of the stars as described herein.
Some of the relative locations of the stars as described herein.

Atlas, 27 Tauri (27 Tau), is a multiple star system located in the constellation Taurus. It is one of the brightest members of the Pleiades (Messier 45), one of the brightest and nearest open clusters to Earth. Atlas has the stellar classification B8 III, indicating a blue-white giant star. The star has a mass 4.74 times that of the Sun and a radius twice solar. With an effective temperature of 13,446 K, it is almost 1,000 times more luminous than the Sun, but most of its energy output is in the invisible ultraviolet part of the spectrum. Atlas may appear as a single star to the naked eye but is in fact a binary star with components that complete an orbit around each other every 290.984 days. The components, Atlas A and Atlas B, have apparent magnitudes of 3.84 and 5.46. Both stars are slightly variable.

Pleione, 28 Tauri (28 Tau), is a binary star system located in the constellation Taurus. It is one of the brightest members of the Pleiades cluster. Pleione is a binary star consisting of a young, hot class B star and a companion whose properties are uncertain. The primary component, formally named Pleione, is a main sequence star with 3.4 solar masses and a size of 3.2 solar radii.

An apt description of this region.

This area is a stellar version of a blast-furnace. An enormous group of hot, energetic gasses collected in the region (fairly recently ago, by stellar standards), and started to ignite. As a result, huge orbs of gasses collected and formed into very hot stars, and as they formed and their gravitational mass started to acquire, they started to orbit around each other. Groups and clusters formed.

This all happened really quickly (in galactic terms).

So the idea that physical life has evolved, and obtained intelligence in this region is far fetched. It really is.

The idea that life can quickly emerge within a few million years in this hot and intense birthing crucible is rather difficult to believe. Can you imagine a plant living in the environment near a blast furnace?
The idea that life can quickly emerge within a few million years in this hot and intense birthing crucible is rather difficult to believe. Can you imagine a plant living in the environment near a blast furnace?

But…

But…

Perhaps in four or five billion years, these stars will start to chill out and evolve, form rocky planets and life can begin to evolve. And when that happens, what would it be like for those upon planets around these stars/

Orbits of nearby planetary bodies affect how species evolve

This is well understood. As we know for a fact how our nearby moon has affected our evolution and day to day lives. We know that it influences the tides, and all sorts of other things, perhaps not as obvious. Just imagine a star, one million times bigger with a much more complex orbital arrangement…!

Here are just some of the ways that the moon affects humans…

The Menstrual Cycle Mimics The Lunar Cycle. A few studies have found definitive links between the lunar and menstrual cycles. According to one, women also go through increased levels of hormones around the full moon. Charles Darwin believed that the menstrual cycle – on average – coincides with the monthly moon cycle for a reason. It backed his then-nascent theory that we first came from the ocean, as this proves that we adjusted our reproductive clocks according to the lunar tides at some point.

Lemur Sex. Lemurs have been found to be much more active during the full moon than usual, covering larger distances and generally being more out and about. They’re so dependent on the moon that they essentially shut down on darker nights or lunar eclipses, though we can’t really explain why. One line of reasoning says that it’s because of the level of light available during the different phases of the lunar cycle.

Our Sleep Cycle. A researcher from the University of Basel found that there is some scientific basis to the long-time belief that the moon has something to do with our sleeping pattern. According to his research, people took five minutes longer to sleep during a full moon, and their sleep time also reduced by 20 minutes on average. Lower levels of melatonin were also reported during full moons, as well as reduced brain activity.

Crime. The moon has always been associated with aggression and crimes, though we’ve never really understood why. Many independent and isolated cultures have described the moon as an omen of chaos that fills everyone with restlessness and rage, blaming their most primitive urges on a rock hanging in the sky. While there was never any scientific proof to back this claim, some recent studies suggest that the moon may actually have some effect on our collective psyche. Or at least how we patrol our streets after dark, according to one study done by the Sussex police. They concluded that there is a definite rise in crimes during full moons, though admitted that they don’t understand why, as they’re cops and not psychologists. That’s not the only case, either; higher incidents of crime and violence on full moons have been reported around the world.

Crisis Calls. According to a study based on the call records of a crisis center, there’s a disproportionate rise in the number of calls during new moons, suggesting that the moon maybe doing something to stress us out. Surprisingly, it was only true for women, as men actually made less calls during that time.

Hunting patterns for Lions. As a study published in PloS ONE found, African lions are much more aggressive in the days after the full moon, as well as more likely to attack people. While it may seem like arbitrary behavior at first, it makes sense and goes with the lion’s hunting style. They don’t actually need a lot of light to hunt, and on top of that, a full moon makes it easier for the prey to sense danger and run away, resulting in reduced food output. The days immediately after the full moon are prime lion hunting time, as they compensate – perhaps reflexively – by killing more prey and just generally being more menacing than usual.

Animal Bites. Weirdly enough, animal bites are apparently not as random as we thought, and may have some mysterious connection with the moon. One study found that cases of animal bites were significantly higher on the days of the full moon, though they don’t quite understand why. It wasn’t just one type of animal either, as they studied 1,621 cases of bites from a variety of animals, which means that it’s not a species-specific phenomenon.

Plants. The moon has some wholly bizarre effects on animals and humans, though it’s not restricted to us. As growing research is finding out, it also has a significant impact on our chlorophyll-filled friends; the plants. Many studies have found relationships between the lunar cycle and the growth of plants, and we haven’t been able to explain all of them. One study found that root growth in a specific plant from Africa, A. thaliana, is regulated by the lunar tides, as the growth was found to be thicker and faster at the highest phases of the tide. Previous studies have found that leaf movement in some plants may be related to the lunar tides, too.

Dogs and Cats. Published in the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, the study found that the number of emergency room visits for cats and dogs was noticeably higher around the full moon. While it was something veterinarians have always suspected and anecdotally claimed, this was the first study to confirm it. We still don’t know why it happens, though.

Bipolar Disorder. Conducted by researchers at the University of Washington School of Medicine, Seattle, the study’s aim was to ascertain whether the lunar cycle has anything to do with the various mood spells among bipolar patients. To their surprise, they found a direct correlation between the cycles of the moon and the sleep and mood cycle of the subject. They perfectly – and mysteriously—coincided with each other, including, and especially, the phases of mania. It confirmed the findings of an earlier study done on the subject, which came up with more or less the same results.

These are just the “tip of the iceberg” on how our moon affects the plants and animals around us. Obviously the effects are more substantive than just the tides of the oceans. And at that, that is something that I want to underline…

Imagine the influence of multiple gravitational bodies on the evolution of life;
Imagine the influence of multiple gravitational bodies on the evolution of life.

If our tiny moon, in a close simple orbit can make these influences, what about larger, greater stellar bodies and much more complex orbital arrangements? Indeed…

Let’s start with some basic orbital dynamics.

Orbital Dynamics 101

Historically, it was the observed the orbital motions of double stars that helped to prove the validity of Newton’s description of gravitational attraction. As well as his impressive laws of motion. He applied these rules to everything in the heavens. Not just to the planets and periodic comets but equally to the far away celestial motions of the stars as they danced about in the darkness above.

The observation of these distant stars helped lay the foundation for theories of stellar structure and evolution.

Gravitational Dynamics

In astronomy, Kepler's laws of planetary motion are three scientific laws describing the motion of planets around the Sun, published by Johannes Kepler between 1609 and 1619. These improved the heliocentric theory of Nicolaus Copernicus, replacing its circular orbits and epicycles with elliptical trajectories, and explaining how planetary velocities vary.

-Kepler's Laws of Planetary Motion

There’s a reason why we call the laws related to the orbits of planets “Kepler’s Laws”. It began about four centuries ago. And the fellow that kicked off this relationship was a man by the name of Johannes Kepler.

Back in the day he wanted to explain his theories to the learned men in power. To this end, he wrote a book. In the book he explained the effects of gravity within the solar system. It was a well researched and well written work, and titled the Epitome of Copernican Astronomy, Books IV & V (1621) by Johannes Kepler.

By analyzing measurements of the motion of Mars (made by Tycho Brahe earlier), Kepler deduced his three principles of planetary motion (diagram, below):

The three principles of planetary motion by Johannes Kepler.
The three principles of planetary motion by Johannes Kepler.

First Law. The orbit of every planet is an ellipse with the Sun at one of the two focal points of the ellipse. The Sun or more massive star is located at the focus ƒ1, and the orbit describes the motion of a planet or the less massive star in a binary.

Second Law. A line from the star at ƒ1 to another star or planet sweeps over equal areas in equal intervals of time. Therefore the ratio between two areas swept out by a planet is equal to the ratio between the two time intervals: a1/a2 = (t1-t2)/(t3-t4). This describes orbital velocity as greatest at periastron or smallest orbital separation between the two bodies, and slowest at apastron or point of largest orbital separation.

Third Law. The square of the orbital period of a planet is proportional to the cube of the semimajor axis of its orbit. The semimajor axis is the distance r measured from the center of the ellipse to the point of periastron or apastron. If the ellipse is a circle, r is the radius of the circle.

These are often imprecisely called Kepler’s “Laws,” although they are not physical laws in the scientific sense but empirical principles or generalizations. However they are the phenomena that scientific laws must explain.

Newton’s Mechanics.

This is pretty much standard fare for most engineering students.

The geometric formulation of the laws of motion described by Galileo was accomplished by Isaac Newton’s Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica (1687) — the mathematical principles of natural philosophy. Notice that “science” was known as “Natural Philosophy”.

Science = Natural Philosophy

Newton's thought experiment.
Newton’s thought experiment.

Newton’s “thought experiment” was to imagine a powerful cannon at the peak of a very high mountain (at V, diagram above). According to Newton’s first law of motion, a cannonball fired from the perfectly level cannon would tend to travel forever in a straight line at a fixed velocity and kinetic energy. But the continuous downward pull of Earth’s gravity would bend the path into a parabolic trajectory until the cannonball hit the Earth at D.

If the powder charge in the cannon were increased, the initial velocity of the cannonball would be greater, its kinetic energy would be greater, and it would travel farther, to E or even to F. Eventually, if enough powder were used to impart a sufficiently high initial velocity, the cannonball would circle the Earth and return to V in a closed orbit.

This illustrates that planetary orbits are possible because the orbital velocity balances the gravitational acceleration, and also suggests that circular orbits contain the minimum orbital velocity or lowest energy for a given orbital radius. Higher energy orbits would be increasingly elliptical, up to the point where the orbital energy was sufficient to produce an escape velocity and the observed section of the trajectory or “orbit” would be in the form of a parabola or hyperbola.

Newton showed by a geometrical proof (not by the calculus that he invented for numerical analysis) that an elliptical orbit must be produced by an inverse square mutual attraction between two orbiting bodies:

Fd2 = Fd1·(d1/d2)2

As the distance between two bodies is changed, the gravitational attraction between them is changed by the square of the ratio of the distances. The corresponding kinetic energy necessary to sustain the orbit is changed in the same proportion.

The Dynamical Equations.

Newton’s key insight was that gravity was a force continuously exerted on masses, and was therefore a form of acceleration. This linked it directly to his definition of force as exerted in the simplest case of a circular orbit that will have a constant radius and orbital velocity:

F = ma = mv2/r

where the acceleration due to gravity (a) is measured as the constant orbital velocity squared (v2, in meters per second) divided by the orbital radius (r, in meters). Because the force is the gravitational constant G = 6.674 x 10–11 kg–1 / m3 / sec–2, the measured radius and velocity create a ratio with the gravitational constant that reveals the system mass (m, in kilograms):

m = rv2/G

For rapidly orbiting spectroscopic binaries, the orbital velocity can be measured directly from the maximum observed Doppler shift in the spectral lines of the individual stars, with a correction applied for the tilt of the orbit to our line of sight.

For orbital velocities that are too slow or tilted too far to the line of sight to provide a measurable velocity, the period can be estimated from an orbital solution based on the changing position of the components measured across years or decades and a parallax estimate of the system distance, which yields the orbital radius. Then:

v2/r = 2πr/P

so that the necessary force is now defined as:

G = 4π2mr/P2

Finally, Kepler’s Third Law, P r3/2, generalizes to elliptical orbits, and gives

G = 4π2r3/(M1+M2)P2

where the masses of the two orbiting bodies are M1 and M2.

The Solar Standard Formulas.

Because the Earth is only about 0.0001% (one millionth) the mass of the Sun, the mass of the combined system is effectively the mass of the Sun, and the Earth’s period at the Earth’s average orbital radius is effectively a measure of the solar mass. This means the dimensions of the solar system can provide units of measurement that are already standardized on the gravitational constant, so it can be dropped from the equations.

If solar standard units are used — the astronomical unit (AU) for the semimajor axis r, solar mass M for the combined mass of both components, and years for the orbital period P — then the three possible versions of Kepler’s Third Law simplify into the elegant:

Pyears = [ rAU3/(M1+M2) ]1/2

rAU = [ P2years·(M1+M2) ]1/3

(M1+M2) = r3AU/P2years

In the case where the observed orbit is too slow to yield an orbital solution, the relative mass of the two components of the system can be estimated from their apparent magnitudes. Assuming that both stars are on the main sequence (and therefore have a luminosity that corresponds to the mass), the system mass ratio (q) is estimated as:

q = 10–(M2–M1)/10

where M2 and M1 are the absolute magnitudes of the fainter and brighter star in the pair (so that the exponent is always either zero or a negative fraction). Thus two stars of equal magnitude and spectral type have equal masses; a pair that differs by one magnitude has an estimated mass ratio of q = 10–1/10 or roughly 0.8; a two magnitude difference yields q = 0.6, and a three magnitude difference q = 0.5.

The fact that [1] the orbital dynamics are determined by the mass of the components, and [2] a parallax estimate of distance yields the absolute luminosity of the components, that allowed the stellar mass/luminosity relation to be determined. This was done through the painstaking, century long measurement of a small number of eclipsing variable stars. These variable stars are spectroscopic binaries and closely orbiting visual double stars within a few hundred parsecs of the Earth.

Building a multi-star orbital systems

The most effective way to understand the binary orbit is to build one — from the simplest possible to the more complex.

And now, after all that interesting and fun preambles, we can get to the meat of this discussion…

Simple Binary Solar System

The simplest possible binary system consists of two identical stars in a perfectly circular orbit.

Circular orbits are mostly found in close orbiting binaries with periods of around two weeks or less.

A classic example is the eclipsing variable star beta Lyrae with a period of 13 days.

The eclipsing variable star beta Lyrae with a period of 13 days.
The eclipsing variable star beta Lyrae with a period of 13 days.

The total system mass is M1+M2. To calculate the orbital period using Kepler’s third law, we use the distance between the two stars as the orbital radius (r): this distance, in combination with the system mass, determines the amount of gravitational force acting on the system.

However, the two stars do not orbit one around the other.

Instead, both orbit around their common center of mass or barycenter at the center of their shared orbit and always on a line between them.

This means they have the same orbital period.

Because the orbital radius is constant the gravitational force is constant, so the stars orbit at a constant orbital velocity: v1 = v2. A circular orbit contains the lowest orbital kinetic energy for orbital radius: all the orbital energy is contained in the angular momentum.

The two stars orbit around their common center of mass or barycenter at the center of their shared orbit and always on a line between them.
The two stars orbit around their common center of mass or barycenter at the center of their shared orbit and always on a line between them.

This simplest of all possible binaries can be complicated in two ways.

The First Complication – Stars of different mass

First, in the vast majority of double stars, the two components are of unequal mass.

The two stars still follow circular orbits, but the relative distance of the stars from their center of mass is proportional to the mass ratio, M2/M1, of the components: d1/d2 = M2/M1 In the same way that a heavier weight must be placed closer to the fulcrum of a balance beam, the heavier star must be closer to the barycenter.

As a result, the more massive star orbits entirely inside the orbit of the less massive star.

The orbital radius as used in Kepler’s third law is still the distance between the stars; the two stars are still connected by a line through the barycenter; they orbit in the same plane; they have the same orbital period.

Because the more massive star has a smaller orbit it has a lower orbital velocity, again proportional to the mass ratio: v1/M2 = v2/M1.

A more accurate orbital system. Both stars have different masses and thus the relationship between the masses and distances are established.
A more accurate orbital system. Both stars have different masses and thus the relationship between the masses and distances are established.

The Second Complication – Oscillation

The second complication, also found in the vast majority of known double stars, is that the total orbital energy is larger than the angular momentum of a circular orbit.

This excess energy causes the orbital radius to oscillate in synchrony with the orbital period, which sends the two stars into opposing elliptical orbits, defined by the orbital eccentricity (e): e = (1 – b2/a2)½ where a is the semimajor axis of the ellipse, half the longest dimension.

This excess energy causes the orbital radius to oscillate in synchrony with the orbital period, which sends the two stars into opposing elliptical orbits, defined by the orbital eccentricity (e): e = (1 – b2/a2)½ where a is the semimajor axis of the ellipse, half the longest dimension.
This excess energy causes the orbital radius to oscillate in synchrony with the orbital period, which sends the two stars into opposing elliptical orbits, defined by the orbital eccentricity (e): e = (1 – b2/a2)½ where a is the semimajor axis of the ellipse, half the longest dimension.

The next diagram shows a system of eccentricity 0.5, which is about average for all binary stars. Their common center of mass is located at one focus of each orbital ellipse.

Six features define the relationship between the barycenter and the separate orbits of the binary components:

  1. The two stars are always connected by a line through this fulcrum point,
  2. both component orbits and the barycenter lie in a single plane,
  3. both components orbit in the same direction.
  4. both have the same orbital period,
  5. the relative distances of the components from the barycenter and the relative size of their average orbital radius (r) are always equal to the system mass ratio, and
  6. both orbits have the same eccentricity.
A system of eccentricity 0.5, which is about average for all binary stars.
A system of eccentricity 0.5, which is about average for all binary stars.

The more massive star orbits more slowly in a proportionately smaller orbit.

The actual distance (d) of each component from the barycenter, for any radial angle dθ measured in a cartesian plane with the origin at the barycenter of the system, is determined by the shape equation:

d = a·(1–e2)/[1+(e·cosine(θ))]

and

X = d·cosine(θ), Y = d·sine(θ)

The elliptical orbits produce a continuous change in the distance between the two stars — the synchronous orbital oscillation — from a point of maximum separation or apastron to a point of minimum separation or periastron.

Time related orbital attributes are usually measured from the time of periastron passage, — at that point the stars are closest and also moving most rapidly so the point can be observed most accurately.

Because the distance between the stars changes, their orbital velocities must change to match the changing force of gravitational attraction .

Because the distance between the stars changes, their orbital velocities must change to match the changing force of gravitational attraction .
Because the distance between the stars changes, their orbital velocities must change to match the changing force of gravitational attraction .

This varies with the distance (d) of each component from the barycenter:

v2 = GM(2/d – 1/a) ≈ 1/d

The plot of velocity on orbital angle (θ) shows that a circular orbit has constant velocity, and an eccentric orbital velocity follows an approximate sine wave, but with a narrowed peak at the lowest velocity (apastron) and a broadening of the curve at high velocity (periastron).

In fact, it takes each component a longer time to pass through the apastron rather than periastron half of the orbital ellipse, as shown by the equal time spacing of the orbital dots in the diagram.

As the eccentricity of the absolute orbit increases, this narrowing and broadening of the velocity curve becomes more pronounced.

Kinetic orbital energy is transformed into potential energy en route to apastron, and the orbit is bound so long as the minimum orbital velocity is less than the escape velocity.

All the dynamics are driven by oscillations between kinetic and potential energy: at all times the angular momentum of the components is conserved.

Absolute Orbit

Although elliptical orbits are by far the most common, all the orbits in 1 to 3 (above) represent the absolute orbit of a binary star, the dynamical pattern of their motions as observed from a frame of reference comoving with the barycenter of the system.

Relative Orbit

Unfortunately the barycenter of a binary system is invisible, so we cannot use it as a reference point to measure the separate orbital motions.

Instead, we simply assume that our frame of reference is anchored on the primary (more massive) star, and measure the movement of the secondary star in relation to it.

This produces a mathematically much more convenient relative orbit (sometimes misleadingly called the true orbit). It has the same eccentricity and orbital period as the absolute orbit but always has a larger dimension.

In other words, its major axis or longest dimension is the sum of the periastron and apastron distances, whereas the longest dimension of the absolute orbit is the apastron distance alone.

The average orbital radius (r) is now half the longest dimension or semimajor axis (a) of the ellipse, and this is the radius distance used in Kepler’s third law.

However, because we often do not know the precise distance to a double star, the semimajor axis (a) is given in arcseconds — as it would be measured on the sky if the ellipse of the relative orbit were visible.

If the distance (D) in parsecs is known, then we can convert a (in arcseconds) to r (in astronomical units):

r = aD

To define the relative orbit, visual double stars are measured as the position angle and distance in arcseconds of the smaller star in relation to the larger.

But the relative orbit is not simply a measurement convenience: the entire apparatus of orbital calculations, like Kepler’s Laws, assumes this simplified orbital geometry.

the relative orbit is not simply a measurement convenience: the entire apparatus of orbital calculations, like Kepler's Laws, assumes this simplified orbital geometry.
The relative orbit is not simply a measurement convenience: the entire apparatus of orbital calculations, like Kepler’s Laws, assumes this simplified orbital geometry.

A third complication

A final complication does not arise in the binary orbit itself but in our point of view when we measure it.

Nearly always, the plane of the absolute and relative orbits, the semimajor axis of the relative orbit, and the angular separation between the components, are tilted in relation to our direction of view.

This can radically alter both the apparent eccentricity and measured dimensions of the orbit.

The points at which the two components are either closest or farthest apart are no longer the periastron or apastron, the apparent separation is typically less than the actual separation, and the eccentricity of the orbit is different.

Complex mathematics are necessary to correct for the foreshortened dimensions and retrieve the relative orbit in its true proportions, and they depend critically on our estimate of the inclination (i) and line of nodes (ω) of the orbit in relation to the relative orbit.

In the diagram (below), the orbit is inclined 45° to our line of sight (i = 45° or 135°), on a line of nodes that is (in the relative orbit) 45° from the minor axis of the ellipse.

In the diagram , the orbit is inclined 45° to our line of sight (i = 45° or 135°), on a line of nodes that is (in the relative orbit) 45° from the minor axis of the ellipse.
In the diagram , the orbit is inclined 45° to our line of sight (i = 45° or 135°), on a line of nodes that is (in the relative orbit) 45° from the minor axis of the ellipse.

Summary on the orbital dynamics of binary star systems.

To summarize, binary stars can be represented in one of three ways:

(1) The absolute orbit or joint physical motion of the two stars in a reference frame comoving with the center of mass of the binary system, from a viewpoint perpendicular to the orbital plane of the components;

(2) The apparent orbit of the two stars in a reference plane tangent to the celestial sphere at the primary star, and measured assuming the primary star is fixed and the secondary orbits around it;

(3) The relative orbit (sometimes called the true orbit), which is a transformation of the apparent orbit as it would appear if the binary orbital plane were tangent to the celestial sphere.

As the center of mass, the barycenter traces the galactic orbital trajectory of the binary system which, if it were visible, would appear as a straight line proper motion across the celestial sphere.

In closely orbiting, short period binaries, the two components of the system appear to oscillate or “wiggle” back and forth around this straight line path.

If the second component is too faint to be optically visible, the direction and pace in the proper motion of the primary star will appear to change periodically, and these perturbations allow the presence and mass of the secondary to be estimated.

Both Sirius and Procyon were first identified as binary stars in this way.

Trinary Star Systems

What About Triple Stars? Are binary orbits the most complex possible? What about triple, quadruple, quintuple stars?

The answer is that, in nearly all cases where stable multiple systems have been identified, the orbits are dynamically segregated binary orbits.

If it is a triple star, then the third (single) component orbits the binary at a much greater orbital radius than the binary, forming a “binary” of a binary and single component.

If it is a quadruple star comprising two binaries, then the binaries orbit their common barycenter at much greater distances than the orbits of either binary, in effect forming a “binary” of two binary components …

…and so on.

The basic principle is that orbits are spaced dynamically so that the inner orbits are not perturbed by the motions of the outer components.

How far apart is far enough?

Observations of multiple stars in the solar neighborhood suggest the separations are 100 to 1000 times the separation inside the binary unit, and computer simulations suggest that these systems can be both stable and bound with an outer orbital radius of 100,000 AU or more.

Current theories of star formation suggest that multiple stars form as a result of turbulent fragmentation inside the same collapsing cloud core, and computer simulations show that triple stars born in such close proximity will dynamically “unfold” into a binary plus single or 2+1 system by transferring angular momentum from the binary pair (making their orbit smaller) to the singleton (making its orbit larger, more energetic and typically more elliptical).

The strange and the odd.

There are a few arcane orbital configurations of three stars that can coexist in close orbit with each other, but it is difficult to see how these would form naturally.

Instead, multiple stars that cannot reach a stable segregation of orbital energies are most likely to break apart, always by keeping the binary elements intact.

Double Star Orbital Elements

The orbits of binary systems can be analyzed if sufficiently accurate positional (or visual) measurements of angular separation and position angle are available across a substantial part of the orbital path.

In general the most accurately described orbits have an inclination that is not close to 0° or 180° and have been measured over more than half the complete orbital period.

The diagram (above) summarizes the relationships between the absolute, relative (or “true”) and apparent orbits, using the calculated orbit of iota Leonis as an example.

Key Constraints

The key constants, indicated by the dotted lines connecting the different orbits, are:

(1) the angular separation or apparent distance between the components at every point in the orbital cycle (including apastron and periastron) is identical between the absolute and relative orbits; and

(2) the angular width of the line of nodes (between the ascending and descending nodes) is identical between the relative and apparent orbits.

Distances

Distances between the components in the apparent orbit are described in units of angular width (such as arcseconds or arcminutes), as these are the units of the visual measurements; arcseconds are also used to describe the semimajor axis of the calculated relative orbit.

Distances between the components in the absolute orbit are described in terms of astronomical units (or kilometers), and separation in astronomical units can also be applied to the relative orbit, simply by multiplying the arcsecond length of the semimajor axis (a) by the distance of the system in parsecs.

Important notes

Note that the angular dimension of the secondary orbit major axis is always smaller in the absolute than in the relative orbit. The eccentricity of the orbits is the same. However, the eccentricity of the orbits is generally not the same between the relative and apparent orbits.

In addition, the points where a binary star apparent orbit presents the smallest and largest angular separation (green dots in diagram) are typically not the apastron and periastron of the relative orbit.

Additionally, the two points typically do not lie on a line through the primary star. This means the ephemeride date of periastron passage will not indicate the time of closest visual separation.

The table (below) indicates the principal orbital elements in the apparent orbit and relative orbit (sometimes called the true orbit).

 
element symbol apparent orbit relative orbit
 
Dynamical Elements  
period P the time for the system to complete one sidereal revolution
mean motion n = 360°/P
periastron . the projection of this point the point in the relative orbit where the distance between the two stars is smallest and orbital speed is greatest
time of periastron passage T date and/or time of the (usually most recent) periastron passage of the two stars
eccentricity e . the deviation of the relative orbit from a circle, calculated as e = √1–(b/a)2
semimajor axis a the projection of this line the distance (usually in arcseconds) in the relative orbit from the center C to the orbit at periastron or apastron; equivalent to the projected average orbital radius.
Campbell Elements  
orbital inclination i the direction of secondary rotation:
i < 90° = direct (counterclockwise)
i ≥ 90° = retrograde (clockwise)
the inclination of the relative orbit to the plane of the sky, measured on the north side of the line of nodes with the secondary rotating in direct (counterclockwise) direction; i = 90° when orbit is perpendicular to line of sight
line of nodes . a line through the primary star and both nodes, common to both the apparent and relative orbits
position angle of ascending node Ω position angle of ascending node measured counterclockwise from celestial north .
argument of periastron ω . the angle in the relative orbit from the ascending node side of the line of nodes to the periastron side of the major axis, measured in the direction of secondary rotation
Other Orbital Elements  
apastron . the projection of this point the point in the relative orbit where the distance between the two stars is farthest and orbital speed is slowest
line of apsides . the projection of this line a line in the relative orbit through the periastron, the primary star, and the apastron (= major axis of ellipse)
center C the projection of this point the geometric center of the relative orbit, midway between the two foci
semiminor axis b the projection of this line the distance (usually in arcseconds) in the relative orbit from the center C to the orbit, perpendicular to the semimajor axis
 

The orbital plane of the absolute orbit is almost never viewed in an orientation perpendicular to our line of sight from Earth. That would be completely extraordinary.

The orbital inclination (i) indicates the tilt of the relative orbit, which distorts both its apparent dimensions and eccentricity.

The inclination combines two different features of the relative orbit. First, it indicates the tilt of the plane of the relative and absolute orbits as an angle between the line of sight to Earth and the plane of the relative orbit, from 0° to 180° (diagram, below).

How a solar system appears to an observer on earth, and how we need to reorient it to better understand it's orbital arrangements.
How a solar system appears to an observer on earth, and how we need to reorient it to better understand it’s orbital arrangements.

Second, the sign of the cosine of the inclination determines the direction of the secondary orbital motion as viewed from Earth: a direct (counterclockwise) orbit is coded as an angle between 0° and 90° (positive cosine), and a retrograde (clockwise) orbit is coded as an angle between 90° and 180° (negative cosine).

The line of nodes is the line formed by the intersection of the two planes of the true and apparent orbits, measured in counterclockwise direction from a line to the Earth’s celestial north; it always passes through the primary (brighter or more massive) star.

The ascending node is the point on the line of nodes where the component star passes through the line of nodes and is moving away from Earth.

In the great majority of binary stars where this cannot be determined due to an unmeasurably small orbital velocity, it is arbitrarily assigned to the position angle that is less than 180°.

Thus, the inclination and ascending node in many cases represent an arbitrary rather than physical description of the binary system.

Note that the periastron rather than apastron is preferred as an orbital parameter because the relative orbital velocities of the two components at that point are at maximum. 

Either the radial velocity or the positional parameters (or both) will change most rapidly at that point, which usually minimizes error in the estimation of the time of periastron and therefore error in the predicted future relative positions of the components.

Diagramming a Relative Orbit for a Double Star

The Campbell elements can be used to diagram both the true and apparent orbits, and this is quite easy to do when working in Photoshop. The diagram below of iota Leonis provides a template.

The Campbell elements can be used to diagram both the true and apparent orbits.
The Campbell elements can be used to diagram both the true and apparent orbits.

1. Determine from the arcsecond scale of the semimajor axis the total system width and image scale. Use a large enough scale to minimize rounding errors. In the diagram, the semimajor axis equals 1.91″, so the system width is about 4 arcseconds. The scale chosen for the example diagram is 120 pixels = 1 arcsecond.

2. Draw the cartesian x and y axes; the origin is the location of the system primary star.

3. Calculate c = a·e and convert to the image scale. In the example, c = 1.91·0.53 = 1.01 arcseconds, and 1.01·120 = 121 pixels. Measure and mark c on either the x or y axis of the plot, which becomes the line of apsides of the relative orbit.

4. Scale a, then measure and mark a+c along the line of apsides. In the example, the pixel scale of a = 1.91·120 = 229 pixels, so a+c = 229+121 = 350 pixels from the origin (or 229 pixels from c).

5. Calculate and scale b = √a2c2, then measure and mark vertically from c. In the example, b = √2292–1212 = 194 pixels.

6. Using the ellipical marquee tool while holding down the “Alt” key, click on c and stretch the marquee to create an ellipical area that exactly matches the marked distances a and b. Create a new layer, and fill the window; then use Modify —> Contract to reduce the selected area by the orbit line thickness you desire. Delete the window contents to create the relative orbit. Mark the orbit periastron, which is the end of line of apsides closer to the origin of the plot (the location of the primary star).

7. Create a new layer and draw a horizontal or vertical line, then rotate the line to correspond to the angle given as the argument of the periastron (ω). Note that if the angle of inclination is less than 90° then you must measure this angle ω in clockwise direction from the periastron. Move the rotated line so that it intersects the cartesian origin and the relative orbit. This rotated line is the line of nodes, and its intersection with the relative orbit at angle ω is the ascending node.

8. Copy the line of nodes layer, and rotate this line clockwise the PA of the line of nodes (Ω). This is the line of the primary star’s right ascension in the apparent orbit on the celestial sphere.

9. Merge the orbit layer with the line of nodes layer, and copy this layer. Draw (copy) the line of apsides and point c onto this copied layer.

10. Rotate the copied orbit layer so that the line of nodes is exactly either horizontal or vertical, then use the Transform command to reduce the scale perpendicular to the line of nodes by a percentage equal to the cosine of the angle of inclination. In the example, the line of nodes is at 35° to the horizontal axis, so the copied layer was rotated counterclockwise by the same amount ( –35°). Then i = 128°, and cos(i) = –0.62, so the copied orbit was reduced vertically to 62%.

11. Rotate the copied orbit layer in the reverse direction so that the line of nodes is in its original orientation. Align the copied orbit so that the two orbits intersect at the line of nodes, and the intersection of the lines of apsides and nodes in the copied layer is at the origin of the plot. This is the apparent orbit.

12. Merge the orbits, and rotate them so that the line of right ascension is vertical, with north at the bottom.

13. If desired, use the catalog position angle for the secondary star to locate the star on the apparent orbit. Then use a line perpendicular to the line of nodes, and through the location of the secondary on the apparent orbit, to locate it on the relative orbit.

14. If necessary reduce and crop the canvas to the finished image size, and label elements as needed.

Multiple stars can be plotted in the same way, provided the orbital elements are available separately for hierarchical centers of mass: first A/B, then AB/C, then ABC/D, etc.

Resulting plot.
Resulting plot.

The diagram (above) of zeta Cancri (STF 1196) was created by first plotting the orbit of the AB pair, then the orbit for the AB/C “pair”, rotating them both so that celestial north is at the bottom, then superimposing the primary of the AB pair on the “primary” focal point of the AB/C pair.


Further Reading on the orbital mechanics of complex solar systems.

Multiple Star Orbits – an amusing group of animated double star orbits, helpful to visualize how complex gravity can be.

Imagine the influence of multiple gravitational bodies on the evolution of life;
Imagine the influence of multiple gravitational bodies on the evolution of life.

But what about intelligent life?

Most people reading this has little care about orbital dynamics, or the makeup of other solar systems. I recognize that. But to understand the great variety of life in our universe, you need to recognize that the orbital configurations of solar systems has a massive influence on the evolution of particular intelligence.

Which, being said, allows me to create some postulates…

  • Extraterrestrials that wish to move or colonize another solar system would search for ones resembling their own home environment.
  • The greater the deviation from their home environment, the greater the likelihood of catastrophic colony failure.
  • There are gravitational, and orbital influences on the biology of all creatures and given a strange or uncomfortable (new) environment, would result in abnormalities in biological functioning.

And most pointedly…

  • It is unlikely that dissimilar extraterrestrials from dissimilar worlds around dissimilar solar systems would find comfort within our solar system. Those that are here are here for a reason, and their home solar system is either the earth, or a star very close by.

The world has all sorts of extraterrestrial visitors, and many come from great distances. But the ones that stay, and the ones that make a go at creating colonies, or are busy getting involved in human activities are those that have a vested interest in this earth environment and the human species.

Which brings me up to the following criteria;

  • The earth is a sentience nursery for the development of intelligent species. It is one of five in our general region.
  • Those most interested in the development of the human sentience structure are the type-1 greys and the Mantids. Both come from this galactic region, if not the earth directly.
  • Any other creature, or extraterrestrial that hails from a distant and / or different solar system or galactic region are here for a limited time only.

Extraterrestrial disinformation.

There is a great deal of disinformation on the internet. When you look at it from the prism of MAJestic, their stories sound fantastical bordering on criminal.

My research has also come up with a goodly number of reports of Pleiadeans and other "Humanoid", "Blonde", and "Nordic" Star Visitors who are virtually indistinguishable from humans. 

Indeed, Native American and other indigenous people's traditions point to the Pleiades star cluster as their origin worlds. 

Others tell of people from the Sirius, Orion, and other star systems. If you were to place a pair of sunglasses on one of these "Nordic" Visitors, they would be indistinguishable from a Scandinavian-American citizen. 

Councillor Meata of the Star Nations High Council says that the Pleiadeans are especially gifted in medicine. When people are brought onto "ships" for physical body work, healers like the Pleiadeans often work with them.

940 B.C.-present day. The Saami are a human-looking race who migrated from Barnards Star the 6 light-years to Earth around 940 B.C. and live among us. They are resident in the Saami (Lapland) region above the Arctic Circle in Norway, Sweden, Finland, and northwest Russia Kola Peninsula. 

The Saamis are of extraterrestrial origin as reported by USAF Airman Charles Hall, who had security clearance for contact with Star Visitors. Hall has described the Saami as looking Human, with broad faces, high cheekbones, tall foreheads and darkish hair color. The Saami are distinguished by their having only 24 teeth instead of the normal-human 32 teeth. 

Also, these Saami people can regrow a tooth to replace any adult tooth which has been removed. They prefer a dramatically-cold climate. Otherwise they are indistinguishable from Humans. 

Some of these Saami (Laplanders) migrated to the U.S. and settled in northern-tier states such as Wisconsin. A number of Saami have intermarried with Europeans, so the degree to which their original Saami characteristics remain in the mixed-race offspring varies.

-Star Visitor Species

So, whether this is true or not is a determination that you the reader will need to make. Just because it does not make sense to me, doesn’t mean that it cannot actually exist.

However, I argue that we have observed the solar systems where these entities supposedly came from. They are entirely dissimilar to anything regarding our human range of experience. Thus the logical questions should arise…

  • Why are they interested in us?
  • Why do they look like us?
  • Why, if you read the articles about their “warnings”, do they want to get involved in our human Geo-politics?
  • How could they adapt to easily to such a frighteningly different environment on the earth compared to their home system.

Personally, I think others (well meaning of course) are using the “extraterrestrial narrative” as a venue from which to “soapbox” their personal opinions on politics, the environment, and human nature. While in truth, they know nothing of the true and real state of affairs.

Conclusion

We can see what other solar systems are like just by using our telescopes on earth. We can study those stars and their solar systems. When we do so, we realize just how varied and diverse the universe is.

It is not filled with stars that look like our sun.

It is not filled with planets that look like our earth.

And it most certainly is not filled with creatures that look like us, act like us, and want to help us by giving us advice on the Geo-political issues of the day.

It is true that life forms readily in this universe, but they are more apt not to care about us humans on this obscure planet around this obscure star in the middle of nowhere. Those that do, do so for specific reasons.

Thus, when filtering out the real from the disinformation that abounds all over the place, we should pay particular attention to the basics…

  • Any extraterrestrials that are here, are here for a good reason.
  • Powerful governments have created agencies to work with them. Like MAJestic in the United States.
  • In all cases, we want their technology, and are willing to exchange ANYTHING to get it.
  • There are no benevolent entities that want to help the human species evolve. They all have their own agendas.

Do you want some more?

I do hope that you enjoyed this post. I have many more in my MAJestic index, here…

MAJestic

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
  • If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
  • If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

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How to build a better mousetrap – part 2.

Well there is this guy in China that is obsessed with building mouse and rat traps. He’s also a kind of inventor / mad scientist or evil genus. And he has posted his magnificent machines on the internet for others to replicate. I, as an inventor / engineer, myself find these devices very interesting and fascinating. Let’s look at some here, and take note that I broke this article down into two posts. This is part two. Part one is HERE.

Who says that the Chinese cannot innovate?

It looks to me that they are innovating with aggression quite readily right here, and the results speak for themselves. Note that the videos are not for the squeamish. Rats and mice get trapped and some die. It’s sad, but it’s life, and for those of you who have lived a sheltered life, these critters carry illness and can hurt your family. Not to mention that they also can carry the COVID-19 to your home. Yikes!

Important note about the videos
Please kindly note that the videos are rather large (compared to a picture), and might require some time to load. In this post most videos are under 1M and so should load quickly, though two are larger. One is 3M and the other 5M. They might take some time to load. If you are having trouble watching the videos, just wait. Allow them to load. If things seem to have stopped, just reload you page and everything should be just fine afterwards.

Learn to swim.

This is rather simple. There are two diving boards with a small tunnel upon each that prevents the mouse from seeing the danger below. When it reaches the end of the paper tunnel, it’s weight causes the entire tunnel to tumble below into the pool of water. There the rat or mouse becomes trapped. As it cannot climb the slick sides of the PE box.

Other improvements might be to substitute bleach for water. That way, the vermin that are piggie-backed on the hair of the rats / mice are killed once they take the splash into the container. You know, with the COVID-19 all around us, special care must be taken to control the virus as well as the animals that carry it.

Learn to swim.

Trapped in a bottle.

This is pretty ingenious, and relies on the weight of the mouse to trap it.

The only way out of the bottle is through the opening. The thing is that when the mouse goes to the opening, it’s weight causes the bottle to pivot, and thus it moves in such a way as to block the exit from the bottle. Overall, it’s pretty ingenious.

Trapped in a bottle.

Electrical chop sticks.

This is a shocking video. The shock on the metal bands on the chop stick isn’t enough to kill the mice or rats, but it is enough to startle them. In earlier videos a voltage generator was used to generate 6000 volts, but here you can just use wall outlet 120 volts AC current. It’s enough to shock, but not to kill.

The thing is that when the mouse is shocked, it falls off the chop sticks and into a nice pail of water. Splash! Except that once you are in the pail, you just cannot get out. And as such the mice keep on trying to climb onto the floating blocks for safety.

Electrical chop sticks.

Under the blue balls.

This trap makes use of deception. The rats climb up to the edge of the pail. Looking down, they see a nice tray of delicious food on a flat blue surface. The only thing is that the flat surface is not what it appears to be. It’s a lie. And when the rats jump down, they do not land on top of the flat surface. No. They fall through into the liquid water below.

And after a few hours of rat-paddling (a rat version of doggie-paddling) they succumb to exhaustion and die.

Under the blue balls.

Ya just can’t get out.

So many interesting things about this video.

For starters, notice how the rat is using it’s tail to hold on to the handle at the edge . Notice how deceptively easy it appears to be to get out.

Notice that if the white metal wall in the back is positively charged, and the bowl is negatively charged, that when only one rat closes the circuits all the rats get electrocuted.

Ya just can’t get out.

Rat race track to nowhere.

Here we have foot tied to the hamster wheel. The smell of the delicious food attracts the rats / mice. As they try to get close to the food, the wheel moves and eventually, no matter how hard they try, they eventually end up falling into the water below.

It’s simple and ingenious.

Rat race track to nowhere.

Get a cat

Of course, if you have a rodent problem, the best solution is a cat. Humans and cats have had sustainable living arrangements for thousands of years. It’s no error and no mistake that cats are worshiped in ancient Egypt and today in Turkey. They can control the varmint problem and really go a long way to prevent disease and sickness.

If you have a rodent emergency, who are you going to call?

You go and get a cat.

Get a cat to catch a rat.

Final Thoughts

I do love inventing and finding answers to problems. The rat and the mouse are creatures that can bring in disease and pestilence. As such they need to be controlled so that they will not bring those problems to your home. There are various ways to do this with the time-honored spring-trap cage or board being the most time-honored and popular. But there are other methods as well, and the new innovations seen herein are pretty spectacular, don’t you agree?

Do you want more…

I do hope that you enjoyed this post. I have others and other posts on a wide and diverse selection of subjects within my Happiness / Life index here…

Life & Happiness

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
  • If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
  • If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

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Is our Solar System a binary system with a Brown Dwarf Companion within the Oort Cloud?

Could our solar system resemble most other visible stars in our galaxy? As our galaxy is filled with solar systems comprised with multiple stars, it has always seemed strange that our solar system would be so unusual.

Strange. Or perhaps, unique and special.

Well, there is evidence that our Sun has a companion. It’s a very dim brown dwarf, tiny and out on the fringes of our solar system in the Oort cloud. That would make it a Binary Star System.

Binary classifications Binary stars are two stars orbiting a common center of mass. The brighter star is officially classified as the primary star, while the dimmer of the two is the secondary (classified as A and B respectively). In cases where the stars are of equal brightness, the designation given by the discoverer is respected.

-Binary Star Systems: Classification and Evolution | Space

Here we talk about it.

First off, it’s pretty unusual for a G-class star to be part of a single-star solar system.

How do we know?

Multiple star systems are common

It has long been the common line that most stars are binary (or multiple). It’s one of those things that astronomers at all levels have a tendency to repeat if only because it has already been said so many times that it’s “obviously” true.

This notion is based primarily on the work of Helmut Abt during the 1960s & 1970s (e.g., Abt, 1961; Abt, et al., 1965; Abt, 1965; Abt & Levy, 1969; Abt & Snowden, 1973, which actually provides evidence to the contrary; Abt & Levy, 1978).

However, Abt only sampled a magnitude-limited population of stars. He only sampled the fairly bright & massive stars.

He did not explore the realm of low mass M-class dwarf stars.

But today we can see that the low-mass stars are far dimmer & far more common than was possible in Abt’s day. Modern surveys commonly sample hundreds of thousands to tens of millions of stars, something Abt could only dream of.

Analysis of those far larger samples now indicates that most main sequence stars are likely to be single than binary or multiple.

For instance, Lada, 2006 shows that 2/3 of all main sequence stellar systems in the Milky Way disk are single stars. Meanwhile, somewhat less than 1/2 of the Hipparcos stars in Lepine & Bongiorno, 2007 are binary or multiple (146 out of 521). Clark, Blake & Knapp, 2011 finds the binary fraction for their sample of SDSS M-dwarfs to be only 3-4%, but also that the total binary fraction goes up with stellar mass).

I think the current trend in “stellar multiplicity studies” shows that multiplicity goes up with stellar mass. The bigger and brighter the star, the greater the probability that it will be part of a multiple star system.

However, most stars are not in binary or multiple systems simply because low mass stars heavily outnumber high mass stars. And they outnumber them a lot!

It is evident that the formation of massive stars (Kratter, 2011; Zinnecker & Yorke, 2007) is somewhat different from the formation of lower mass stars (McKee & Ostriker, 2007) such that multiplicity is more likely in stars higher in mass than the sun.
  • O,B,A,F,G,K class stars tend to be part of multiple star systems.
  • M and brown dwarfs can, at times, be singular.
  • There are all sorts of exceptions to these rules.

Anyways, it just seemed strange to me that our sun, Sol is a singular G3 star with no companion. It’s the only one in our “neck of the woods”. In fact, I am unaware or any other G class star that does not have a companion.

It’s just odd.

A Brown Dwarf Companion

In 1999, U.K. and U.S. astronomers independently reported finding evidence that one or more large planets or brown dwarfs gravitationally bound to our Sun.

Thus, our sun (our star), Sol may be perturbing the orbits of two different groups of long-period comets that reside in the outer reaches of the Oort Cloud.

This gravitational action is causing two groups of comet (clusters) that normally reside in the Oort cloud to be pulled into the inner Solar System. This action is done with the assistance of galactic tidal forces.

Two teams have come to this conclusion independently.

  • John B. Murray (UK)
  • John J. Matese (US)

Calculations in 1999 by John B. Murray of the United Kingdom focus on a smaller region centered around Constellation Delphinus at an estimated distance of 32,000 AUs (John B. Murray, 1999).

The U.S. team (led by John J. Matese) most recently estimated that the substellar object (proposed to be named Tyche, the sister of Nemesis) may have a mass around one to four Jupiter-masses in the innermost region of the outer Oort Cloud, possibly orbiting Sol at around 10,000 to 30,000 AUs depending on its actual mass (Matese et al, 2010; and Lisa Grossman, Wired Science, November 29, 2010).

How our Sun actually interfaces and interacts with the brown dwarf companion within our solar system.
How our Sun actually interfaces and interacts with the brown dwarf companion within our solar system.

While some astronomers have speculated that Matese and Murray are being misled by random statistical fluctuations or the past gravitational effects of passing stars, Matese believes that confirmation through direct observation can be achieved by NASA with its Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer (WISE) satellite.

On May 25, 2011, at the 218th American Astronomical Society Meeting, Ned (Edward L.) Wright, principal investigator of the WISE Mission, noted that Tyche might be detectable as a “possible low-mass brown [dwarf]” in observational data already collected by WISE (now being processed) if it has at least two Jupiter-masses (AAS presentation abstract by Lissauer et al, 2011; and John Matson, blog at Scientific American, May 27, 2011).

The hypothesized object appears to have a mass smaller than one controversial definition for brown dwarfs specifying a minimum mass of at least 13 Jupiters (so that deutrium fusion can be sustained).

According to Matese, the objects current location in the outer Oort Cloud suggests that it did not form in Sol’s proto-planetary disk. Hence, either the object formed independently from fragmentation of the original Solar nebula, or the object was ejected from another star system and subsequently captured by the Sun (possibly as early as Sol was born in the crowded environs of its original star-forming cluster).

Dark and Golden Ages common in the lore of ancient cultures.

A book titled “Lost Star of Myth and Time” takes a good hard look at history and modern astronomical theory.

In it, the author makes a compelling case for the profound influence on our planet of a companion star to the sun. The author and theorist, Walter Cruttenden, presents the evidence that this binary orbit relationship may be the cause of a vast cycle human observed change. Change that is associated with the Dark and Golden Ages common in the lore of ancient cultures.

Researching archaeological and astronomical data at the Binary Research Institute, Cruttenden concludes that the movement of the solar system plays a more important role in life than people realize.

As such, he challenges some preconceived notions:

  • The phenomenon known as the precession of the equinox, fabled as a marker of time by ancient peoples, is not due to a local wobbling of the Earth as modern theory portends, but to the solar system’s gentle curve through space.

He argues that this movement of the solar system occurs because the Sun has a companion star. And this effect is due to a common center of gravity. Which is typical of most double star systems. The grand cycle–the time it takes to complete one orbit––is called a “Great Year,” a term coined by Plato.

Cruttenden explains the effect on earth with an analogy:

"Just as the spinning motion of the earth causes the cycle of day and night, and just as the orbital motion of the earth around the sun causes the cycle of the seasons, so too does the binary motion cause a cycle of rising and falling ages over long periods of time, due to increasing and decreasing electromagnet effects generated by our sun and other nearby stars."

While the findings in Lost Star are controversial, astronomers now agree that most stars are likely part of a binary or multiple star system.

Walter Cruttenden suggests that the Northern Celestial Pole is actually a brown dwarf companion. And that this companions orbit is the 25,800 year precessional arc.
Walter Cruttenden suggests that the Northern Celestial Pole is actually a brown dwarf companion. And that this companions orbit is the 25,800 year precessional arc.

Dr. Richard A. Muller, professor of physics at UC Berkeley and research physicist at Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, is an early proponent of a companion star to our sun; he prefers a 26 million year orbit period. Cruttenden uses 24,000 years and says the change in angular direction can be seen in the precession of the equinox.

Nibiru

Enter Zecharia Sitchin. Zecharia Sitchin was a historian who translated ancient Sumerian texts. The translations, no matter how hard he tried, always defined the establishment of the Sumerians as cultivated from the “Gods”. Of which, the “Gods” came from a planet within the solar system, known as the “12th planet” or the “tenth planet” depending on how you look at the writings. Of which Sitchin gave the name “Nibiru”.

He wrote a complete library of books on the subject.

The Earth Chronicles Series

The 12th Planet
Year of Publication: 1976
This is the first volume of the series that puts forth the view that humanity was the creation of a group of aliens who came to Earth, some time between 450,000 BCE and 13,000 BCE. The book tells us how the aliens mixed their own DNA with that of the proto-humans to create a superior race of the Homo sapiens, to work for the mining enterprises they had set up on Earth.

The Stairway to Heaven
Year of Publication: 1980
This second volume of the series ponders on the mystery of immortality. It seeks to unravel the secrets of alien landings on Earth, stating that the Anunnaki gods may have had a spaceport in the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt, where they frequently landed―”Those Who from Heaven to Earth Came.” He also puts forth a thought that the Pyramid of Giza may have been the Pharaoh’s entrance to the world of the immortal gods, which he aimed to enter in his afterlife.

The Wars of Gods and Men
Year of Publication: 1985
Sitchin begins this volume by saying that the Sinai spaceport was destroyed by nuclear weapons some 4,000 years ago. The book goes on to describe the violent beginnings of humanity on Earth, and how these power conflicts had begun ages before on another planet. The volume takes references from ancient texts, and attempts to reconstruct epic events like The Great Flood.

The Lost Realms
Year of Publication: 1990
Another well-researched volume in the series, The Lost Realms seeks to uncover the mysteries of ancient civilizations. The book describes how, in the 16th century, the Spaniards came to the New World in quest of the legendary City of Gold, El Dorado, and found instead, the most inexplicable ancient ruins in the most inaccessible of places. He further put forth the idea that the so-called pre-Columbian people―Mayans, Aztecs, Incans, etc.―might, in fact, have been the fabled Anunnaki.

When Time Began
Year of Publication: 1993
Through this book, Sitchin attempts to draw correlations between the various events in several millennia, which helped shape the human civilization on Earth. He stresses on the idea that the human race has progressed and prospered with the help of ancient aliens, who left behind several impressive and imposing structures, which testify their genius to this day.

The Cosmic Code
Year of Publication: 1998
Yet another engaging volume, The Cosmic Code delves in the idea that the human DNA, which was created by the ancient aliens, is in fact, a cosmic code that connects Man to God and the Earth to Heaven. He refers to writings on ancient prophesies, and proposes that this cosmic code is key to several secrets related to the celestial destiny of man.

The End of Days: Armageddon and Prophecies of the Return
Year of Publication: 2007
In this last volume of the Earth Chronicles, Sitchin stresses on the idea that the past is very similar to the future. He attempts to put forth compelling evidence that the fate of man and that of our planet depends on a predetermined celestial time cycle, and if we understand the past properly, it is also possible to foretell the future.

The Companion Volumes

Genesis Revisited: Is Modern Science Catching Up With Ancient Knowledge?
Year of Publication: 1990
Sitchin wrote this first companion volume to his Earth Chronicles series, in which he attempts to establish, in the light of ancient as well as modern evidence, that all the advances made by humans today were actually known to our ancestors, millions of years ago.

Divine Encounters: A Guide to Visions, Angels and Other Emissaries
Year of Publication: 1995
This book seeks to tackle the issue of the possible links between humans and the so-called divine beings. Sitchin refers to several Biblical stories in his attempt to establish a probability of an interaction between Anunnaki and the humans, thus, also offering an explanation to the UFO sightings in recent years.

The Lost Book of Enki: Memoirs and Prophecies of an Extraterrestrial God
Year of Publication: 2001
This companion volume attempts to reveal the actual identity of the Anunnaki―the first gods of mankind according to the Sumerian mythology. Sitchin has taken efforts to explain the reason behind the creation of humans, and the probable existence of the knowledge of genetic engineering, millions of years ago.

The Earth Chronicles Expeditions
Year of Publication: 2004
This book is Zecharia Sitchin’s autobiographical account of his various expeditions to the ancient and relatively modern archaeological sites in quest of the probable connection between humans and extraterrestrials. He presents compelling evidence to state that ancient myths are, in fact, recollections of real events of the past. The book also contains many photographs from the author’s personal collection.

Journeys to the Mythical Past
Year of Publication: 2007
A continuation of the earlier volume, The Earth Chronicles Expeditions, this book talks about some more investigations and discoveries of Sitchin, and how all these experiences inspired him to write his Earth Chronicles. This autobiographical account takes us to several interesting places right from Egypt to the Vatican to the Alps and Malta, and attempts to list some mind-stirring facts.

The Earth Chronicles Handbook: A Comprehensive Guide to the Seven Books of The Earth Chronicles
Year of Publication: 2009
This is an encyclopedic compilation that is meant to serve as a navigational tool for the entire Earth Chronicles series. This is a must-have volume, especially if you are reading the series without any background knowledge.

There Were Giants Upon the Earth: Gods, Demigods & Human Ancestry: The Evidence of Alien DNA
Year of Publication: 2010
This volume attempts to present supporting evidence for the author’s assertion in the Earth Chronicles that the human DNA was genetically engineered by the aliens. In the light of ancient writings and artifacts, Sitchin not only tries to reveal the DNA source, but also to provide proof of alien presence on Earth millions of years ago.

The King Who Refused to Die: The Anunnaki and The Search for Immortality
Year of Publication: 2013
This is the last book authored by Zecharia Sitchin, which attempts to reconstruct the famous epic of Gilgamesh in the wake of his own findings. The novel tells a tale of ancient Sumerian ceremonies, love and betrayal, gods among men, travels from one planet to the other, and the age-old thirst of humans for immortality. The book was published after Sitchin’s death.

The core premise he has made in his writings is that there is a 10th Planet (again, including Pluto) in our solar system with an elliptical orbit of about 3600 of our years.

People from Nibiru came to Earth and discovered the gold they needed to help repair their atmosphere and they began mining it. Much of the knowledge of these ancient people, which they knew because the Anunnaki (those who from heaven to Earth came) told them, has come true, including the color and size of Neptune and Uranus, and the very existence of the outer planets, long before our telescopes could find them. Scientists even suspect another large object in the Kuiper Belt, which might be Nibiru.

Perhaps Nibiru isn’t a planet in orbit around our sun, but rather a binary companion to our star. If so, then that would explain a lot.

Conclusion

Others have come to the conclusion that there are large planet sized objects out in the Oort cloud. The evidence is there from;

  • Historical writings.
  • Observations in the orbits of comets.
  • The precession of the equinox.

If accurate, then this means that the solar system is typical. And that if there is a brown dwarf sized body out in the Oort cloud, then it could very well shelter earth-sized rocky moons (planets) in orbit around it.

While it would be impossibly dim to see with human eyes on earth, to a person living upon a earth-sized planet around this brown dwarf, they would have evolved to see in the infrared, and could have easily adapted to the point where they could have obtained space flight millennia ago.

And perhaps, just perhaps, flew to their nearest stellar neighbor millions of years ago; our Sun.

To a person who's eyes has adapted to the light from a brown dwarf, the view of a normally pitch-dark night on Earth might look like this.
To a person who’s eyes has adapted to the light from a brown dwarf, the view of a normally pitch-dark night on Earth might look like this.

This idea, and this concept would explain a lot of mysteries.

Do you want more?

If you found this post interesting, you might enjoy my other posts in my MAJestic Index here…

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How to build a better mousetrap – part 1.

Well there is this guy in China that is obsessed with building mouse and rat traps. He’s also a kind of inventor / mad scientist or evil genus. And he has posted his magnificent machines on the internet for others to replicate. I, as an inventor / engineer, myself find these devices very interesting and fascinating. Let’s look at some here, and take note that I broke this article down into two posts. This is part one.

Who says that the Chinese cannot innovate?

It looks to me that they are innovating with aggression quite readily right here, and the results speak for themselves. Note that the videos are not for the squeamish. Rats and mice get trapped and some die. It’s sad, but it’s life, and for those of you who have lived a sheltered life, these critters carry illness and can hurt your family. Not to mention that they also can carry the COVID-19 to your home. Yikes!

Important note about the videos
Please kindly note that the videos are rather large (compared to a picture), and might require some time to load. In this post most videos are under 1M and so should load quickly, though two are larger. One is 3M and the other 5M. They might take some time to load. If you are having trouble watching the videos, just wait. Allow them to load. If things seem to have stopped, just reload you page and everything should be just fine afterwards.

Chemical warfare

Here, this inventor added his own special mixture of glue and putty. I suppose there are many ways to do this, from adding “crazy glue” to peanut-butter, or making up your own custom glue trap. It’s basically some form of tar that the rats get stuck in. I also think that he might have sprayed some kind of anti-roach spray on top and the rats that cannot get away eventually have neurological damage and become too weak to pry themselves away. Check it all out.

Chemical warfare.

Electrical snare

This trap is nothing more than a “blue light” “bug zapper” reconfigured to catch rats. The electrical grid is laid out in three circles. One is positive, the next negative, and the one after that is positive and so forth. THey are hooked up to the high voltage source, which depending on the store-bough bug zapper this could be from 3000 volts to 6000 volts.

So what happens is when one rat stands on one grid and touches another grid, the electrical circuit is closed and the rat gets a fierce does of electricity.

Electrical Snare.

Collapsing membrane trap

Here is a “one off” device. It is useful for catching one rat at a time.

A balloon (in red) is inside a big plastic trash can. Above it is a standard child’s play ball. and that ball is holding up a mesh screen from a stand fan. When a rat gets inside the blue trash can, it tries to leave, but it’s claws cannot climb the slick plastic surface, so it claws into the red balloon. With a great shock and surprise, the red balloon bursts and the cage falls down, trapping the rat.

Collapsing membrane trap

Dead end without escape.

This is a mechanical trap. The empty beer cans (it has to be beer cans, why would anyone drink anything else?), are all on a rod, and permitted to spin. There are two ramps for the rats to climb up on. As you can see, once the rats get in, there really isn’t much of a way to get out. They become stuck inside the box.

Dead end without escape.

The pipe of no return.

Ah… the pipe of no return. You enter the pipe because you smell the delicious food inside. You move forward, deeper and deeper into the pipe. You see the delicious food right in front of you. All you need to do is slide down that stray. No problem, right?

And then, there you are. You fell right smack into the middle of a pile of delicious food. You eat your fill, and then your other rat neighbor falls on top of you, and then another, and then another… and another.

The pipe of no return.

Not mechanically inclined? Get a cat.

It is well known that cats are hunters, but few people ever see just how great they are in catching rats and mice. I have a number of videos on this, and it is astounding. These kitties are killing machines, I’ll tell you what.

To paraphrase a half-remembered quote from “Reese” from the movie “Terminator”.

He won't stop.

He doesn't know compassion, or kindness, or empathy.

He will come after you, over and over again, until he hunts you down, and kills you.
Problems with mice? Get a cat.

For mass capture attempts.

Here’s an improved version of the above pipe mechanism. This one seems to be of much easier construction (begin a tube and all), and allows a far greater number of rats and vermin to be caught. Outstanding design. It’s got all the elements of a great design.

  • Simple construction.
  • Cheap.
  • Easy to make.
  • Effective.
  • Easy to empty.
  • No moving parts.
  • No electricity.
Mark II rat capture device.

Conclusion

"The Chinese cannot innovate."

I get a lot of disinformation about China all over the internet. It is said so often that everyone believes it. It’s simply not true. China is a nation of hard-working nerds, designers and engineers, and it’s no mistake that most of the world’s factories are inside of China.

If you have any doubts about innovation, then look at the large numbers of patents out of China right now, the amazing network of high-seed trains, and the commonplace high technology, from 5G, AI, robotics to infra-camera robotic drones. China is around ten years more advanced than the USA and accelerating quickly.

This is just a glimpse at some “backyard engineering”. It’s not just this farmer. It’s everywhere…

Everywhere.

Do you have a better way to catch and snare rats? I’d like to hear your ideas, and a video if possible.

Do you want more…

If you enjoyed this post, you might want to check out my Happiness Index, here…

Life & Happiness

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

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Details on how to conduct a Prayer and Affirmation campaign to navigate World-Line destinations in the MWI.

Here we discuss prayer campaigns.

Here are some more notes (or thoughts) in how to best utilize the “Prayer and Affirmation” technique in manual manifestation of World-line travel. We discuss what a “campaign” is, as well as “expectations”, and some dangers of casual efforts. As in all my other posts, please keep in mind that the way our universe works is completely different from what it appears to be. This is the realm of quantum physics, and this post can be considered to be an “application of quantum physics laws for personal physical benefit”.

Campaign

The “prayer / affirmation” technique of MWI World-Line travel requires a sequence of individual “campaigns” of prayer and manifestation. You just cannot say that you will create a list, do it for a while, and then give up and quit. It does not work that way. Yet, that is the first thing that many “newcomers” to this process think.

You need to think in the “long term”.

This means that you will need to focus on one “campaign” at a time. Stop for a while, and then start a new campaign. The new campaigns will always focus on the changes on your life during the “rest periods” between “campaigns”.

So, to properly (manually) world-line travel you will need to have a long, drawn out series of campaigns interspersed with “rest periods” where you neither say your affirmations or think about them. This is of CRITICAL IMPORTANCE.

A simplified diagram showing how the prayer/affirmation process should look like. It should consists of a series of campaigns and once you finish a campaign, your brain can start navigating through the world lines to obtain your goals. Often, this will be months after your campaign ended.
A simplified diagram showing how the prayer/affirmation process should look like. It should consists of a series of campaigns and once you finish a campaign, your brain can start navigating through the world lines to obtain your goals. Often, this will be months after your campaign ended.

The length of campaign and the length of the rest period differs for different people. It all depends on your consciousness, your soul, your environment, and the very nature of your goals / wishes.

Most people will advise you to stop your campaign when you “feel” that it is time to stop. This is sound advice. However, not all readers are able to accept this as an answer. So I will offer an alternative concept.

Run your affirmations / prayers on a three month cycle. Three months of programming your affirmations in a campaign. Then three months of rest, and then begin the entire process all over again, but with a different or revised set of goals. Generally, sometime after a period of six months to a year (with nine months on average) you should start to see some manifestation of your desires.

Sudden Manifestations during a Campaign

It has been brought to my attention that some of you all think that once you started the affirmations, and change started to walk into your life, that it was due to your prayers. No. That is wrong. In general, any manifested change will happen MONTHS AFTER a given campaign ended.

Never during a campaign.

So if you start to suddenly see some changes in your life, do not jump to the conclusion that your prayer / affirmations caused them to appear. That likelihood is very, very small.

The manifestation of goals early on in a campaign is a "false positive". It is not the result of your efforts, you are still only just programming your mind, and you haven't even compiled or run your program yet.
The manifestation of goals early on in a campaign is a “false positive”. It is not the result of your efforts, you are still only just programming your mind, and you haven’t even compiled or run your program yet.

The rule of thumb is this; The world-line path that you will take will begin to manifest after your last “prayer / affirmation” in your campaign. Never during a campaign.

The importance of forgetting

A prayer campaign means nothing unless you have a “rest” period afterwards. This period is critical and important to the success of your entire effort. Once you have established your affirmations in place, then you will need to let them “go”.

You must turn off your mind.

You see, the way this works is that you use your mind to program your World-Line navigation. That will require your mouth to vocalize and your mind to hear the commands. But it will NEVER manifest unless you free your mind and set it to embark on other day-to-day activities.

Your mind must be switched from "programming mode" to "run / "operation mode".
Your mind must be switched from “programming mode” to “run / “operation mode”.

The mind must go from “programming” to “running the program”.

In other words you have to “turn off” the programming aspect of this procedure. Then you need to let the pre-programmed brain follow the path that you laid out for it.

Otherwise, it’s still in programming mode. It’s not running the program that you established for it.

It’s like a software program. You need to [1] write the code, and then [2] compile it. Once compiled, you then [3] run the code.

It works exactly like this.

Unless you stop everything and allow the system to compile, it will never run. And, boys and girls, it needs to run for a set period of time (depending on the number of world-lines that you will need to traverse) to finally be able to manifest your goals.

  • Write down your affirmations = write the code.
  • Say your affirmations in a campaign = compile the code.
  • Stop and rest = run the code.

It’s that simple.

The Brain

The brain is just a “tool” that the consciousness uses to interact with a given world-line reality. As such it needs to be programmed. Often, it is the environment that programs the brain. And it is this fact that causes us all the grief that we end up dealing with.

That is why the “prayer / affirmation plus the dream board” is the best all around way (I believe) for most people to use to manifest their goals and desires, and to take control over their life.

It is very important that the reader understand some things quite clearly.

  • You are “consciousness”.
  • You, as consciousness, come from a larger grouping known as “soul”.
  • As consciousness, you move in and out through world-line “realities”.
  • Each time you are in a reality, your consciousness uses the brain as a tool to move about and act within that reality.
  • You are NOT the brain. This is a common misconception made by many ill-informed people.

The brain is a tool.

You must properly program it to use it properly.

Extent of Affirmations

There are two different philosophies in how to run a prayer / affirmation campaign.

  • Focus on one thing at a time. Only one thing per a campaign.
  • Put everything in your campaign all at once.

Most certainly, if you concentrate on one thing at a time, it will be far easier to identify when your goal has been met, or is in the process of being met. But, because it is so singular and focused it often can result in all sorts of other issues.

For instance. 

Let's suppose that you only focus on being "strong" during your campaign.

Your brain will manifest your desire to be "strong" following the nearest and closest world-line route. Which might not be what you intend.

Let's suppose that you intend to be "strong" like a professional bodybuilder, but your affirmations only say "to be strong". 

The following manifestations in your "Prayer / affirmation" list are likely to occur...

[1] You lose your job and are forced to become a laborer carrying heavy piles of rock up a hill. The job makes you strong.

[2] You have a family emergency and you need to be strong emotionally to handle all the events, and turmoil. The strife makes you strong.

[3] You decide to start joining a weight-lifting club in a gym because they had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join at 90% off. You make yourself strong.

It’s like the movie “Bedazzled” where the character Elliot tells the Devil that he “wishes to have a hamburger”. And so she gets on a bus, they travel to the other end of the city, and Elliot is forced to pay for a hamburger at a fast food restaurant.

Scene from the movie "Bedazzled" where the wishes granted by the Devil are not exactly what the man (Elliot) intended.
Scene from the movie “Bedazzled” where the wishes granted by the Devil are not exactly what the man (Elliot) intended.

It is for the reasons listed above that I strongly advise that you be as specific as possible in your affirmations. This can lead to many additional supporting lines. In practice, you tend to delineate your lifestyle and other factors over and above the singular desire.

So I am of the opinion to put everything in the campaign and only to expect certain elements on your list to manifest early, with the rest of the things manifesting over time. It’s not a singular target goal, but a general region consisting of multiple goals over time.

Cautions and a little background

I learned how to perform manual MWI travel out of necessity. It’s true. I got involved in manual overrides of my world-line adventures out of necessity.

You can have ANYTHING you desire, if you focus, and if you handle things properly in the prescribed manner. If you do not have the discipline to do so, then do not even bother trying.
You can have anything you desire, provided that you focus and handle things properly in the prescribed manner. If you do not have the ability to focus and devote yourself to the prescribed requirements, it would be in your best interests to not even bother trying.

Some history…

My role in MAJestic was driving me a tad nuts. With slides “out of the blue”, and constantly scrambling while my physical life was rocky and very, very uncomfortable.

It was relentless, and I needed to come up with “coping skills” in order to meet the goals of both MAJestic and my very own personal life.

As a result I started to implement what I knew [1] from my role within MAJestic, and [2] merged it with Q/A via the ELF communications, and [3] a very strong guidance via the EBP. (If all these terms are unusual to you don’t get too upset about them.)

In short, I just needed to be able to learn to pray to maintain my sanity.

I had a very long period of “trial and error” until I was able to master things better. It lasted a very long time with many mistakes along the way.

Then, once I was able to get control of what was going on, I then was able to distill what I had learned and started to implement them. Funny thing is once they were “perfected”, I was advised to “HOLD” and within a few weeks I entered my “MAJestic retirement” sequence in ADC Pine Bluff.

Now, I interpret this to mean that I had mastered what I was supposed to learn, and was ready to be retired with the ELF mothballed, but the EBP still active.

And here we are now.

I can tell you the reader that manual travel through the MWI is a natural event, and it requires some discipline and a degree of shutting off the outside “news” and propaganda. They will retard your ability to achieve your goals. So come caution is required.

  • The key to the success of this method is to avoid “news”. It’s all propaganda designed to derail your goals and replace them with the PTB goals instead.

The term PTB is a catch-all for the humans that pretty much run the earth right now, the “Powers That Be”. I will write a post on this sometime in the future, but in general you can consider them to be the people who “pull the strings” behind the scenes. You can read about it HERE.

The PTB pull at your emotions and manipulate your mind for their purposes.

The Drudge Report from 11MAY20. What particular news items affect your immediate life RIGHT NOW? Why is it important that you read these articles? How will they influence your life, and how will they improve your life?
The Drudge Report from 11MAY20. What particular news items affect your immediate life RIGHT NOW? Why is it important that you read these articles? How will they influence your life, and how will they improve your life?

Anyways, you need to focus on your needs and your wants. I know that it is difficult, but you need to do it.

  • Your personal goals are incompatible with the goals and manipulation that you see on the media, the news and the internet.

So what you need to do is be focused like a laser. You need to think about your prayers manifesting, and ignore the latest round of heart-tugging news designed to derail your personal efforts.

The rule of thumb is this; the implementation of your goals via a prayer campaign would be delayed by the influence of the “news” on your brain. If you are an avid consumer of “news” and commenting on Social Media is a habit and an addiction, you can expect your goals to be delayed substantially.

The “Long Haul”

If you are doing this, you are in the “Long Haul”. This should become a very important part of you and part of your lifestyle. This is particularly difficult for Americans to understand. As we want immediate responses, and results. We want short durations pleasures that are easy to obtain. We want “Fast Food”, not formal sit-down family meals. We want “instant 2-24 hour news”, not a monthly magazine article. We want the latest fashions NOW!, not next year when you can afford them.

To have a well made prayer campaign, you need to be very specific in following the affirmations and the techniques listed here.
To have a well made prayer campaign, you need to be very specific in following the affirmations and the techniques listed here.

This short-term desire and objectives will not work with the “prayer / affirmation” method of World-Line travel. That is because the more “out there”; the more “extreme” your desires, the longer it will take to manifest. In order words, a prayer to eat an ice cream cone might require 56 world-lines to cross-over and slide into. While a desire to become the King of New Jersey, might take 567,847,933,872,283,325,023 World-Lines to manifest.

Conclusion

World-line travel is never conducted “on the fly”.

It is always planned out and put into action with specific objectives and goals in mind. This is true whether you are entering a MAJestic dimensional portal, using a (so called) “time machine”, or manipulating your reality via prayer. You must plan out your goals, put them into your computer; your brain, and set it to run without interruption.

You must turn off the “news” least your programming would start getting a “virus” or “glitches”.

Finally, when it starts to manifest you might be surprised at the strange and unusual things that might confront you. Trust me, you have absolutely no idea how spectacular things that manifest.

Do you want more…

I do hope that you enjoyed this post. I have many more in my intention section of my MAJestic index, here…

MAJestic

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
  • If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
  • If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

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The Number of the Beast (full text) by Robert Heinlein

This is the full text of a very long full length novel by Robert Heinlein. It is about a “mad scientist” that builds a machine that can enter and leave different world-lines at will. The scientist meets up with a girl and they both go out exploring all the very many different world lines at their leasure. As they fiddle with the controls they start to enter some very strange world-lines. Some of which resemble other science fiction novels, and some that resemble childhood stories…

This novel was one of the last Heinlein stores. It tends to be confusing if you have never read Heinlein before. As he refers to other stories that he wrote and the events that transpire tends to be confusing if you are not paying attention to it. Further, this (as one of his last major works) is jam packed with “farwells” to his friends, family and associates, as well as chock full of literiary “Easter Eggs”. He also includes answers to some “Hanging” mysteries and unanswered situations in some of his other works.

I enjoyed it, and perhaps you will as well.

CONTENTS

PART 1 – The Vale
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

PART 2 – The Apostate
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

PART 3 – The Time Of Woe
39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

PART ONE – The Mandarin’s Butterfly

Chapter I

” – it is better to marry than to burn.” – Saul of Tarsus

Zeb:
“He’s a Mad Scientist and I’m his Beautiful Daughter.”
That’s what she said: the oldest cliché in pulp fiction. She wasn’t old enough to remember the pulps.
The thing to do with a silly remark is to fail to hear it. I went on waltzing while taking another look down her evening formal. Nice view. Not foam rubber.
She waltzed well. Today most girls who even attempt ballroom dancing drape themselves around your neck and expect you to shove them around the floor. She kept her weight on her own feet, danced close without snuggling, and knew what I was going to do a split second before I led it. A perfect partner as long as she didn’t talk.
“Well?” she persisted.
My paternal grandfather – an unsavory old reactionary; the FemLibbers would have lynched him – used to say, “Zebadiah, the mistake we made was not in putting shoes on them or in teaching them to read – we should never have taught them to talk!”
I signaled a twirl by pressure; she floated into it and back into my arms right on the beat. I inspected her hands and the outer corners of her eyes. Yes, she really was young – minimum eighteen (Hilda Corners never permitted legal “infants” at her parties), maximum twenty-five, first approximation twenty-two. Yet she danced like her grandmother’s generation.
“Well?” she repeated more firmly.
This time I openly stared. “Is that cantilevering natural? Or is there an invisible bra, you being in fact the sole support of two dependents?”
She glanced down, looked up and grinned. “They do stick out, don’t they? Your comment is rude, crude, unrefined, and designed to change the subject.”
“What subject? I made a polite inquiry; you parried it with amphigory.”
“‘Amphigory’ my tired feet! I answered precisely.”
“‘Amphigory,'” I repeated. “The operative symbols were ‘mad,’ ‘scientist,’ ‘beautiful,’ and ‘daughter.’ The first has several meanings – the others denote opinions. Semantic content: zero.”
She looked thoughtful rather than angry. “Pop isn’t rabid… although I did use ‘mad’ in ambivalent mode. ‘Scientist’ and ‘beautiful’ each contain descriptive opinions, I stipulate. But are you in doubt as to my sex? If so, are you qualified to check my twenty-third chromosome pair? With transsexual surgery so common I assume that anything less would not satisfy you.”
“I prefer a field test.”
“On the dance floor?”
“No, the bushes back of the pool. Yes, I’m qualified – laboratory or field. But it was not your sex that lay in the area of opinion; that is a fact that can be established… although the gross evidence is convincing. I -“
“Ninety-five centimeters isn’t gross! Not for my height. One hundred seventy bare-footed, one eighty in these heels. It’s just that I’m wasp-waisted for my mass – forty-eight centimeters versus fifty-nine kilos.”
“And your teeth are your own and you don’t have dandruff. Take it easy, Deedee; I didn’t mean to shake your aplomb” – or those twin glands that are not gross but delicious. I have an infantile bias and have known it since I was six – six months, that is. “But the symbol ‘daughter’ encompasses two statements, one factual – sex – and the other a matter of opinion even when stated by a forensic genetohematologist.”
“Gosh, what big words you know, Mister. I mean ‘Doctor’.”
“‘Mister’ is correct. On this campus it is swank to assume that everyone holds a doctorate. Even I have one, Ph.D. Do you know what that stands for?”
“Doesn’t everybody? I have a Ph.D., too. ‘Piled Higher and Deeper.'”
I raised that maximum to twenty-six and assigned it as second approximation. “Phys. ed.?”
“Mister Doctor, you are trying to get my goat. Won’t work. I had an undergraduate double major, one being phys. ed. with teacher’s credentials in case I needed a job. But my real major was math – which I continued in graduate school.”
“And here I had been assuming that ‘Deedee’ meant ‘Doctor of Divinity.'”
“Go wash out your mouth with soap. My nickname is my initials – Dee Tee. Or Deety. Doctor D. T. Burroughs if being formal, as I can’t be ‘Mister’ and refuse to be ‘Miz’ or ‘Miss.’ See here, Mister; I’m supposed to be luring you with my radiant beauty, then hooking you with my feminine charm… and not getting anywhere. Let’s try another tack. Tell me what you piled higher and deeper.”
“Let me think. Flycasting? Or was it basketweaving? It was one of those transdisciplinary things in which the committee simply weighs the dissertation. Tell you what. I’ve got a copy around my digs. I’ll find it and see what title the researcher who wrote it put on it.”
“Don’t bother. The title is ‘Some Implications of a Six-Dimensional Non-Newtonian Continuum.’ Pop wants to discuss it.”
I stopped waltzing. “Huh? He’d better discuss that paper with the bloke who wrote it.”
“Nonsense; I saw you blink – I’ve hooked you. Pop wants to discuss it, then offer you a job.”
“‘Job’! I just slipped off the hook.”
“Oh, dear! Pop will be really mad. Please? Please, sir!”
“You said that you had used ‘mad’ in ambivalent mode. How?”
“Oh. Mad-angry because his colleagues won’t listen to him. Mad-psychotic in the opinions of some colleagues. They say his papers don’t make sense.”
“Do they make sense?”
“I’m not that good a mathematician, sir. My work is usually simplifying software. Child’s play compared with n-dimensional spaces.”
I wasn’t required to express an opinion; the trio started Blue Tango, Deety melted into my arms. You don’t talk if you know tango.
Deety knew. After an eternity of sensual bliss, I swung her out into position precisely on coda; she answered my bow and scrape with a deep curtsy. “Thank you, sir.”
“Whew! After a tango like that the couple ought to get married.”
“All right. I’ll find our hostess and tell Pop. Five minutes? Front door, or side?”
She looked serenely happy. I said, “Deety, do you mean what you appear to mean? That you intend to marry me? A total stranger?”
Her face remained calm but the light went out – and her nipples went down. She answered steadily. “After that tango we are no longer strangers. I construed your statement as a proposal – no, a willingness – to marry me. Was I mistaken?”
My mind went into emergency, reviewing the past years the way a drowning man’s life is supposed to flash before his eyes (how could anyone know that?): a rainy afternoon when my chum’s older sister had initiated me into the mysteries; the curious effect caused by the first time strangers had shot back at me; a twelve-month cohabitation contract that had started with a bang and had ended without a whimper; countless events which had left me determined never to marry.
I answered instantly, “I meant what I implied – marriage, in its older meaning. I’m willing. But why are you willing? I’m no prize.”
She took a deep breath, straining the fabric, and – thank Allah! – her nipples came up. “Sir, you are the prize I was sent to fetch, and, when you said that we really ought to get married – hyperbole and I knew it – I suddenly realized, with a deep burst of happiness, that this was the means of fetching you that I wanted above all!”
She went on, “But I will not trap you through misconstruing a gallantry. If you wish, you may take me into those bushes back of the pool… and not marry me.” She went on firmly, “But for that… whoring… my fee is for you to talk with my father and to let him show you something.”
“Deety, you’re an idiot! You would ruin that pretty gown.”
“Mussing a dress is irrelevant but I can take it off. I will. There’s nothing under it.”
“There’s a great deal under it!”
That fetched a grin, instantly wiped away. “Thank you. Shall we head for the bushes?”
“Wait a half! I’m about to be noble and regret it the rest of my life. You’ve made a mistake. Your father doesn’t want to talk to me; I don’t know anything about n-dimensional geometry.” (Why do I get these attacks of honesty? I’ve never done anything to deserve them.)
“Pop thinks you do; that is sufficient. Shall we go? I want to get Pop out of here before he busts somebody in the mouth.”
“Don’t rush me; I didn’t ask you to rassle on the grass; I said I wanted to marry you – but wanted to know why you were willing to marry me. Your answer concerned what your father wants. I’m not trying to marry your father; he’s not my type. Speak for yourself, Deety. Or drop it.” (Am I a masochist? There’s a sunbathing couch back of those bushes.)
Solemnly she looked me over, from my formal tights to my crooked bow tie and on up to my thinning brush cut – a hundred and ninety-four centimeters of big ugly galoot. “I like your firm lead in dancing. I like the way you look. I like the way your voice rumbles. I like your hair-splitting games with words – you sound like Whorf debating Korzybski with Shannon as referee.” She took another deep breath, finished almost sadly: “Most of all, I like the way you smell.”
It would have taken a sharp nose to whiff me. I had been squeaky clean ninety minutes earlier, and it takes more than one waltz and a tango to make me sweat. But her remark had that skid in it that Deety put into almost anything. Most girls, when they want to ruin a man’s judgment, squeeze his biceps and say, “Goodness, you’re strong!”
I grinned down at her. “You smell good too. Your perfume could rouse a corpse.”
“I’m not wearing perfume.”
“Oh. Correction: your natural pheromone. Enchanting. Get your wrap, Side door. Five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell your father we’re getting married. He gets that talk, free. I decided that before you started to argue. It won’t take him long to decide that I’m not Lobachevski.”
“That’s Pop’s problem,” she answered, moving. “Will you let him show you this thing he’s built in our basement?”
“Sure, why not? What is it?”


“A time machine.”

Chapter II

“This Universe never did make sense – “

Zeb:
Tomorrow I will seven eagles see, a great comet will appear, and voices will speak from whirlwinds foretelling monstrous and fearful things – This Universe never did make sense; I suspect that it was built on government contract.
“Big basement?”
“Medium. Nine by twelve. But cluttered. Work benches and power tools.”
A hundred and eight square meters – Ceiling height probably two and a half – Had Pop made the mistake of the man who built a boat in his basement?
My musing was interrupted by a male voice in a high scream: “You overeducated, obstipated, pedantic ignoramus! Your mathematical intuition froze solid the day you matriculated!”
I didn’t recognize the screamer but did know the stuffed shirt he addressed: Professor Neil O’Heret Brain, head of the department of mathematics – and God help the student who addressed a note to “Professor N.O. Brain” or even “N. O’H. Brain.” “Brainy” had spent his life in search of The Truth – intending to place it under house arrest.
He was puffed up like a pouter pigeon with is professional pontifical pomposity reeling. His expression suggested that he was giving birth to a porcupine.
Deety gasped, “It’s started,” and dashed toward the row. Me, I stay out of rows; I’m a coward by trade and wear fake zero-prescription glasses as a buffer – when some oaf snarls, “Take off your glasses!” that gives me time to retreat.
I headed straight for the row.
Deety had placed herself between the two, facing the screamer, and was saying in a low but forceful voice, “Pop, don’t you dare! – I won’t bail you out!” She was reaching for his glasses with evident intent to put them back on his face. It was clear that he had taken them off for combat; he was holding them out of her reach.
I reached over their heads, plucked them out of his hand, gave them to Deety. She flashed me a smile and put them back on her father. He gave up and let her. She then took his arm firmly. “Aunt Hilda!”
Our hostess converged on the row. “Yes, Deety? Why did you stop them, darling? You didn’t give us time to get bets down.” Fights were no novelty at “Sharp” Corners’ parties. Her food and liquor were lavish, the music always live; her guests were often eccentric but never dull – I had been surprised at the presence of N. O. Brain.
I now felt that I understood it: a planned hypergolic mixture.
Deety ignored her questions. “Will you excuse Pop and me and Mr. Carter? Something urgent has come up.”
“You and Jake may leave if you must. But you can’t drag Zebbie away. Deety, that’s cheating.”
Deety looked at me. “May I tell?”
“Eh? Certainly!”
That bliffy “Brainy” picked this moment to interrupt. “Mrs. Corners, Doctor Burroughs can’t leave until he apologizes! I insist. My privilege!”
Our hostess looked at him with scorn. “Merde, Professor. I’m not one of your teaching fellows. Shout right back at Jake Burroughs if you like. If your command of invective equals his, we’ll enjoy hearing it. But just one more wordthat sounds like an order to me or to one of my guests – and out you go! Then you had best go straight home; the Chancellor will be trying to reach you.” She turned her back on him. “Deety, you started to add something?”
“Sharp” Corners can intimidate Internal Revenue agents. She hadn’t cut loose on “Brainy” – just a warning shot across his bow. But from his face one would have thought she had hulled him. However, her remark to Deety left me no time to see whether he would have a stroke.
“Not Deety, Hilda. Me. Zeb.”
“Quiet, Zebbie. Whatever it is, the answer is No. Deety? Go ahead, dear.”
Hilda Corners is related to that famous mule. I did not use a baseball bat because she comes only up to my armpits and grosses forty-odd kilos. I picked her up by her elbows and turned her around, facing me. “Hilda, we’re going to get married.”
“Zebbie darling! I thought you would never ask.”
“Not you, you old harridan. Deety. I proposed, she accepted; I’m going to nail it down before the anesthetic wears off.”
Hilda looked thoughtfully interested. “That’s reasonable.” She craned her neck to look at Deety. “Did he mention his wife in Boston, Deety? Or the twins?”
I set her back on her feet. “Pipe down, Sharpie; this is serious. Doctor Burroughs, I am unmarried, in good health, solvent, and able to support a family. I hope this meets with your approval.”
“Pop says Yes,” Deety answered. “I hold his power of attorney.”
“You pipe down, too. My name is Carter, sir – Zeb Carter. I’m on campus; you can check my record. But I intend to marry Deety at once, if she will have me.”
“I know your name and record, sir. It doesn’t require my approval; Deety is of age. But you have it anyhow.” He looked thoughtful. “If you two are getting married at once, you’ll be too busy for shop talk. Or would you be?”
“Pop – let it be; it’s all set.”
“So? Thank you, Hilda, for a pleasant evening. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You’ll do no such thing; you’ll come straight back and give me a full report. Jake, you are not going on their honeymoon – I heard you.”
“Aunt Hilda – please! I’ll manage everything.”
We were out the side door close on schedule. At the parking lot there was a bobble: which heap, mine or theirs. Mine is intended for two but can take four. The rear seats are okay for two for short trips. Theirs was a four-passenger family saloon, not fast but roomy – and their luggage was in it. “How much luggage?” I asked Deety, while I visualized two overnight bags strapped into one back seat with my prospective father-in-law stashed in the other.
“I don’t have much, but Pop has two big bags and a fat briefcase. I had better show you.”
(Damn.) “Perhaps you had better.” I like my own rig, I don’t like to drive other people’s cars, and, while Deety probably handled controls as smoothly as she danced, I did not know that she did – and I’m chicken. I didn’t figure her father into the equation; trusting my skin to his temper did not appeal. Maybe Deety would settle for letting him trail us – but my bride-to-be was going to ride with me! “Where?”
“Over in the far corner. I’ll unlock it and turn on the lights.” She reached into her father’s inside jacket pocket, took out a Magic Wand.
“Wait for baby!”
The shout was from our hostess. Hilda was running down the path from her house, purse clutched in one hand and about eight thousand newdollars of sunset mink flying like a flag from the other.
So the discussion started over. Seems Sharpie had decided to come along to make certain that Jake behaved himself and had taken just long enough to tell Max (her bouncer-butler-driver) when to throw the drunks out or cover them with blankets, as needed.
She listened to Deety’s summary, then nodded. “Got it. I can handle yours, Deety; Jake and I will go in it. You ride with Zebbie, dear.” She turned to me. “Hold down the speed, Zebbie, so that I can follow. No tricks, Buster. Don’t try to lose us or you’ll have cops busting out of your ears.”
I turned my sweet innocent eyes toward her. “Why, Sharpie darling, you know I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“You’d steal city hall if you could figure a way to carry it. Who dumped that load of lime Jello into my swimming pool?”
“I was in Africa at that time, as you know.”
“So you say. Deety darling, keep him on a short leash and don’t feed him meat. But marry him; he’s loaded. Now where’s that radio link? And your car.”
“Here,” said Deety, pointed the Magic Wand and pressed the switch.
I gathered all three into my arms and dived. We hit the ground as the blast hit everything else. But not us. The blast shadow of other cars protected us.

Chapter III

” – Professor Moriarty isn’t fooled – “

Zeb:
Don’t ask me how. Ask a trapeze artist how he does a triple ‘sault. Ask a crapshooter how he knows when he’s “hot.” But don’t ask me how I know it’s going to happen just before it hits the fan.
It doesn’t tell me anything I don’t need to know. I don’t know what’s in a letter until I open it (except the time it was a letter bomb). I have no precognition for harmless events. But this split-second knowledge when I need it has kept me alive and relatively unscarred in an era when homicide kills more people than does cancer and the favorite form of suicide is to take a rifle up some tower and keep shooting until the riot squad settles it.
I don’t see the car around the curve on the wrong side; I automatically hit the ditch. When the San Andreas Fault cut loose, I jumped out a window and was in the open when the shock arrived – and didn’t know why I had jumped.
Aside from this, my E.S.P. is erratic; I bought it cheap from a war-surplus outlet.
I sprawled with three under me. I got up fast, trying to avoid crushing them. I gave a hand to each woman, then dragged Pop to his feet. No one seemed damaged. Deety stared at the fire blazing where their car had been, face impassive. Her father was looking at the ground, searching. Deety stopped him. “Here, Pop.” She put his glasses back on him.
“Thank you, my dear.” He started toward the fire.
I grabbed his shoulder. “No! Into my car – fast!”
“Eh? My briefcase – could have blown clear.”
“Shut up and move! All of you!”
“Do it, Pop!” Deety grabbed Hilda’s arm. We stuffed the older ones into the after space; I shoved Deety into the front passenger seat and snapped: “Seat belts!” as I slammed the door – then was around to the left so fast that I should have caused a sonic boom. “Seat belts fastened?” I demanded as I fastened my own and locked the door.
“Jake’s is fastened and so is mine, Zebbie dear,” Hilda said cheerfully.
“Belt tight, door locked,” Deety reported.
The heap was hot; I had left it on trickle – what use is a fast car that won’t go scat? I switched from trickle to full, did not turn on lights, glanced at the board and released the brake.
It says here that duos must stay grounded inside city limits – so I was lifting her nose before she had rolled a meter and she was pointed straight up as we were clearing the parking lot.
Half a klick straight up while the gee meter climbed – two, three, four – I let it reach five and held it, not being sure what Pop’s heart would take. When the altimeter read four klicks, I cut everything – power, transponder, the works – while hitting a button that dropped chaff, and let her go ballistic. I didn’t know that anyone was tracking us – I didn’t want to find out.
When the altimeter showed that we had topped out, I let the wings open a trifle. When I felt them bite air, I snap-rolled onto her belly, let wings crawl out to subsonic aspect and let her glide. “Everybody okay?”
Hilda giggled. “Whoops, dear! Do that again! This time, somebody kiss me.”
“Pipe down, you shameless old strumpet. Pop?”
“I’m okay, son.”
“Deety?”
“Okay here.”
“Did that fall in the parking lot hurt you?”
“No, sir. I twisted in the air and took it on one buttock while getting Pop’s glasses. But next time put a bed under me, please. Or a wrestling mat.”
“I’ll remember.” I switched on radio but not transponder, tried all police frequencies. If anyone had noticed our didoes, they weren’t discussing it on the air. We were down to two klicks; I made an abrupt wingover to the right, then switched on power. “Deety, where do you and your Pop live?”
“Logan, Utah.”
“How long does it take to get married there?”
“Zebbie,” Hilda cut in, “Utah has no waiting time -“
“So we go to Logan.”
” – but does require blood test. Deety, do you know Zebbie’s nickname around campus? The Wasp. For ‘Wassermann Positive.’ Zebbie, everybody knows that Nevada is the only state that offers twenty-four-hour service, no waiting time, no blood test. So point this bomb at Reno and sign off.”
“Sharpie darling,” I said gently, “would you like to walk home from two thousand meters?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never tried it.”
“That’s an ejection seat… but no parachutes.”
“Oh, how romantic! Jake darling, we’ll sing the Liebestod on the way down – you sing tenor, I’ll force a soprano and we’ll die in each other’s arms. Zebbie, could we have more altitude? For the timing.”
“Doctor Burroughs, gag that hitchhiker. Sharpie, Liebestod is a solo.”
“Picky, picky! Isn’t dead-on-arrival enough? Jealous because you can’t carry a tune? I told Dicky Boy that should be a duet and Cosima agreed with me -“
“Sharpie, button your frimpin’ lip while I explain. One: Everybody at your party knows why we left and will assume that we headed for Reno. You probably called out something to that effect as you left -“
“I believe I did. Yes, I did.”
“Shut up. Somebody made a professional effort to kill Doctor Burroughs. Not just kill but overkill; that combo of high explosive and Thermit was intended to leave nothing to analyze. But it is possible that no one saw us lift. We were into this go-wagon and I was goosing it less than thirty seconds after that booby trap exploded. Innocent bystanders would look at the fire, not at us. Guilty bystanders – There wouldn’t be any. A professional who booby-traps a car either holes up or crosses a state line and gets lost. The party or parties who paid for the contract may be nearby, but if they are, Hilda, they’re in your house.”
“One of my guests?”
“Oh, shut it, Sharpie; you are never interested in the morals of your guests. If they can be depended on to throw custard pies or do impromptu strips or some other prank that will keep your party from growing dull, that qualifies them. However, I am not assuming that the boss villain was at your party; I am saying that he would not be lurking where the Man might put the arm on him. Your house would be the best place to hide and watch the plot develop.
“But, guest or not, he was someone who knew that Doctor Burroughs would be at your party. Hilda, who knew that key fact?”
She answered with uncustomary seriousness. “I don’t know, Zebbie. I would have to think.”
“Think hard.”
“Mmm, not many. Several were invited because Jake was coming – you, for example -“
“I became aware of that.”
” – but you weren’t told that Jake would be present. Some were told – ‘No Brain,’ for example – but I can’t imagine that old fool booby-trapping a car.”
“I can’t either, but killers don’t look like killers; they look like people. How long before the party did you tell ‘Brainy’ that Pop would be present?”
“I told him when I invited him. Mmm, eight days ago.”
I sighed. “The possibles include not only the campus but the entire globe. So we must try to figure probables. Doctor Burroughs, can you think of anyone who would like to see you dead?”
“Several!”
“Let me rephrase it. Who hates your guts so bitterly that he would not hesitate to kill your daughter as long as he got you? And also bystanders such as Hilda and me. Not that we figure, save to show that he didn’t give a hoot who caught it. A deficient personality. Amoral. Who is he?”
Pop Burroughs hesitated. “Doctor Carter, disagreement between mathematicians can be extremely heated… and I am not without fault.” (You’re telling me, Pop!) “But these quarrels rarely result in violence. Even the death of Archimedes was only indirectly related to his – our – profession. To encompass my daughter as well – no, even Doctor Brain, much as I despise him, does not fit the picture.”
Deety said, “Zeb, could it have been me they were shooting at?”
“You tell me. Whose dolly have you busted?”
“Hmm – I can’t think of anyone who dislikes me even enough to snub me. Sounds silly but it’s true.”
“It’s the truth,” put in Sharpie. “Deety is just like her mother was. When Jane – Deety’s mother, and my best friend until we lost her-when Jane and I were roommates in college, I was always getting into jams and Jane was always getting me out-and never got into one herself. A peacemaker. So is Deety.”
“Okay, Deety, you’re out of it. So is Hilda and so am I, as whoever placed that booby trap could not predict that either Hilda or I would be in blast range. So it’s Pop they’re gunning for. Who we don’t know, why we don’t know. When we figure out why, we’ll know who. Meantime we’ve got to keep Pop out of range. I’m going to marry you as fast as possible, not only because you smell good but to give me a legitimate interest in this fight.”
“So we go first to Reno.”
“Shut up, Sharpie. We’ve been on course for Reno since we leveled off.” I flipped on the transponder, but to the left, not right. It would now answer with a registered, legal signal… but not one registered to my name. This cost me some shekels I did not need but were appreciated by a tight – lipped family man in Indio. Sometimes it is convenient not to be identified by sky cops every time one crosses a state line.
“But we aren’t going to Reno. Those cowboy maneuvers were intended to deceive the eye, radar, and heat seekers. The evasion against the heat seekers – that rough turn while we were still in glide – either worked or was not needed, as we haven’t had a missile up the tail. Probably wasn’t needed; people who booby-trap cars aren’t likely to be prepared to shoot a duo out of the sky. But I couldn’t be certain, so I ducked. We may be assumed to be dead in the blast and fire, and that assumption may stand up until the mess has cooled down and there is daylight to work by. Even later it may stand up, as the cops may not tell anyone that they were unable to find organic remains. But I must assume that Professor Moriarty isn’t fooled, that he is watching by repeater scope in his secret HQ, that he knows we are headed for Reno, and that hostiles will greet us there. So we won’t go there. Now quiet, please; I must tell this baby what to do.”
The computer-pilot of my car can’t cook but what she can do, she does well. I called for display map, changed scale to include Utah, used the light pen to trace route – complex as it curved around Reno to the south, back north again, made easting over some very empty country, and passed north of Hill Air Force Range in approaching Logan. I fed in height-above-ground while giving her leeway to smooth out bumps, and added one change in speed-over-ground once we were clear of Reno radar. “Got it, girl?” I asked her.
“Got it, Zeb.”
“Ten-minute call, please.”
“Call you ten minutes before end of routing – right!”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay.” The display faded.
Certainly I could have programmed my autopilot to accept a plan in response to a punched “Execute.” But isn’t it pleasanter to be answered by a warm contralto? But the “smart girl” aspect lay in the fact that it took my voice to make a flight plan operative. A skilled electron pusher might find a way to override my lock, then drive her manually. But the first time he attempted to use autopilot, the car would not only not accept the program but would scream for help on all police frequencies. This causes car thieves to feel maladjusted.
I looked up and saw that Deety had been following this intently. I waited for some question. Instead Deety said, “She has a very pleasant voice, Zeb.”
“Gay Deceiver is a very nice girl, Deety.”
“And talented. Zeb, I have never before been in a Ford that can do the things this car – Gay Deceiver? – can do.”
“After we’re married I’ll introduce you to her more formally. It will require reprogramming.”
“I look forward to knowing her better.”
“You will. Gay is not exactly all Ford. Her external appearance was made by Ford of Canada. Most of the rest of her once belonged to Australian Defense Forces. But I added a few doodads. The bowling alley. The powder room. The veranda. Little homey touches.”
“I’m sure she appreciates them, Zeb. I know I do. I suspect that, had she not had them, we would all be as dead as canasta.”
“You may be right. If so, it would not be the first time Gay has kept me alive. You have not seen all her talents.”
“I’m beyond being surprised. So far as I could see you didn’t tell her to land at Logan.”
“Logan seems to be the next most likely place for a reception committee. Who in Logan knows that you and your father were going to visit Hilda?”
“No one, through me.”
“Mail? Milk cartons? Newspapers?”
“No deliveries to the house, Zeb.” She turned her head, “Pop, does anyone in Logan know where we went?”
“Doctor Carter, to the best of my knowledge, no one in Logan knows that We left. Having lived many years in the buzzing gossip of Academe, I have learned to keep my life as private as possible.”
“Then I suggest that you all ease your belts and sleep. Until ten minutes before reaching Logan there is little to do.”
“Doctor Carter -“
“Better call me Zeb, Pop. Get used to it.”
“‘Zeb’ it is, son. On page eighty-seven of your monograph, after the equation numbered one-twenty-one in your discussion of the rotation of six-dimensional spaces of positive curvature, you said, ‘From this it is evident that – ‘ and immediately write your equation one-twenty-two. How did you do it? I’m not disagreeing, sir – on the contrary! But in an unpublished paper of my own I used a dozen pages to arrive at the same transformation. Did you have a direct intuition? Or did you simply omit publishing details? No criticism, I am impressed either way. Sheer curiosity.”
“Doctor, I did not write that paper. I told Deety so.”
“That is what he claimed, Pop.”
“Oh, come now! Two Doctors Zebulon E. Carter on one campus?”
“No. But that’s not my name. I’m Zebadiah J. Carter. Zebulon E.-for-Edward Carter and called ‘Ed’ is my cousin. While he is probably listed as being on campus, in fact he is doing an exchange year in Singapore. It’s not as improbable as it sounds; all male members of my family have first names starting with ‘Z.’ It has to do with money and a will and a trust fund and the fact that my grandfather and his father were somewhat eccentric.”
“Whereas you aren’t,” Hilda said sweetly.
“Quiet, dear.” I turned toward Deety. “Deety, do you want to be released from our engagement? I did try to tell you that you had trapped the wrong bird.”
“Zebadiah – “
“Yes, Deety?”
“I intend to marry you before this night is over. But you haven’t kissed me. I want to be kissed.”
I unfastened my seat belt, started to unfasten hers, found that she had done so.
Deety kisses even better than she tangos.
During a break for oxygen, I asked her in a whisper: “Deety, what do your initials stand for?”
“Well… please don’t laugh.”
“I won’t. But I have to know them for the ceremony.”
“I know. All right, Dee Tee stands for Dejah Thoris.”
Dejah Thoris – Dejah Thoris Burroughs – Dejah Thoris Carter! I cracked up.
I got it under control after two whoops. Too many. Deety said sadly, “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
“Deety darling, I wasn’t laughing at your name; I was laughing at mine.”
“I don’t think ‘Zebadiah’ is a funny name. I like it.”
“So do I. It keeps me from being mixed up with the endless Bobs and Eds and Toms. But I didn’t tell my middle name. What’s a funny name starting with ‘J’?”
“I won’t guess.”
“Let me lead up to it. I was born near the campus of the university Thomas Jefferson founded. The day I graduated from college I was commissioned a second looie Aerospace Reserve. I’ve been promoted twice. My middle initial stands for ‘John.'”
It took not quite a second for her to add it up. “Captain… John… Carter – of Virginia.”
“‘A clean-limbed fighting man,'” I agreed. “Kaor, Dejah Thoris. At your service, my princess. Now and forever!”
“Kaor, Captain John Carter. Helium is proud to accept.”
We fell on each other’s shoulders, howling. After a bit the howling died down and turned into another kiss.
When we came up for air, Hilda tapped me on a shoulder. “Would you let us in on the joke?”
“Do we tell her, Deety?”
“I’m not sure. Aunt Hilda talks.”
“Oh, nonsense! I know your full name and I’ve never told anyone – I held you at your christening. You were wet, too. At both ends. Now give!”
“All right. We don’t have to get married – we already are. For years. More than a century.”
Pop spoke up. “Eh? What’s this?” I explained to him. He looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Logical.” He went back to figuring he was doing in a notebook, then looked up. “Your cousin Zebulon – Is he on the telephone?”
“Probably not but he lives at the New Raffles.”
“Excellent. I’ll try both the hotel and the university. Doctor – Son – Zeb, would you be so kind as to place the call? My comcredit code is Nero Aleph eight zero one dash seven five two dash three nine three two Zed Star Zed.” (Zed Star Zed credit rating – I was not going to have to support my prospective father-in-law.)
Deety cut in. “Pop, you must not call Professor Carter – Zebulon Carter – at this hour.”
“But, my dear daughter, it is not late at night in -“
“Of course it isn’t; I can count. You want a favor from him, so don’t interrupt his after-lunch nap. ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen.'”
“It isn’t noon in Singapore; it’s -“
” – siesta time, even hotter than noon. So wait.”
“Deety is right, Pop,” I interrupted, “but for the wrong reasons. It doesn’t seem to be a matter of life and death to call him this minute. Whereas it might be a matter of life and death – ours, I mean – to make a call from this car… especially with your credit code. Until we find out who the Boys in the Black Hats are, I advise that you place calls from the ground and from public phones that you can feed with newdollars instead of your code. Say a phone in Peoria. Or Paducah. Can it wait?”
“Since you put it that way, sir – yes, it can wait. Although I have trouble believing that anyone wishes to kill me.”
“Available data indicate it.”
“Agreed. But I have not yet grasped it emotionally.”
“Takes a baseball bat,” said Hilda. “I had to sit on him while Jane proposed to him.”
“Why, Hilda my dear, that is utterly unfactual. I wrote my late beloved a polite note saying -“
I let them argue while, I tried to add to available data. “Gay Deceiver.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“News, dear.”
“Ready, Boss.”
“Retrieval parameters. Time – since twenty-one hundred. Area – California, Nevada, Utah. Persons – your kindly boss, dear. Doctor Jacob Burroughs, Doctor D. T. Burroughs, Miz Hilda Corners – ” I hesitated. “Professor Neil O’Heret Brain.” I felt silly adding “Brainy” – but there had been a row between Pop and him, and years earlier my best teacher had said, “Never neglect the so-called ‘trivial’ roots of an equation,” and had pointed out that two Nobel prizes had derived from “trivial” roots.
“Parameters complete, Boss?”
Doctor Burroughs touched my shoulder. “Can your computer check the news if any on your cousin?”
“Mmm, maybe. She stores sixty million bytes, then wipes last-in-last-out everything not placed on permanent. But her news storage is weighted sixty-forty in favor of North America. I’ll try. Smart Girl.”
“Holding, Boss.”
“Addendum. First retrieve by parameters given. Then retrieve by new program. Time – backwards from now to wipe time. Area – Singapore. Person – Zebulon Edward Carter aka Ed Carter aka Doctor Z. E. Carter aka Professor Z. E. Carter aka Professor or Doctor Carter of Raffles University.”
“Two retrieval programs in succession. Got it, Zeb.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Roger, Gay. Execute!”
“AP San Francisco. A mysterious explosion disturbed the academic quiet of – ” A story ending with the usual claim about an arrest being expected “momentarily” settled several points: All of us were believed dead. Our village top cop claimed to have a theory but was keeping it mum – meaning that he knew even less than we did. Since we were reported as “presumed dead” and since the news said nothing about an illegal lift-off and other capers that annoy sky cops, I assumed tentatively that police radar had not been looking at us until after we had become just one more blip behaving legally. The lack of mention of the absence of Gay Deceiver did not surprise me, as I had roaded in and had been last or nearly last to park – and could have arrived by taxi, public capsule, or on foot. Doctor Brain was not mentioned, nothing about the row. Guests had been questioned and released. Five cars parked near the, explosion had been damaged.
“Nevada – null retrieval. Utah – UPI Salt Lake City. A fire near Utah State, University campus in Logan destroyed – ” “Blokes in Black Hats” again and Deety and her Pop were dead twice over, as they were presumed to have been overcome by smoke, unable to escape. No one else hurt or missing. Fire attributed to faulty wiring. “End of first retrieval, Zeb. Second retrieval starting.” Gay shut up.
I said soberly, “Pop, somebody doesn’t like you.”
He groaned, “Gone! All gone!”
“No copies of your papers elsewhere? And your… gadget?”
“Eh? No, no! – much worse! My irreplaceable collection of pulp magazines. Weird Tales, Argosy, All-Story, the early Gernsbachs, The Shadow, Black Mask – Ooooooh!”
“Pop really does feel bad,” Deety whispered, “and I could manage tears myself. I taught myself to read from that collection. War Aces, Air Wonder, the complete Clayton Astoundings – It was appraised at two hundred and thirteen thousand newdollars. Grandpop started it, Pop continued it – I grew up reading them.”
“I’m sorry, Deety.” I hugged her. “They should have been microfiched.”
“They were. But that’s not having the magazines in your hands.”
“I agree. Uh, how about the… thing in the basement?”
“What ‘Thing in the Basement’?” demanded Sharpie. “Zebbie, you sound like H. P. Lovecraft.”
“Later, Sharpie. Comfort Jake; we’re busy. Gay!”
“Here, Zeb. Where’s the riot?”
“Display map, please.” We were midway over northern Nevada. “Cancel routing and cruise random. Report nearest county seat.”
“Winnemucca and Elko are equidistant to one percent. Elko closer by ETA as I am now vectored eleven degrees north of Elko bearing.”
“Deety, would you like to be married in Elko?”
“Zebadiah, I would love to be married in Elko.”
“Elko it is, but loving may have to wait. Gay, vector for Elko and ground us, normal private cruising speed. Report ETA in elapsed minutes.”
“Roger Wilco, Elko. Nine minutes seventeen seconds.”
Hilda said soothingly, “There, there, Jake darling; Mama is here” – then added in her top sergeant voice, “Quit stalling, Zebbie! What ‘Thing’ in which basement?”
“Sharpie, you’re nosy. It belonged to Pop and now it’s destroyed and that’s all you need to know.”
“Oh, but it wasn’t,” Doctor Burroughs said. “Zeb is speaking of my continua craft, Hilda. It’s safe. Not in Logan.”
“What in the Name of the Dog is a ‘continua craft’?”
“Pop means,” Deety explained, “his time machine.”
“Then why didn’t he say so? Everybody savvies ‘Time Machine.’ George Pal’s ‘Time Machine’ – a classic goodie. I’ve caught it on the late-late-early show more than once.”
“Sharpie,” I asked, “can you read?”
“Certainly I can read! ‘Run, Spot, run See Spot run.’ Smarty.”
“Have you ever heard of H. G. Wells?”
“Heard of him? I’ve had him.”
“You are a boastful old tart, but not that old. When Mr. Wells died, you were still a virgin.”
“Slanderer! Hit him, Jake – he insulted me.”
“Zeb didn’t mean to insult you, I feel sure. Deety won’t permit me to hit people, even when they need it.”
“We’ll change that.”
“Second retrieval complete,” Gay Deceiver reported. “Holding.”
“Report second retrieval, please.”
“Reuters, Singapore. The Marston expedition in Sumatra is still unreported according to authorities at Palembang. The party is thirteen days overdue. Besides Professor Marston and native guides and assistants, the party included Doctor Z.E. Carter, Doctor Cecil Yang, and Mr. Giles Smythe-Belisha. The Minister of Tourism and Culture stated that the search will be pursued assiduously. End of retrieval.”
Poor Ed. We had never been close but he had never caused me grief. I hoped that he was shacked up with something soft and sultry – rather than losing his head to a jungle machete, which seemed more likely. “Pop, a few minutes ago I said that somebody doesn’t like you. I now suspect that somebody doesn’t like n-dimensional geometers.”
“It would seem so, Zeb. I do hope your cousin is safe – a most brilliant mind! He would be a great loss to all mankind.”
(And to himself, I added mentally. And me, since family duty required that I do something about it. When what I had in mind was a honeymoon.) “Gay.”
“Here, Zeb.”
“Addendum. Third news retrieval program. Use all parameters second program. Add Sumatra to area. Add all proper names and titles found in second retrieval. Run until canceled. Place retrievals in permanent memory. Report new items soonest. Start.”
“Running, Boss.”
“You’re a good girl, Gay.”
“Thank you, Zeb. Grounding Elko two minutes seven seconds.”
Deety squeezed my hand harder. “Pop, as soon as I’m legally Mrs. John Carter I think we should all go to Snug Harbor.”
“Eh? Obviously.”
“You, too, Aunt Hilda. It might not be safe for you to go home.”
“Change in plans, dear. It’s going to be a double wedding. Jake. Me.”
Deety looked alert but not displeased. “Pop?”
“Hilda has at last consented to marry me, dear.”
“Rats,” said Sharpie. “Jake has never asked me in the past and didn’t this time; I simply told him. Hit him with it while he was upset over losing his comic books and unable to defend himself. It’s necessary, Deety – I promised Jane I would take care of Jake and I have – through you, up to now. But from here on you’ll be taking care of Zebbie, keeping him out of trouble, wiping his nose… so I’ve got to hogtie Jake into marriage to keep my promise to Jane. Instead of sneaking into his bed from time to time as in the past.”
“Why, Hilda dear, you have never been in my bed!”
“Don’t shame me in front of the children, Jake. I gave you a test run before I let Jane marry you and you don’t dare deny it.”
Jake shrugged helplessly. “As you wish, dear Hilda.”
“Aunt Hilda… do you love Pop?”
“Would I marry him if I didn’t? I could carry out my promise to Jane more simply by having him committed to a shrink factory. Deety, I’ve loved Jake longer than you have. Much! But he loved Jane… which shows that he is basically rational despite his weird ways. I shan’t try to change him, Deety; I’m simply going to see to it that he wears his overshoes and takes his vitamins – as you’ve been doing. I’ll still be ‘Aunt Hilda,’ not ‘Mother.’ Jane was and is your mother.”
“Thank you, Aunt Hilda. I thought I was happy as a woman can be, getting Zebadiah. But you’ve made me still happier. No worries.”
(I had worries. Blokes with Black Hats and no faces. But I didn’t say so, as Deety was snuggling closer and assuring me that it was all right because Aunt Hilda wouldn’t fib about loving Pop… but I should ignore that guff about her sneaking into Pop’s bed – on which I had no opinion and less interest.) “Deety, where and what is ‘Snug Harbor’?”
“It’s… a nowhere place. A hideout. Land Pop leased from the government when he decided to build his time twister instead of just writing equations. But we may have to wait for daylight. Unless – Can Gay Deceiver home on a given latitude and longitude?”
“She certainly can! Precisely.”
“Then it’s all right. I can give it to you in degrees, minutes, and fractions of a second.”
“Grounding,” Gay warned us.
The Elko County Clerk did not object to getting out of bed and seemed pleased with the century note I slipped him. The County Judge was just as accommodating and pocketed her honorarium without glancing at it. I stammered but managed to say, “I, Zebadiah John, take thee, Dejah Thoris – ” Deety went through it as solemnly and perfectly as if she had rehearsed it… while Hilda sniffled throughout.
A good thing that Gay can home on a pin point; I was in no shape to drive even in daylight. I had her plan her route, too, a dogleg for minimum radar and no coverage at all for the last hundred-odd kilometers to this place in the Arizona Strip north of the Grand Canyon. But I had her hover before grounding – I being scared silly until I was certain there was not a third fire there.
A cabin, fireproof, with underground parking for Gay – I relaxed.
We split a bottle of chablis. Pop seemed about to head for the basement. Sharpie tromped on it and Deety ignored it.
I carried Deety over the threshold into her bedroom, put her gently down, faced her. “Dejah Thoris -“
“Yes, John Carter?”
“I did not have time to buy you a wedding present -“
“I need no present from my captain.”
“Hear me out, my princess. My Uncle Zamir did not have as fine a collection as your father had… but may I gift you with a complete set of Clayton Astoundings -“
She suddenly smiled.
” – and first editions of the first six Oz books, quite worn but with the original color plates? And a first in almost mint condition of ‘A Princess of Mars’?”
The smile became a grin and she looked nine years old. “Yes!”
“Would your father accept a complete set of Weird Tales?”
“Would he! Northwest Smithand Jirel of Joiry? I’m going to borrow them – or he can’t look at my Oz books. I’m stubborn, I am. And selfish. And mean!”
“‘Stubborn’ stipulated. The others denied.”
Deety stuck out her tongue. “You’ll find out.” Suddenly her face was solemn. “But I sorrow, my prince, that I have no present for my husband.”
“But you have!”
“I do?”
“Yes. Beautifully wrapped and making me dizzy with heavenly fragrance.”
“Oh.” She looked solemn but serenely happy. “Will my husband unwrap me? Please?”
I did.
That is all anyone is ever going to know about our wedding night.

Chapter IV

Because two things equal to the same thing are never equal to each other.

Deety:
I woke early as I always do at Snug Harbor, wondered why I was ecstatically happy – then remembered, and turned my head. My husband – “husband!” – what a heart-filling word – my husband was sprawled face down beside me, snoring softly and drooling onto his pillow. I held still, thinking how beautiful he was, how gently strong and gallantly tender.
I was tempted to wake him but I knew that my darling needed rest. So I eased out of bed and snuck noiselessly into my bath – our bath – and quietly took care of this and that. I did not risk drawing a tub – although I needed one. I have a strong body odor that calls for at least one sudsy bath a day, two if I am going out that evening – and this morning I was certainly whiff as a polecat.
I made do with a stand-up bath by letting water run in a noiseless trickle into the basin – I would grab that proper bath after my Captain was awake; meanwhile I would stay downwind.
I pulled on briefs, started to tie on a halter – stopped and looked in the mirror. I have a face-shaped face and a muscular body that I keep in top condition. I would never reach semifinals in a beauty contest but my teats are shapely, exceptionally firm, stand out without sagging and look larger than they are because my waist is small for my height, shoulders and hips. I’ve known this since I was twelve, from mirror and from comments by others.
Now I was acutely aware of them from what Zebadiah calls his “infantile bias.” I was awfully glad I had them; my husband liked them so much and had told me so again and again, making me feel warm and tingly inside. Teats get in the way, and I once found out painfully why Amazons are alleged to have removed their starboard ones to make archery easier.
Today I was most pleased that Mama had required me to wear a bra for tennis and horseback and such – no stretch marks, no “Cooper’s droop,” no sag, and my husband called them “wedding presents”! Hooray!
Doubtless they would become baby-chewed and soft – but by then I planned to have Zebadiah steadfastly in love with me for better reasons. You hear that, Deety? Don’t be stubborn, don’t be bossy, don’t be difficult – and above all don’t sulk! Mama never sulked, although Pop wasn’t and isn’t easy to live with. For example he dislikes the word “teat” even though I spell it correctly and pronounce it correctly (as if spelled “tit”). Pop insists that teats are on cows, not women.
After I started symbolic logic and information theory I became acutely conscious of precise nomenclature, and tried to argue with Pop, pointing out that “breast” denoted the upper frontal torso of male and female alike, that “mammary gland” was medical argot, but “teat” was correct English.
He had slammed down a book. “I don’t give a damn what The Oxford English Dictionary says! As long as I am head of this house, language used in it will conform to my notions of propriety!”
I never argued such points with Pop again. Mama and I went on calling them “teats” between ourselves and did not use such words in Pop’s presence. Mama told me gently that logic had little to do with keeping a husband happy and that anyone who “won” a family argument had in fact lost it. Mama never argued and Pop always did what she wanted – if she really wanted it. When at seventeen I had to grow up and try to replace her, I tried to emulate her – not always successfully. I inherited some of Pop’s temper, some of Mama’s calm. I try to suppress the former and cultivate the latter. But I’m not Jane, I’m Deety.
Suddenly I wondered why I was putting on a halter. The day was going to be hot. While Pop is so cubical about some things that he turns up at the corners, skin is not one of them. (Possibly he had been, then Mama had gently gotten her own way.) I like to be naked and usually am at Snug Harbor, weather permitting. Pop is almost as casual. Aunt Hilda was family-by-choice; we had often used her pool and never with suits – screened for the purpose.
That left just my lovely new husband, and if there was a square centimeter of me he had not examined (and praised), I could not recall it. Zebadiah is easy to be with, in bed or out. After our hasty wedding I was slightly tense lest he ask me when and how I had mislaid my virginity… but when the subject could have come up I forgot it and he apparently never thought about it. I was the lusty wench I have always been and he seemed pleased – I know he was.
So why was I tying on this teat hammock? I was – but why?
Because two things equal to the same thing are never equal to each other. Basic mathematics if you select the proper sheaf of postulates. People are not abstract symbols. I could be naked with any one of them but not all three.
I felt a twinge that Pop and Aunt Hilda might be in the way on my honeymoon… then realized that Zebadiah and I were just as much in the way on theirs – and stopped worrying; it would work out.
Took one last look in the mirror, saw that my scrap of halter, like a good evening gown, made me nakeder than skin would. My nipples popped out; I grinned and stuck out my tongue at them. They stayed up; I was happy.
I started to cat-foot through our bedroom when I noticed Zebadiah’s clothes – and stopped. The darling would not want to wear evening dress to breakfast. Deety, you are not being wifely – figure this out. Are any of Pop’s clothes where I can get them without waking the others?
Yep! An old shirt that I had liberated as a house coat, khaki shorts I had been darning the last time we had been down – both in my wardrobe in my – our! – bathroom. I crept back, got them, laid them over my darling’s evening clothes so that he could not miss them.
I went through and closed after me two soundproof doors, then no longer had to keep quiet. Pop does not tolerate anything shoddy – if it doesn’t work properly, he fixes it. Pop’s B.S. was in mechanical engineering, his M.S. in physics, his Ph.D. in mathematics; there isn’t anything he can’t design and build. A second Leonardo da Vinci – or a Paul Dirac.
No one in the everything room. I decided not to head for the kitchen end yet; if the others slept a bit longer I could get in my morning tone-up. No violent exercise this morning, mustn’t get more whiff than I am – just controlled limbering. Stretch high, then palms to the floor without bending knees – ten is enough. Vertical splits, both legs, then the same to the floor with my forehead to my shin, first right, then left.
I was doing a back bend when I heard, “Ghastly. The battered bride. Deety, stop that.”
I continued into a backwards walkover and stood up facing Pop’s bride. “Good morning, Aunt Hillbilly.” I kissed and hugged her. “Not battered. Bartered, maybe.”
“Battered,” she repeated, yawning. “Who gave you those bruises? What’s-his-name? – your husband.”
“Not a bruise on me and you’ve known his name longer than I have. What causes those circles under the bags under the rings under your eyes?”
“Worry, Deety. Your father is very ill.”
“What? How?”
“Satyriasis. Incurable – I hope.”
I let out my breath. “Aunt Hillbilly, you’re a bitchie, bitchie tease.”
“Not a bitch this morning, dear. A nanny goat – who has been topped all night by the most amazing billy goat on the ranch. And him past fifty and me only twenty-nine. Astounding.”
“Pop’s forty-nine, you’re forty-two. You’re complaining?”
“Oh, no! Had I known twenty-four years ago what I know now, I would never have let Jane lay eyes on him.”
” – what you know now – Last night you were claiming to have sneaked into Pop’s bed, over and over again. Doesn’t jibe, Aunt Nanny Goat.”
“Those were quickies. Not a real test.” She yawned again.
“Auntie, you lie in your teeth. You were never in his bed until last night.”
“How do you know, dear? Unless you were in it yourself? Were you? Incest?”
“What have you got against incest, you bawdy old nanny goat? Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”
“Oh, so you have? How fascinating – tell Auntiet!”
“I’ll tell you the truth, Aunt Hilda. Pop has never laid a hand on me. But if he had… I would not have refused. I love him.”
Hilda stopped to kiss me more warmly than before. “So do I, dear one. I honor you for what you just told me. He could have had me, too. But never did. Until last night. Now I’m the happiest woman in America.”
“Nope. Second happiest. You’re looking at the happiest.”
“Mmm, a futile discussion. So my problem child is adequate?”
“Well… he’s not a member of the Ku Klux Klan -“
“I never thought he was! Zebbie isn’t that sort.”
” – but he’s a wizard under a sheet!”
Aunt Hilda looked startled, then guffawed. “I surrender. We’re both the happiest woman in the world.”
“And the luckiest. Aunt Nanny Goat, that robe of Pop’s is too hot. I’ll get something of mine. How about a tie-on fit-anybody bikini?”
“Thanks, dear, but you might wake Zebbie.” Aunt Hilda opened Pop’s robe and held it wide, fanning it. I looked at her with new eyes. She’s had three or four term contracts, no children. At forty-two her face looks thirty-five, but from her collarbones down she could pass for eighteen. Little bitty teats – I had more at twelve. Flat belly and lovely legs. A china doll – makes me feel like a giant.
She added, “If it weren’t for your husband, I would simply wear this old hide. It is hot.”
“If it weren’t for your husband, so would I.”
“Jacob? Deety, he’s changed your diapers. I know how Jane reared you. True modesty, no false modesty.”
“It’s not the same, Aunt Hilda. Not today.”
“No, it’s not. You always did have a wise head, Deety. Women are toughminded, men are not; we have to protect them … while pretending to be fragile ourselves, to build up their fragile egos. But I’ve never been good at it – I like to play with matches.”
“Aunt Hilda, you are very good at it, in your own way. I’m certain Mama knows what you’ve done for Pop and blesses it and is happy for Pop. For all of us – all five of us.”
“Don’t make me cry, Deety. Let’s break out the orange juice; our men will wake any time. First secret of living with a man: Feed him as soon as he wakes.”
“So I know.”
“Yes, of course you know. Ever since we lost Jane. Does Zebbie know how lucky he is?”
“He says so. I’m going to try hard not to disillusion him.”

Chapter V

” – a wedding ring is not a ring in my nose – “

Jake:
I woke in drowsy euphoria, became aware that I was in bed in our cabin that my daughter calls “Snug Harbor” – then woke completely and looked at the other pillow – the dent in it. Not a dream! Euphoric for the best of reasons!
Hilda was not in sight. I closed my eyes and simulated sleep as I had something to do. “Jane?” I said in my mind.
“I hear you, dearest one. It has my blessing. Now we are all happy together.”
“We couldn’t expect Deety to become a sour old maid, just to take care of her crotchety old father. This young man, he’s okay, to the nth power. I felt it at once, and Hilda is certain of it.”
“He is. Don’t worry, Jacob. Our Deety can never be sour and you will never be old. This is exactly as Hilda and I planned it, more than five of your years ago. Predestined. She told you so, last night.”
“Okay, darling.”
“Get up and brush your teeth and take a quick shower. Don’t dawdle, breakfast is waiting. Call me when you need me. Kiss.”
So I got up, feeling like a boy on Christmas morning. Everything was jake with Jake; Jane had put her stamp of approval on it. Let me tell you, you nonexistent reader sitting there with a tolerant sneer: Don’t be smug. Jane is more real than you are.
The spirit of a good woman cannot be coded by nucleic acids arranged in a double helix, and only an overeducated fool could think so. I could prove that mathematically save that mathematics can never prove anything. No mathematics has any content. All any mathematics can do is – sometimes – turn out to be useful in describing some aspects of our so-called “physical universe.” That is a bonus; most forms of mathematics are as meaning-free as chess.
I don’t know any final answers. I’m an all-around mechanic and a competent mathematician… and neither is of any use in unscrewing the inscrutable.
Some people go to church to talk to God, Whoever He is. When I have something on my mind, I talk to Jane. I don’t hear “voices,” but the answers that, come into my mind have as much claim to infallibility, it seems to me, as any handed down by any Pope speaking ex cathedra. If this be blasphemy, make the most of it; I won’t budge. Jane is, was, and ever shall be, worlds without end. I had the priceless privilege of living with her for eighteen years and I can never lose her.
Hilda was not in the bath but my toothbrush was damp. I smiled at this. Logical, as any germs I was harboring, Hilda now had – and Hilda, for all her playfulness, is no-nonsense practical. She faces danger without a qualm (had done so last night) but she would say “Gesundheit!” to an erupting volcano even as she fled from it. Jane is equally brave but would omit the quip. They are alike only in – no, not that way, either. Different but equal. Let it stand that I have been blessed in marriage by two superb women. (And blessed by a daughter whose Pop thinks she is perfect.)
I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth in nine minutes and dressed in under nine seconds as I simply wrapped around my waist a terry-cloth sarong Deety had bought for me – the day promised to be a scorcher. Even that hip wrap was a concession to propriety, i.e., I did not know my new son-in-law well enough to subject him abruptly to our casual ways; it might offend Deety.
I was last up, and saw that all had made much the same decision. Deety was wearing what amounted to a bikini minimum (indecently “decent”!) and my bride was “dressed” in a tie-on job belonging to Deety. The tie-ties had unusually large bows; Hilda is tiny, my daughter is not. Zeb was the only one fully dressed: an old pair of working shorts, a worn-out denim shirt Deety had confiscated, and his evening shoes. He was dressed for the street in any western town save for one thing: I’m built like a pear, Zeb is built like the Gray Lensman.
My shorts fitted him well enough – a bit loose – but his shoulders were splitting the shirt’s seams. He looked uncomfortable.
I took care of amenities – a good-morning to all, a kiss for my bride, one for my daughter, a handshake for my son-in-law-good hands, calloused. Then I said, “Zeb, take that shirt off. It’s hot and getting hotter. Relax. This is your home.”
“Thanks, Pop.” Zeb peeled off my shirt.
Hilda stood up on her chair, making her about as tall as Zeb. “I’m a militant women’s-rights gal,” she announced, “and a wedding ring is not a ring in my nose – a ring that you have not yet given me, you old goat.”
“When have I had time? You’ll get one, dear – first chance.”
“Excuses, excuses! Don’t interrupt when I’m orating. Sauce for the gander is no excuse for goosing the goose. If you male chauvinist pigs – I mean ‘goats’ – can dress comfortably, Deety and I have the same privilege.” Whereupon my lovely little bride untied that bikini top and threw it aside like a stripper.
“‘”What’s for breakfast?” asked Pooh,'” I misquoted.
I was not answered. Deety made me proud of her for the nth time. For years she had consulted me, at least with her eyes, on “policy decisions.” Now she looked not at me but at her husband. Zeb was doing Old Stone Face, refusing assent or dissent. Deety stared at him, gave a tiny shrug, reached behind her and untied or unsnapped something and discarded her own top.
“I said, ‘What’s for breakfast?'” I repeated.
“Greedy gut,” my daughter answered. “You men have had baths, while Aunt Hilda and I haven’t had a chance to get clean for fear of waking you slugabeds.”
“Is that what it is? I thought a skunk had wandered past. ‘What’s for breakfast?'”
“Aunt Hilda, in only hours Pop has lost all the training I’ve given him for five years. Pop, it’s laid out and ready to go. How about cooking while Hilda and I grab a tub?”
Zeb stood up. “I’ll cook, Deety; I’ve been getting my own breakfast for years.”
“Hold it, Buster!” my bride interrupted. “Sit down, Zebbie. Deety, never encourage a man to cook breakfast; it causes him to wonder if women are necessary. If you always get his breakfast and don’t raise controversial issues until after his second cup of coffee, you can get away with murder the rest of the time. They don’t notice other odors when they smell bacon. I’m going to have to coach you.”
My daughter reversed the field, fast. She turned to her husband and said meekly, “What does my Captain wish for breakfast?”
“My Princess, whatever your lovely hands offer me.”
What we were offered, as fast as Deety could pour batter and Hilda could serve, was a gourmet specialty that would enrage a Cordon Bleu but which, for my taste, is ambrosia: A one-eyed Texas stack – a tall stack of thin, tender buttermilk pancakes to Jane’s recipe, supporting one large egg, up and easy, surrounded by hot sausage, and the edifice drowned in melting butter and hot maple syrup, with a big glass of orange juice and a big mug of coffee on the side.
Zeb ate two stacks. I concluded that my daughter would have a happy marriage.

Chapter VI

Are men and women one race?

Hilda:
Deety and I washed dishes, then soaked in her tub and talked about husbands. We giggled, and talked with the frankness of women who trust each other and are sure that no men can overhear. Do men talk that openly in parallel circumstances? From all I have been able to learn in after-midnight horizontal conversations, all passion spent, men do not. Or not men I would take to bed. Whereas a “perfect lady” (which Jane was, Deety is, and I can simulate) will talk with another “perfect lady” she trusts in a way that would cause her father, husband, or son to faint.
I had better leave out our conversation; this memoir might fall into the hands of one of the weaker sex and I would not want his death on my conscience.
Are men and women one race? I know what biologists say – but history is loaded with “scientists” jumping to conclusions from superficial evidence. It seems to me far more likely that they are symbiotes. I am not speaking from ignorance; I was one trimester short of a B.S. in biology (and a straight-A student) when a “biology experiment” blew up in my face and caused me to leave school abruptly.
Not that I need that degree – I’ve papered my private bath with honorary degrees, mostly doctorates. I hear that there are things no whore will do for money but I have yet to find anything that a university chancellor faced with a deficit will boggle at. The secret is never to set up a permanent fund but to dole it out when need is sharpest, once every academic year. Done that way, you not only own a campus but also the town cops learn that it’s a waste of time to hassle you. A univer$ity alway$ $tand$ $taunchly by it$ $olvent a$$ociate$; that’$ the ba$ic $ecret of $chola$tic $ucce$$.
Forgive my digre$$ion; we were speaking of men and women. I am strong for women’s rights but was never taken in by unisex nonsense. I don’t yearn to be equal; Sharpie is as unequal as possible, with all the perks and bonuses and special privileges that come from being one of the superior sex. If a man fails to hold a door for me, I fail to see him and step on his instep. I feel no shame in making lavish use of the strongest muscles, namely male ones (but my own strongest muscle is dedicated to the service of men – noblesse oblige). I don’t begrudge men one whit of their natural advantages as long as they respect mine. I am not an unhappy pseudomale; I am female and like it that way.
I borrowed makeup that Deety rarely uses, but I carry my own perfume in my purse and used it in the twenty-two classic places. Deety uses only the basic aphrodisiac: soap and water. Perfume on her would be gilding the lily; fresh out of a hot tub she smells like a harem. If I had her natural fragrance, I could have saved at least ten thousand newdollars over the years as well as many hours spent dabbing bait here and there.
She offered me a dress and I told her not to be silly; any dress of hers would fit me like a tent. “You put something bridal and frilly around your hips and lend me your boldest G-string job. Dear, I surprised you when I jockeyed you into taking off your halter, after telling you that you were wise not to rush it. But the chance showed up and I grabbed the ring on the fly. We’ve got our men gentled to nearly naked and we’ll hold that gain. At first opportunity we’ll get pants off all of us, too, without anything as childish as strip poker. Deety, I want us to be a solid family, and relaxed about it. So that skin doesn’t mean sex, it just means we are home, en famille.”
“Your skin is pretty sexy, Nanny Goat.”
“Deety, do you think I’m trying to make a pass at Zebbie?”
“Heavens, no, Aunt Hilda. You would never do that.”
“Piffle, dear. I don’t have morals, just customs. I don’t wait for a man to make a pass; they fumble around and waste time. But when I met him I picked Zebbie for a chum – so I gave him an opening; he made a polite pass, I carefully failed to see it, and that ended it. I’m sure he’s as much fun on the workbench as you tell me he is – but bedmates are easy to find, while worthwhile male friends are scarce. Zebbie is one to whom I can holler for help in the middle of the night and be certain he’ll rally around. I’m not going to let that change merely because a weird concatenation now makes him my son-in-law. Besides, Deety, although your old Aunt Sharpie may seem undignified, I refuse to be the campus widow who seduces younger men. Save for minor exceptions close to my age, I always have bedded older men. When I was your age, I tripped several three times my age. Educational.”
“It certainly is! Aunt Hilda, I got ninety percent of my instruction two years ago – a widower three times my age. I was programming for him and we took shared time when we could get it, often after midnight. I didn’t think anything of it until one night I was startled to find that I was helping him to take off my panties. Then I was still more surprised to learn how little I had learned in seven years. He gave me a tutored seminar, usually three times a week- all the time he was willing to spare me – for the next six months. I’m glad I got tutoring from an expert before last night rolled around – or Zebadiah would have found me a dead arse, willing but clumsy. I didn’t tell this to my darling; I let him think he was teaching me.”
“That’s right, dear. Never tell a man anything he doesn’t need to know, and lie with a straight face rather than hurt his feelings or diminish his pride.”
“Aunt Nanny Goat, I just plain love you.”
We quit yakking and looked for our men. Deety said that they were certain to be in the basement. “Aunt Hilda, I don’t go there without invitation. It’s Pop’s sanctum sanctorum.”
“You’re warning me not to risk a faux pas?”
“I’m his daughter, you’re his wife. Not the same.”
“Well… he hasn’t told me not to – and today he’ll forgive me, if ever. Where do you hide the stairs?”
“That bookcase swings out.”
“Be darned! For a so-called cabin this place is loaded with surprises. A bidet in each bath didn’t startle me; Jane would have required them. Your walk-in freezer startled me only by being big enough for a restaurant. But a bookcase concealing a priest’s hole – as Great-Aunt Nettie used to say, ‘I do declare!'”
“You should see our septic tank – yours, now.”
“I’ve seen septic tanks. Pesky things – always need pumping at the most inconvenient time.”
“This one won’t have to be pumped. Over three hundred meters deep. An even thousand feet.”
“For the love of – Why?”
“It’s an abandoned mine shaft below us that some optimist dug a hundred years back. Here was this big hole, so Pop used it. There is a spring farther up the mountain. Pop cleaned that out, covered it, concealed it, put pipe underground, and we have lavish pure water under pressure. The rest of Snug Harbor Pop designed mostly from prefab catalogs, fireproof and solid and heavily insulated. We have – you have, I mean – this big fireplace and the little ones in the bedrooms, but you won’t need them, other than for homeyness. Radiant heat makes it skin-comfortable even in a blizzard.”
“Where do you get your power? From the nearest town?”
“Oh, no! Snug Harbor is a hideout, nobody but Pop and me – and now you and Zebadiah – knows it’s here. Power packs, Aunt Hilda, and an inverter in a space behind the back wall of the garage. We bring in power packs ourselves, and take them out the same way. Private. Oh, the leasehold record is buried in a computer in Washington or Denver, and the Federal rangers know the leaseholds. But they don’t see us if we see or hear them first. Mostly they cruise on past. Once one came by on horseback. Pop fed him beer out under the trees – and from outside this is just a prefab, a living room and two shedroof bedrooms. Nothing to show that important parts are underground.”
“Deety, I’m beginning to think that this place – this cabin – cost more than my townhouse.”
“Uh, probably.”
“I think I’m disappointed. Sugar Pie, I married your papa because I love him and want to take care of him and promised Jane that I would. I’ve been thinking happily that my wedding present to my bridegroom would be his weight in bullion, so that dear man need never work again.”
“Don’t be disappointed, Aunt Hilda. Pop has to work; it’s his nature. Me, too. Work is necessary to us. Without it, we’re lost.”
“Well… yes. But working because you want to is the best sort of play.”
“Correct!”
“That’s what I thought I could give Jacob. I don’t understand it. Jane wasn’t rich, she was on a scholarship. Jacob had no money – still a teaching fellow, a few months shy of his doctorate. Deety, Jacob’s suit that he wore to be married in was threadbare. I know that he pulled up from that; he made full professor awfully fast. I thought it was that and Jane’s good management.”
“It was both.”
“That doesn’t account for this. Forgive me, Deety, but Utah State doesn’t pay what Harvard pays.”
“Pop doesn’t lack offers. We like Logan. Both the town and the civilized behavior of Mormons. But – Aunt Hilda, I must tell you some things.”
The child looked worried. I said, “Deety, if Jacob wants me to know something he’ll tell me.”
“Oh, but he won’t and I must!”
“No, Deety!”
“Listen, please! When I said, ‘I do,’ I resigned as Pop’s manager. When you said, ‘I do,’ the load landed on you. It has to be that way, Aunt Hilda. Pop won’t do it; he has other things to think about, things that take genius. Mama did it for years, then I learned how, and now it’s your job. Because it can’t be farmed out. Do you understand accountancy?”
“Well, I understand it, I took a course in it. Have to understand it, or the government will skin you alive. But I don’t do it, I have accountants for that – and smart shysters to keep it inside the law.”
“Would it bother you to be outside the law? On taxes?”
“What? Heavens, no! But Sharpie wants to stay outside of jail – I detest an institutional diet.”
“You’ll stay out of jail. Don’t worry, Aunt Hilda – I’ll teach you double-entry bookkeeping they don’t teach in school. Very double. One set for the revenooers and another set for you and Jake.”
“It’s that second set that worries me. That one puts you in the pokey. Fresh air alternate Wednesdays.”
“Nope. The second set is not on paper; it’s in the campus computer at Logan.”
“Worse!”
“Aunt Hilda, please! Certainly my computer address code is in the department’s vault and an I.R.S. agent could get a court order. It wouldn’t do him any good. It would spill out our first set of books while wiping every trace of the second set. Inconvenient but not disastrous. Aunt Hillbilly, I’m not a champion at anything else but I’m the best software artist inthe business. I at your elbow until you are sure of yourself.
“Now about how Pop got rich – All the time he’s been teaching he’s also been inventing gadgets – as automatically as a hen lays eggs. A better can opener. A lawn irrigation system that does a better job, costs less, uses less water. Lots of things. But none has his name on it and royalties trickle back in devious ways.
“But we aren’t freeloaders. Every year Pop and I study the Federal Budget and decide what is useful and what is sheer waste by fat-arsed chairwarmers and pork-barrel raiders. Even before Mama died we were paying more income tax than the total of Pop’s salary, and we’ve paid more each year while I’ve been running it. It does take a bundle to run this country. We don’t begrudge money spent on roads and public health and national defense and truly useful things. But we’ve quit paying for parasites wherever we can identify them.
“It’s your job now, Aunt Hilda. If you decide that it’s dishonest or too risky, I can cause the computer to make it all open and legal so smoothly that hankypanky would never show. It would take me maybe three years, and Pop would pay high capital gains. But you are in charge of Pop now.”
“Deety, don’t talk dirty.”
“Dirty, how? I didn’t even say ‘spit.'”
“Suggesting that I would willingly pay what those clowns in Washington want to squeeze out of us. I would not be supporting so many accountants and shysters if I didn’t think we were being robbed blind. Deety, how about being manager for all of us?”
“No, ma’am! I’m in charge of Zebadiah. I have my own interests to manage, too. Mama wasn’t as poor as you thought. When I was a little girl, she came into a chunk from a trust her grandmother had set up. She and Pop gradually moved it over into my name and again avoided inheritance and estate taxes, all legal as Sunday School. When I was eighteen, I converted it into cash, then caused it to disappear. Besides that, I’ve been paying me a whopping salary as Pop’s manager. I’m not as rich as you are, Aunt Hilda, and certainly not as rich as Pop. But I ain’t hurtin’.”
“Zebbie may be richer than all of us.”
“You said last night that he was loaded but I didn’t pay attention because I had already decided to marry him. But after experiencing what sort of car he drives I realize that you weren’t kidding. Not that it matters. Yes, it did matter – it took both Zebadiah’s courage and Gay Deceiver’s unusual talents to save our lives.”
“You may never find out how loaded Zebbie is, dear. Some people don’t let their left hands know what their right hands are doing. Zebbie doesn’t let his thumb know what his fingers are doing.”
Deety shrugged. “I don’t care. He’s kind and gentle and he’s a storybook hero who saved my life and Pop’s and yours … and last night he proved to me that life is worth living when I’ve been uncertain about it since Mama had to leave us. Let’s go find our men, Aunt Nanny Goat. I’ll risk Pop’s Holy of Holies if you’ll go first.”
“Suits. Lay on your duff and cursed be he who first cries, ‘Nay, enough.”
“I don’t think they’re interested in that now, Nanny Goat.”
“Spoilsport. How do you swing back this bookcase?”
“Switch on the cove lights, then turn on the cold water at the sink. Then switch off the cove lights, then turn off the water – in that order.”
“‘”Curiouser and curiouser,” said Alice.'”
The bookcase closed behind us and was a door with a knob on the upper landing side. The staircase was wide, treads were broad and nonskid, risers gentle, guard rails on both sides – not the legbreaker most houses have as cellar stairs. Deety went down beside me, holding my hand like a child needing reassurance.
The room was beautifully lighted, well ventilated, and did not seem like a basement. Our men were at the far end, bent over a table, and did not appear to notice us. I looked around for a time machine, could not spot it – at least not anything like George Pal’s or any I had ever read about. All around was machinery. A drill press looks the same anywhere and so does a lathe, but others were strange – except that they reminded me of machine shops.
My husband caught sight of us, stood up, and said, “Welcome, ladies!”
Zebbie turned his head and said sharply, “Late to class! Find seats, no whispering during the lecture, take notes; there will be a quiz at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. If you have questions, raise your hands and wait to be called on. Anyone who misbehaves will remain after class and wash the chalk boards.”
Deety stuck out her tongue, sat down quietly. I rubbed his brush cut and whispered an indecency into his ear. Then I kissed my husband and sat down.
My husband resumed talking to Zebbie. “I lost more gyroscopes that way.”
I held up my hand. My husband said, “Yes, Hilda dear?”
“Monkey Ward’s sells gyro tops – I’ll buy you a gross.”
“Thank you, dearest, but these weren’t that sort. They were made by Sperry Division of General Foods.”
“So I’ll get them from Sperry.”
“Sharpie,” put in Zeb, “you’re honing to clean the erasers, too.”
“Just a moment, Son. Hilda may be the perfect case to find out whether or not what I have tried to convey to you – and which really can’t be conveyed save in the equations your cousin Zebulon used, a mathematics you say is unfamiliar to you -“
“It is!”
” – but which you appear to grasp as mechanics. Would you explain the concept to Hilda? If she understands it, we may hypothesize that a continua craft can be designed to be operated by a nontechnical person.”
“Sure,” I said scornfully, “poor little me, with a button for a head. I don’t have to know where the electrons go to use television or holovision. Ijust twist knobs. Go ahead, Zebbie. Take a swing at it, I dare you.”
“I’ll try,” Zebbie agreed. “But, Sharpie, don’t chatter and keep your comments to the point. Or I’ll ask Pop to give you a fat lip.”
“He wouldn’t dast!”
“So? I’m going to give him a horsewhip for a wedding present – besides the Weird Tales, Jake; you get those too. But you need a whip. Attention, Sharpie.”
“Yes, Zebbie. And the same to you doubled.”
“Do you know what ‘precess’ means?”
“Certainly. Precession of the equinoxes. Means that Vega will be the North Star when I’m a great-grandmother. Thirty thousand years or some such.”
“Correct in essence. But you’re not even a mother yet.”
“You don’t know what happened last night. I’m an expectant mother. Jacob doesn’t dare use a whip on me.”
My husband looked startled but pleased – and I felt relieved. Zebbie looked at his own bride. Deety said solemnly, “It is possible, Zebadiah. Neither of us was protected, each was on or close on ovulation. Hilda is blood type B Rhesus positive and my father is AB positive. I am A Rh positive. May I inquire yours, sir?”
“I’m an 0 positive. Uh… I may have shot you down the first salvo.”
“It would seem likely. But – does this meet with your approval?”
“‘Approval’!” Zebbie stood up, knocking over his chair. “Princess, you could not make me happier! Jake! This calls for a toast!”
My husband stopped kissing me. “Unanimous! Daughter, is there champagne chilled?”
“Yes, Pop.”
“Hold it!” I said. “Let’s not get excited over a normal biological function. Deety and I don’t know that we caught; we just hope so. And -“
“So we try again,” Zebbie interrupted. “What’s your calendar?”
“Twenty-eight and a half days, Zebadiah. My rhythm is pendulum steady.”
“Mine’s twenty-seven; Deety and I just happen to be in step. But I want that toast at dinner and a luau afterwards; it might be the last for a long time. Deety, do you get morning sick?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never been pregnant… before.”
“I have and I do and it’s miserable. Then I lost the naked little grub after trying hard to keep it. But I’m not going to lose this one! Fresh air and proper exercise and careful diet and nothing but champagne for me tonight, then not another drop until I know. In the meantime – Professors, may I point out that class is in session? I want to know about time machines and I’m not sure I could understand with champagne buzzing my buttonhead.”
“Sharpie, sometimes you astound me.”
“Zebbie, sometimes I astound myself. Since my husband builds time machines, I want to know what makes them tick. Or at least which knobs to turn. He might be clawed by the Bandersnatch and I would have to pilot him home. Get on with your lecture.”
“I read you loud and clear.”
But we wasted (“wasted?”) a few moments because everybody had to kiss everybody else – even Zebbie and my husband pounded each other on the back and kissed both cheeks Latin style. Zebbie tried to kiss me as if I were truly his mother-in-law but I haven’t kissed that way since junior high. Once I was firm with him he gave in and kissed me better than he ever had before – whew! I’m certain Deety is right but I won’t risk worrying my older husband over a younger man and I’d be an idiot to risk competing with Deety’s teats et cetera when all I have is fried eggs and my wonderful old goat seems so pleased with my et cetera.
Class resumed. “Sharpie, can you explain precession in gyroscopes?”
“Well, maybe. Physics One was required but that was a long time ago. Push a gyroscope and it doesn’t go the way you expect, but ninety degrees from that direction so that the push lines up with the spin. Like this – ” I pointed a forefinger like a little boy going: “Bang! – you’re dead!”
“My thumb is the axis, my forefinger represents the push, the other fingers show the rotation.”
“Go to the head of the class. Now – think hard! – suppose we put a gyroscope in a frame, then impress equal forces at all three spatial coordinates at once; what would it do?”
I tried to visualize it. “I think it would either faint or drop dead.”
“A good first hypothesis. According to Jake, it disappears.”
“They do disappear, Aunt Hilda. I watched it happen several times.”
“But where do they go?”
“I can’t follow Jake’s math; I have to accept his transformations without proof. But it is based on the notion of six space-time coordinates, three of space, the usual three that we see – marked x, y, and z – and three time coordinates: one marked ‘t’ like this – ” (t) ” – and one marked ‘tau,’ Greek alphabet – ” (T) ” – and the third from the Cyrillic alphabet, ‘teh’ – ” (M)
“Looks like an ‘m’ with a macron over it.”
“So it does, but it’s what the Russians use for ‘t’.”
“No, the Russians use ‘chai’ for tea. In thick glasses with strawberry jam.”
“Stow it, Sharpie. So we have x, y, and z; t, tau, and teh, six dimensions. It is basic to the theory that all are at right angles to each other, and that any one may be swapped for any of the others by rotation – or that a new coordinate may be found (not a seventh but replacing any of the six) by translation – say ‘tau’ to ‘tau prime’ by displacement along ‘x.'”
“Zebbie, I think I fell off about four coordinates back.”
My husband suggested, “Show her the caltrop, Zeb.”
“Good idea.” Zeb accepted a widget from my husband, placed it in front of me. It looked like jacks I used to play with as a little girl but not enough things sticking out – four instead of six. Three touched the table, a tripod; the fourth stuck straight up.
Zeb said, “This is a weapon, invented centuries ago. The points should be sharp but these have been filed down.” He flipped it, let it fall to the table. “No matter how it falls, one prong is vertical. Scatter them in front of cavalry; the horses go down – discouraging. They came into use again in Wars One and Two against anything with pneumatic tires – bicycles, motorcycles, lorries, and so forth. Big enough, they disable tanks and tracked vehicles. A small sort can be whittled from thorn bushes for guerrilla warfare – usually poisoned and quite nasty.
“But here this lethal toy is a geometrical projection, a drawing of the coordinates of a four-dimensional space-time continuum. Each spike is exactly ninety degrees from every other spike.”
“But they aren’t,” I objected. “Each angle is more than a right angle.”
“I said it was a projection. Sharpie, it’s an isometric projection of four-dimensional coordinates in three-dimensional space. That distorts the angles… and the human eye is even more limited. Cover one eye and hold still and you see only two dimensions. The illusion of depth is a construct of the brain.”
“I’m not very good at holding still -“
“No, she isn’t,” agreed my bridegroom whom I love dearly and at that instant could have choked.
“But I can close both eyes and feel three dimensions with my hands.”
“A good point. Close your eyes and pick this up and think of the prongs as the four directions of a four-dimensional space. Does the word tesseract mean anything to you?”
“My high school geometry teacher showed us how to construct them – projections – with modeling wax and toothpicks. Fun. I found other four-dimensional figures that were easy to project. And a number of ways to project them.”
“Sharpie, you must have had an exceptional geometry teacher.”
“In an exceptional geometry class. Don’t faint, Zebbie, but I was grouped with what they called ‘overachievers’ after it became ‘undemocratic’ to call them ‘gifted children.'”
“Be durned! Why do you always behave like a fritterhead?”
“Why don’t you ever look beneath the surface, young man! I laugh because I dare not cry. This is a crazy world and the only way to enjoy it is to treat it as a joke. That doesn’t mean I don’t read and can’t think. I read everything from Giblett to Hoyle, from Sartre to Pauling. I read in the tub, I read on the john, I read in bed, I read when I eat alone, and I would read in my sleep if I could keep my eyes open. Deety, this is proof that Zebbie has never been in my bed: the books downstairs are display; the stuff I read is stacked in my bedroom.”
“Deety, did you think I had been sleeping with Sharpie?”
“No, Zebadiah.”
“And you never will! Deety told me what a sex maniac you are! You lay your lecherous hands on me and I’ll scream for Jacob and he’ll beat you to a pulp.”
“Don’t count on it, dear one,” my husband said mildly. “Zeb is bigger and younger and stronger than I… and if I found it needful to try, Deety would cry and beat me to a pulp. Son, I should have warned you: my daughter is vicious at karate. The killer instinct.”
“Thanks. Forewarned, forearmed. I’ll use a kitchen chair in one hand, a revolver in the second, and a whip in the other, just as I used to do in handling the big cats for Ringling, Barnum, and Bailey.”
“That’s three hands,” said Deety.
“I’m four-dimensional, darling. Professor, we can speed up this seminar; we’ve been underrating our overachiever. Hilda is a brain.”
“Zebbie, can we kiss and make up?”
“Class is in session.”
“Zebadiah, there is always time for that. Right, Pop?”
“Kiss her, Son, or she’ll sulk.”
“I don’t sulk, I bite.”
“I think you’re cute, too,” Zebbie answered, grabbed me by both shoulders, dragged me over the table, and kissed me hard. Our teeth grated and my nipples went spung! Sometimes I wish I weren’t so noble.
He dropped me abruptly and said, “Attention, class. The two prongs of the caltrop painted blue represent our three-dimensional space of experience. The third prong painted yellow is the t-time we are used to. The red fourth prong simulates both Tau-time and Teh-time, the unexplored time dimensions necessary to Jake’s theory. Sharpie, we have condensed six dimensions into four, then we either work by analogy into six, or we have to use math that apparently nobody but Jake and my cousin Ed understands. Unless you can think of some way to project six dimensions into three – you seem to be smart at such projections.”
I closed my eyes and thought hard. “Zebbie, I don’t think it can be done. Maybe Escher could have done it.”
“It can be done, my dearest,” answered my dearest, “but it is unsatisfactory. Even with a display computer with capacity to subtract one or more dimensions at a time. A superhypertesseract – a to the sixth power – has too many lines and corners and planes and solids and hypersolids for the eye to grasp. Cause the computer to subtract dimensions and what you have left is what you already knew. I fear it is an innate incapacity of visual conception in the human brain.”
“I think Pop is right,” agreed Deety. “I worked hard on that program. I don’t think the late great Dr. Marvin Minsky could have done it better in flat projection. Holovision? I don’t know. I would like to try if I ever get my hands on a computer with holovideo display and the capacity to add, subtract, and rotate six coordinates.”
“But why six dimensions?” I asked. “Why not five? Or even four, since you speak of rotating them interchangeably.”
“Jake?” said Zeb.
My darling looked fussed. “It bothered me that a space-time continuum seemed to require three space dimensions but only one time dimension. Granted that the universe is what it is, nevertheless nature is filled with symmetries. Even after the destruction of the parity principle, scientists kept finding new ones. Philosophers stay wedded to symmetry – but I don’t count philosophers.”
“Of course not,” agreed Zeb. “No philosopher allows his opinions to be swayed by facts – he would be kicked out of his guild. Theologians, the lot of them.”
“I concur. Hilda my darling, after I found a way to experiment, it turned out that six dimensions existed. Possibly more – but I see no way to reach them.”
“Let me see,” I said. “If I understood earlier, each dimension can be swapped for any other.”
“By ninety-degree rotation, yes.”
“Wouldn’t that be the combinations taken four at a time out of a set of six? How many is that?”
“Fifteen,” Zebbie answered.
“Goodness! Fifteen whole universes? And we use only one?”
“No, no, my darling! That would be ninety-degree rotations of one Euclidean universe. But our universe, or universes, has been known to be non-Euclidean at least since 1919. Or 1886 if you prefer. I stipulate that cosmology is an imperfect discipline, nevertheless, for considerations that I cannot state in nonmathematical terms, I was forced to assume a curved space of positive radius – that is to say, a closed space. That makes the universes possibly accessible to use either by rotation or by translation this number.” My husband rapidly wrote three sixes.
“Six sixty-six,” I said wonderingly. “‘The Number of the Beast.'”
“Eh? Oh! The Revelation of Saint John the Divine. But I scrawled it sloppily. You took it that I wrote this: ‘666.’ But what I intended to write was this: ‘6^6^6.’ Six raised to its sixth power, and the result in turn raised to its sixth power. That number is this:” 1.03144+ X 10^28 ” – or written in full:” 10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056 ” – or more than ten million sextillion universes in our group.”
What can one say to that? Jacob went on, “Those universes are our nextdoor neighbors, one rotation or one translation away. But if one includes combinations of rotation and translation – think of a hyperplane slicing through superhypercontinua not at the point of here-now – the total becomes indenumerable. Not infinity – infinity has no meaning. Uncountable. Not subject to manipulation by mathematics thus far invented. Accessible to continua craft but no known way to count them.”
“Pop -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“Maybe Aunt Hilda hit on something. Agnostic as you are, you nevertheless keep the Bible around as history and poetry and myth.”
“Who said I was agnostic, my daughter?”
“Sorry, sir. I long ago reached that conclusion because you won’t talk about it. Wrong of me. Lack of data never justifies a conclusion. But this key number – one-point-oh-three-one-four-four-plus times ten to its twenty-eighth power – perhaps that is the ‘Number of the Beast.'”
“What do you mean, Deety?”
“That Revelation isn’t history, it’s not good poetry, and it’s not myth. There must have been some reason for a large number of learned men to include it – while chucking out several dozen gospels. Why not make a first hypothesis with Occam’s Razor and read it as what it purports to be? Prophecy.”
“Hmm. The shelves under the stairs, next to Shakespeare. The King James version, never mind the other three.”
Deety was back in a moment with a well-worn black book – which surprised me. I read the Bible for my own reasons but it never occurred to me that Jacob would. We always marry strangers.
“Here,” said Deety. “Chapter thirteen, verse eighteen: ‘Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.”
“That can’t be read as exponents, Deety.”
“But this is a translation, Pop. Wasn’t the original in Greek? I don’t remember when exponents were invented but the Greek mathematicians of that time certainly understood powers. Suppose the original read ‘Zeta, Zeta, Zeta!’ – and those scholars, who weren’t mathematicians, mistranslated it as six hundred and sixty-six?”
“Uh… moondrift, Daughter.”
“Who taught me that the world is not only stranger than we imagine but stranger than we can imagine? Who has already taken me into two universes that are not this one… and brought me safely home?”
“Wait a half!” Zebbie said. “You and Pop have already tried the time-space machine?”
“Didn’t Pop tell you? We made one minimum translation. We didn’t seem to have gone anywhere and Pop thought he had failed. Until I tried to look up a number in the phone book. No ‘J’ in the book. No ‘J’ in the Britannica. No ‘J’ in any dictionary. So we popped back in, and Pop returned the verniers to zero, and we got out, and the alphabet was back the way it ought to be and I stopped shaking. But our rotation was even more scary and we almost died. Out in space with blazing stars – but air was leaking out and Pop just barely put it back to zero before we passed out… and came to, back here in Snug Harbor.”
“Jake,” Zebbie said seriously, “that gadget has got to have more fail-safes, in series with deadman switches for homing.” He frowned. “I’m going to keep my eye open for both numbers, six sixty-six and the long one. I trust Deety’s hunches. Deety, where is the verse with the description of the Beast? It’s somewhere in the middle of the chapter.”
“Here. ‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon.'”
“Hmm – I don’t know how dragons speak. But if something comes up out of the earth and has two horns… and I see or hear either number – I’m going to assume that he has a ‘Black Hat’ and try to do unto him before he does unto us. Deety, I’m peaceable by policy… but two near misses is too many. Next time I shoot first.”
I would as lief Zebbie hadn’t mentioned “Black Hats.” Hard to believe that someone was trying to kill anyone as sweet and innocent and harmless as my darling Jacob. But they were – and we knew it.
I said, “Where is this time machine? All I’ve seen is a claptrap.”
“‘Caltrop,’ Aunt Hilda. You’re looking at the space-time machine.”
“Huh? Where? Why aren’t we in it and going somewhere fast? I don’t want my husband killed; he’s practically brand-new. I expect to get years of wear out of him.”
“Sharpie, stop the chatter,” Zebbie put in. “It’s on that bench, across the table from you.”
“All I see is a portable sewing machine.”
“That’s it.”
“What? How do you get inside? Or do you ride it like a broom?”
“Neither. You mount it rigidly in a vehicle – one airtight and watertight by strong preference. Pop had it mounted in their car – not quite airtight and now kaputt. Pop and I are going to mount it in Gay Deceiver, which is airtight. With better fail-safes.”
“Much better fail-safes, Zebbie,” I agreed.
“They will be. I find that being married makes a difference. I used to worry about my own skin. Now I’m worried about Deety’s. And yours. And Pop’s. All four of us.”
“Hear, hear!” I agreed. “All for one, and one for all!”
“Yup,” Zebbie answered. “Us four, no more. Deety, when’s lunch?”

Chapter VII

“Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus!”

Deety:
While Aunt Hilda and I assembled lunch, our men disappeared. They returned just in time to sit down. Zebadiah carried an intercom unit; Pop had a wire that he plugged into a jack in the wall, then hooked to the intercom.
“Gentlemen, your timing is perfect; the work is all done,” Aunt Hilda greeted them. “What is that?”
“A guest for lunch, my dearest,” Pop answered. “Miss Gay Deceiver.”
“Plenty for all,” Aunt Hilda agreed. “I’ll set another place.” She did so; Zebadiah placed the intercom on the fifth plate. “Does she take coffee or tea?”
“She’s not programmed for either, Hilda,” Zebadiah answered, “but I thank you on her behalf. Ladies, I got itchy about news from Singapore and Sumatra. So I asked my autopilot to report. Jake came along, then pointed out that he had spare cold circuits here and there, just in case – and this was a just-in-case. Gay is plugged to the garage end of that jack, and this is a voice-switched master-master intercom at this end. I can call Gay and she can call me if anything new comes in – and I increased her programming by reinstating the earlier programs, Logan and back home, for running retrieval of new data.”
“I’ll add an outlet in the basement,” agreed Pop. “But, Son, this is your home – not California.”
“Well -“
“Don’t fight it, Zebbie. This is my home since Jacob legalized me… and any step-son-in-law of mine is at home here; you heard Jacob say so. Right, Deety?”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Aunt Hilda is housewife and I’m scullery maid. But Snug Harbor is my home, too, until Pop and, Aunt Hilda kick me out into the snow – and that includes my husband.”
“Not into snow, Deety,” Aunt Hilda corrected me. “Jacob would insist on a sunny day; he’s kind and gentle. But that would not leave you with no roof over your head. My California home – mine and Jacob’s – has long been your home-from-home, and Zebbie has been dropping in for years, whenever he was hungry.”
“I had better put my bachelor flat into the pot.”
“Zebbie, you can’t put Deety on your day bed. It’s lumpy, Deety. Broken springs. Bruises. Zebbie, break your lease and send your furniture back to Good Will.”
“Sharpie, you’re at it again. Deety, there is no day bed in my digs. An emperor-size bed big enough for three – six if they are well acquainted.”
“My Captain, do you go in for orgies?” I asked.
“No. But you can’t tell what may turn up in the future.”
“You always look ahead, Zebadiah,” I said approvingly. “Am I invited?”
“At any orgy of mine, my wife will pick the guests and send the invitations.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll wait until you seem to be bored, then look over the crop and pick out choice specimens for you. Assorted flavors and colors.”
“My Princess, I will not spank a pregnant woman. But I can think about it. Pop, Snug Harbor continues to impress me. Did you use an architect?”
“Hrrumph! ‘Architect’ is a dirty word. I studied engineering. Architects copy each other’s mistakes and call it ‘Art.’ Even Frank Lloyd Wright never understood what the Gilbreths were doing. His houses looked great from the outside – inside they were hideously inefficient. Dust collectors. Gloomy. Psych lab rat mazes. Pfui!”
“How about Neutra?”
“If he hadn’t been hamstrung by building codes and union rules and zoning laws, Neutra could have been great. But people don’t want efficient machines for living; they prefer to crouch in medieval hovels, as their flea-bitten forebears did. Cold, drafty, unsanitary, poor lighting, and no need for any of it.”
“I respect your opinion, sir. Pop – three fireplaces… no chimneys. How? Why?”
“Zeb, I like fireplaces – and a few cords of wood can save your life in the mountains. But I see no reason to warm the outdoors or to call attention to the fact that we are in residence or to place trust in spark arresters in forestfire country. Lighting a fire in a fireplace here automatically starts its exhaust fan. Smoke and particles are electrostatically precipitated. The precipitators are autoscrubbed when stack temperature passes twenty-five Celsius, dropping. Hot air goes through labyrinths under bathtubs and floors, then under other floors, thence into a rock heat-sink under the garage, a sink that drives the heat pump that serves the house. When flue gas finally escapes, at points distant from the house, it is so close to ambient temperature that only the most sensitive heat-seeker could sniff it. Thermal efficiency plus the security of being inconspicuous.”
“But suppose you are snowed in so long that your power packs play out?”
“Franklin stoves in storage, stove pipe to match, stops in the walls removable from inside to receive thimbles for flue pipes.”
“Pop,” I inquired, “is this covered by Rule One? Or was Rule One abolished last night in Elko?”
“Eh? The chair must rule that it is suspended until Hilda ratifies or cancels it. Hilda my love, years back Jane instituted Rule One -“
“I ratify it!”
“Thank you. But listen first. It applies to meals. No news broadcasts -“
“Pop,” I again interrupted, “while Rule One is still in limbo – did Gay Deceiver have any news? I worry, I do!”
“Null retrievals, dear. With the amusing conclusion that you and I are still presumed to have died twice, but the news services do not appear to have noticed the discrepancy. However, Miss Gay Deceiver will interrupt if a bulletin comes in; Rule One is never invoked during emergencies. Zeb, do you want this rig in your bedroom at night?”
“I don’t want it but should have it. Prompt notice might save our skins.”
“We’ll leave this here and parallel another into there, with gain stepped to wake you. Back to Rule One: No news broadcasts at meals, no newspapers. No shop talk, no business or financial matters, no discussion of ailments. No political discussion, no mention of taxes, or of foreign or domestic policy. Reading of fiction permitted en famille – not with guests present. Conversation limited to cheerful subjects -“
“No scandal, no gossip?” demanded Aunt Hilda.
“A matter of your judgment, dear. Cheerful gossip about friends and acquaintances, juicy scandal about people we do not like – fine! Now – do you wish to ratify, abolish, amend, or take under advisement?”
“I ratify it unchanged. Who knows some juicy scandal about someone we don’t like?”
“I know an item about ‘No Brain’ – Doctor Neil Brain,” Zebadiah offered.
“Give!”
“I got this from a reliable source but can’t prove it.”
“Irrelevant as long as it’s juicy. Go ahead, Zebbie.”
“Well, a certain zaftig coed told this on herself. She tried to give her all to ‘Brainy’ in exchange for a passing grade in the general math course necessary to any degree on our campus. It is rigged to permit prominent but stupid athletes to graduate. Miss Zaftig was flunking it, which takes exceptional talent.
“So she arranged an appointment with the department head – ‘Brainy’ – and made her quid-pro-quo clear. He could give her horizontal tutoring then and there or in her apartment or his apartment or in a motel and she would pay for it or whenever and wherever he chose. But she had to pass.”
“Happens on every campus, Son,” Pop told him.
“I haven’t reached the point. She blabbed the story – not angry but puzzled. She says that she was unable to get her intention over to him (which seems impossible, I’ve seen this young woman). ‘Brainy’ didn’t accept, didn’t refuse, wasn’t offended, didn’t seem to understand. He told her that she had better talk to her instructor about getting tutoring and a re-exam. Now Miss Zaftig is circulating the story that Prof ‘No Brain’ must be a eunuch or a robot. Not even a homo. Totally sexless.”
“He’s undoubtedly stupid,” Aunt Hilda commented. “But I’ve never met a man I couldn’t get that point across to, if I tried. Even if he was uninterested in my fair virginal carcass. I’ve never tried with Professor Brain because I’m not interested in his carcass. Even barbecued.”
“Then, Hilda my darling, why did you invite him to your party?”
“What? Because of your note, Jacob. I don’t refuse you favors.”
“But, Hilda, I don’t understand. When I talked to you by telephone, I asked you to invite Zeb – under the impression that he was his cousin Zebulon – and I did say that two or three others from the department of mathematics might make it less conspicuously an arranged meeting. But I didn’t mention Doctor Brain. And I did not write.”
“Jacob – I have your note. In California. On your University stationery with your name printed on it.”
Professor Burroughs shook his head, looked sad. Zebadiah Carter said, “Sharpie – handwritten or typed?”
“Typed. But it was signed! Wait a moment, let me think. It has my name and address down in the lower left. Jacob’s name was typed, too, but it was signed ‘Jake.’ Uh… ‘My dear Hilda, A hasty P.S. to my phone call of yesterday – Would you be so kind as to include Doctor Neil O. Brain, chairman of mathematics? I don’t know what possessed me that I forgot to mention him. Probably the pleasure of hearing your dear voice.
“‘Deety sends her love, as do I. Ever yours, Jacob J. Burroughs’ with ‘Jake’ signed above the typed name.”
Zebadiah said to me, “Watson, you know my methods.”
“Certainly, my dear Holmes. A ‘Black Hat.’ In Logan.”
“We knew that. What new data?”
“Well… Pop made that call from the house; I remember it. So somebody has a tap on our phone. Had, I mean; the fire probably destroyed it.”
“A recording tap. The purpose of that fire may have been to destroy it and other evidence. For now we know that the ‘Blokes in the Black Hats’ knew that your father – and you, but it’s Pop they are after – was in California last evening. After ‘killing’ him in California, they destroyed all they could in Utah. Professor, I predict that we will learn that your office was robbed last night – any papers on six-dimensional spaces.”
Pop shrugged. “They wouldn’t find much. I had postponed my final paper after the – humiliating – reception my preliminary paper received. I worked on it only at home, or here, and moved notes made in Logan to our basement here each time we came down.”
“Any missing here?”
“I am certain this place has not been entered. Not that papers would matter; I have it in my head. The continua apparatus has not been touched.”
“Zebadiah, is Doctor Brain a ‘Black Hat’?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Deety. He may be a stooge in their hire. But he’s part of their plot, or they would not have risked forging a letter to put him into Hilda’s house. Jake, how difficult is it to steal your professional stationery?”
“Not difficult. I don’t keep a secretary; I send for a stenographer when I need one. I seldom lock my office when I’m on campus.”
“Deety, can you scrounge pen and paper? I want to see how Jake signs ‘Jake.'”
“Sure.” I fetched them. “Pop’s signature is easy; I often sign it. I hold his power of attorney.”
“It’s the simple signatures that are hardest to forge well enough to fool a handwriting expert. But their scheme did not require fooling an expert – phrasing the note was more difficult… since Hilda accepted it as ringing true.”
“It does ring true, Son; it is very like what I would have said had I written such a note to Hilda.”
“The forger probably has read many of your letters and listened to many of your conversations. Jake, will you write ‘Jake’ four or five times, the way you sign a note to a friend?”
Pop did so, my husband studied the specimens. “Normal variations.” Zebadiah then signed “Jake” about a dozen times, looked at his work, took a fresh sheet, signed “Jake” once, passed it to Aunt Hilda. “Well, Sharpie?”
Aunt Hilda studied it. “It wouldn’t occur to me to question it – on Jacob’s stationery under a note that sounded like his phrasing. Where do we stand now?”
“Stuck in the mud. But we have added data. At least three are involved, two ‘Black Hats’ and Doctor Brain, who may or may not be a ‘Black Hat.’ He is, at minimum, a hired hand, an unwitting stooge, or a puppet they can move around like a chessman.
“While two plus ‘Brainy’ is minimum, it is not the most probable number. This scheme was not whipped up overnight. It involves arson, forgery, booby-trapping a car, wiretapping, theft, and secret communications between points widely separated, with coordinated criminal actions at each end – and it may involve doing in my cousin Zebulon. We can assume that the ‘Black Hats’ know that I am not the Zeb Carter who is the n-dimensional geometer; I’m written off as a bystander who got himself killed.
“Which doesn’t bother them. These playful darlings would swat a fly with a sledgehammer, or cure a cough with a guillotine. They are smart, organized, efficient, and vicious – and the only clue is an interest in six-dimensional non-Euclidean geometry.
“We don’t have a glimmer as to ‘who’ – other than Doctor Brain, whose role is unclear. But, Jake, I think I know ‘why’ – and that will lead us to ‘who.”
“Why, Zebadiah?” I demanded.
“Princess, your father could have worked on endless other branches of mathematics and they would not have bothered him. But he happened – I don’t mean chance; I don’t believe in ‘chance’ in this sense – he worked on the one variety of the endless possible number of geometries – the only one that correctly describes how space-time is put together. Having found it, because he is a genius in both theory and practice, he saw that it was a means by which to build a simple craft – amazingly simple, the greatest invention since the wheel – a space-time craft that offers access to all universes to the full Number of the Beast. Plus undenumerable variations of each of those many universes.
“We have one advantage.”
“I don’t see any advantage! They’re shooting at my Jacob!”
“One strong advantage, Sharpie. The ‘Black Hats’ know that Jake has worked out this mathematics. They don’t know that he has built his space-time tail-twister; they think he has just put symbols on paper. They tried to discredit his work and were successful. They tried to kill him and barely missed. They probably think Jake is dead – and it seems likely that they have killed Ed. But they don’t know about Snug Harbor.”
“Why do you say that, Zeb? Oh, I hope they do not! – but why do you feel sure?”
“Because these blokes aren’t fooling. They blew up your car and burned your flat; what would they do here? – if they knew. An A-bomb?”
“Son, do you think that criminals can lay hands on atomic weapons?”
“Jake, these aren’t criminals. A ‘criminal’ is a member of the subset of the larger set ‘human beings.’ These creatures are not human.”
“Eh? Zeb, your reasoning escapes me.”
“Deety. Run it through the computer. The one between your ears.”
I did not answer; I just sat and thought. After several minutes of unpleasant thoughts I said, “Zebadiah, the ‘Black Hats’ don’t know about the apparatus in our basement.”
“Conclusive assumption,” my husband agreed, “because we are still alive.”
“They are determined to destroy a new work in mathematics… and to kill the brain that produced it.”
“A probability approaching unity,” Zebadiah again agreed.
“Because it can be used to travel among the universes.”
“Conclusive corollary,” my husband noted.
“For this purpose, human beings fall into three groups. Those not interested in mathematics more complex than that needed to handle money, those who know a bit about other mathematics, and a quite small third group who could understand the possibilities.”
“Yes.”
“But our race does not know anything of other universes so far as I know.”
“They don’t. Necessary assumption.”
“But that third group would not try to stop an attempt to travel among the universes. They would wait with intellectual interest to see how it turned out. They might believe or disbelieve or suspend judgment. But they would not oppose; they would be delighted if my father succeeded. The joy of intellectual discovery – the mark of a true scientist.”
I sighed and added, “I see no other grouping. Save for a few sick people, psychotic, these three subsets complete the set. Our opponents are not psychotic; they are intelligent, crafty, and organized.”
“As we all know too well,” Zebadiah echoed.
“Therefore our opponents are not human beings. They are alien intelligences from elsewhere.” I sighed again and shut up. Being an oracle is a no-good profession!
“Or elsewhen. Sharpie, can you kill?”
“Kill whom, Zebbie? Or what?” “Can you kill to protect Jake?”
“You bet your frimpin’ life I’ll kill to protect Jacob!”
“I won’t ask you, Princess; I know Dejah Thoris.” Zebadiah went on, “That’s the situation, ladies. We have the most valuable man on this planet to protect. We don’t know from what. Jake, your bodyguard musters two Amazons, one small, one medium large, both probably knocked up, and one Cowardly Lion. I’d hire the Dorsai if I knew their P.O. Box. Or the Gray Lensman and all his pals. But we are all there are and we’ll try! Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus! Let’s break out that champagne.”
“My Captain, do you think we should?” I asked. “I’m frightened.”
“We should. I’m no good for more work today, and neither is Jake. Tomorrow we’ll start installing the gadget in Gay Deceiver, do rewiring and reprogramming so that she will work for any of us. Meanwhile we need a couple of laughs and a night’s sleep. What better time to drink life to the dregs than when we know that any hour may be our last?”
Aunt Hilda punched Zebadiah in the ribs. “Yer dern tootin’, Buster! I’m going to get giggle happy and make a fool of myself and then take my man and put him to sleep with Old Mother Sharpie’s Time-Tested Nostrum. Deety, I prescribe the same for you.”
I suddenly felt better. “Check, Aunt Hilda! Captain John Carter always wins. ‘Cowardly Lion’ my foot! Who is Pop? The Little Wizard?”
“I think he is.”
“Could be. Pop, will you open the bubbly? I always hurt my thumbs.”
“Right away, Deety. I mean ‘Dejah Thoris, royal consort of the Warlord.'”
“No need to be formal, Pop. This is going to be an informal party. Very! Pop! Do I have to keep my pants on?”
“Ask your husband. You’re his problem now.”

Chapter VIII

“Let us all preserve our illusions – “

Hilda:
In my old age, sucking my gums in front of the fire and living over my misdeeds, I’ll remember the next few days as the happiest in my life. I’d had three honeymoons earlier, one with each of my term-contract husbands: two had been good, one had been okay and (eventually) very lucrative. But my honeymoon with Jacob was heavenly.
The whiff of danger sharpened the joy. Jacob seemed unworried, and Zebbie has hunches, like a horseplayer. Seeing that Zebbie was relaxed, Deety got over being jumpy – and I never was, as I hope to end like a firecracker, not linger on, ugly, helpless, useless…
A spice of danger adds zest to life. Even during a honeymoon – especially during a honeymoon.
An odd honeymoon. We worked hard but our husbands seemed never too busy for pat fanny, squeeze titty, and unhurried kisses. Not a group marriage but two twosomes that were one family, comfortable each with the others. I dropped most of my own sparky-bitch ways, and Zebbie sometimes called me “Hilda” rather than “Sharpie.”
Jacob and I moved into marriage like ham and eggs. Jacob is not tall (178 centimeters) (but tall compared with my scant one fifty-two) and his hairline recedes and he has a paunch from years at a desk – but he looks just right to me. If I wanted to look at male beauty, I could always look at Deety’s giant – appreciate him without lusting: my own loving goat kept Sharpie quite blunted.
I did not decide, when Zebbie came on campus, to make a pet of him for his looks but for his veering sense of humor. But if there was ever a man who could have played the role of John Carter, Warlord of Mars, it was Zebadiah Carter whose middle name just happens to be “John.” Indoors with clothes and wearing his fake horn-rims he looks awkward, too big, clumsy. I did not realize that he was beautiful and graceful until the first time he used my pool. (That afternoon I was tempted to seduce him. But, as little dignity as I have, I had resolved to stick to older men, so I shut off the thought.)
Outdoors at Snug Harbor, wearing little or no clothes, Zebbie looked at home – a mountain lion in grace and muscle. An incident one later afternoon showed me how much he was like the Warlord of Mars. A sword – Those old stories were familiar to me. My father had acquired the Ballantine Del Rey paperback reissues; they were around the house when I was a little girl. Once I learned to read, I read everything, and vastly preferred Barsoom stories to “girls” books given to me for birthdays and Christmas. Thuvia was the heroine I identified with – “toy” of the cruel priests of Issus, then with virginity miraculously restored in the next book: Thuvia, Maid of Mars. I resolved to change my name to Thuvia when I was old enough. When I was eighteen, I did not consider it; I had always been “Hilda,” a new name held no attraction.
I was responsible in part for Deety’s name, one that embarrassed her until she discovered that her husband liked it. Jacob had wanted to name his daughter “Dejah Thoris” (Jacob looks like and is a professor, but he is incurably romantic). Jane had misgivings. I told her, “Don’t be a chump, Janie. If your man wants something, and you can accommodate him with no grief, give it to him! Do you want him to love this child or to resent her?” Jane looked thoughtful and “Doris Anne” became “Dejah Thoris” at christening, then “Deety” before she could talk – which satisfied everyone.
We settled into a routine: Up early every day; our men worked on instruments and wires and things and installing the time-space widget into Gay Deceiver’s gizzard – while Deety and I gave the housework a lick and a promise (our mountain home needed little attention – more of Jacob’s genius), then Deety and I got busy on a technical matter that Deety could do with some help from me.
I’m not much use for technical work, biology being the only thing I studied in depth and never finished my degree. This was amplified by almost six thousand hours as volunteer nurse’s aid in our campus medical center and I took courses that make me an uncertified nurse or medical tech or even jackleg paramedic – I don’t shriek at the sight of blood and can clean up vomit without a qualm and would not hesitate to fill in as scrub nurse. Being a campus widow with too much money is fun but not soul filling. I like to feel that I’ve paid rent on the piece of earth I’m using.
Besides that, I have a smattering of everything from addiction to the printed page, plus attending campus lectures that sound intriguing… then sometimes auditing a related course. I audited descriptive astronomy, took the final as if for credit – got an “A.” I had even figured a cometary orbit correctly, to my surprise (and the professor’s).
I can wire a doorbell or clean out a stopped-up soil pipe with a plumber’s “snake” – but if it’s really technical, I hire specialists.
So Hilda can help but usually can’t do the job alone. Gay Deceiver had to be reprogrammed – and Deety, who does not look like a genius, is one. Jacob’s daughter should be a genius and her mother had an I.Q. that startled even me, her closest friend. I ran across it while helping poor grief-stricken Jacob to decide what to save, what to burn. (I burned unflattering pictures, useless papers, and clothes. A dead person’s clothes should be given away or burned; nothing should be kept that does not inspire happy memories. I cried a bit and that saved Jacob and Deety from having to cry later.)
We all held private duo licenses; Zebbie, as Captain Z. J. Carter, U.S.A.S.R., held “command” rating as well – he told us that his space rating was largely honorary, just some free-fall time and one landing of a shuttle. Zebbie is mendacious, untruthful, and tells fibs; I got a chance to sneak a look at his aerospace log and shamelessly took it. He had logged more than he claimed in one exchange tour with Australia. Someday I’m going to sit on his chest and make him tell Mama Hilda the truth. Should be interesting… if I can sort out fact from fiction. I do not believe his story about intimate relations with a female kangaroo.
Zebbie and Jacob decided that we all must be able to control Gay Deceiver all four ways, on the road, in the air, in trajectory (she’s not a spaceship but can make high-trajectory jumps), and in space-time, i.e. among the universes to the Number of the Beast, plus variants impossible to count.
I had fingers crossed about being able to learn that, but both men assured me that they had worked out a fail-safe that would get me out of a crunch if I ever had to do it alone.
Part of the problem lay in the fact that Gay Deceiver was a one-man girl; her doors unlocked only to her master’s voice or to his thumbprint, or to a tapping code if he were shy both voice and right thumb; Zeb tended to plan ahead – “Outwitting Murphy’s Law,” he called it, “‘Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.'” (Grandma called it “The Butter-Side Down Rule.”)
First priority was to introduce us to Gay Deceiver – teach her that all four voices and right thumbprints were acceptable.
That took a couple of hours, with Deety helping Zebbie. The tapping code took even less, it being based on an old military cadence – its trickiness being that a thief would be unlikely to guess that this car would open if tapped a certain way and in guessing the correct cadence. Zebbie called the cadence “Drunken Soldier.” Jacob said that it was “Bumboat.” Deety claimed that its title was “Pay Day,” because she had heard it from Jane’s grandfather.
Our men conceded that she must be right, as she had words for it. Her words included “Drunken Sailor” instead of “Drunken Soldier” – plus both “Pay Day” and “Bumboat.”
Introductions taken care of, Zeb dug out Gay’s anatomy, one volume her body, one her brain. He handed the latter to Deety, took the other into our basement. The next two days were easy for me, hard for Deety. I held lights and made notes on a clip board while she studied that book and frowned and got smudged and sweaty getting herself into impossible positions and once she cursed in a fashion that would have caused Jane to scold. She added, “Aunt Nanny Goat, your step-son-in-law has done things to this mass of spaghetti that no decent computer should put up with! It’s a bastard hybrid.”
“You shouldn’t call Gay ‘it,’ Deety. And she’s not a bastard.”
“She can’t hear us; I’ve got her ears unhooked – except that piece that is monitoring news retrieval programs – and that goes through this wire to that jack in the wall; she can talk with Zebadiah only in the basement now. Oh, I’m sure she was a nice girl until that big ape of mine raped her. Aunt Hilda, don’t worry about hurting Gay’s feelings; she hasn’t any. This is an idiot as computers go. Any one-horse college and most high schools own or share time in computers much more complex. This one is primarily cybernetics, an autopilot plus limited digital capacity and limited storage. But the mods Zebadiah has tacked on make it more than an autopilot but not a general-purpose computer. A misbegotten hybrid. It has far more random-number options than it needs and it has extra functions that IBM never dreamed of.”
“Deety, why are you taking off cover plates? I thought you were strictly a programmer? Software. Not a mechanic.”
“I am strictly a software mathematician. I wouldn’t attempt to modify this monster even on written orders from my lovable but sneaky husband. But how in the name of Allah can a software hack think about simplification analysis for program if she doesn’t know the circuitry? The first half of this book shows what this autopilot was manufactured to do… and the second half, the Xeroxed pages, show the follies Zebadiah has seduced her into. This bleedin’ bundle of chips now speaks three logic languages, interfaced – when it was built to use only one. But it won’t accept any of them until it has been wheedled with Zebadiah’s double talk. Even then it rarely answers a code phrase with the same answer twice in a row. What does it say in answer to: ‘You’re a smart girl, Gay.’?”
“I remember. ‘Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Sometimes. Oftenest, as that answer is weighted to come up three times as often as any of the others. But listen to this:
“‘Zeb, I’m so smart I scare myself.’
“‘Then why did you turn me down for that raise?’
“‘Never mind the compliments! Take your hand off my knee!’
“‘Not so loud, dear. I don’t want my boyfriend to hear.’
” – and there are more. There are at least four answers to any of Zebadiah’s code phrases. He uses just one list, but the autopilot answers several ways for each of his phrases – and all any of them mean is either ‘Roger’ or ‘Null program; rephrase.'”
“I like the idea. Fun.”
“Well… I do myself. I animize a computer; I think of them as people… and this semirandom answer list makes Gay Deceiver feel much more alive… when she isn’t. Not even versatile compared with a ground-based computer. But – ” Deety gave a quick smile. “I’m going to hand my husband some surprises.”
“How, Deety?”
“You know how he says, ‘Good morning, Gay. How are you?’ when we sit down for breakfast.”
“Yes. I like it. Friendly. She usually answers, ‘I’m fine, Zeb.'”
“Yes. It’s a test code. It orders the autopilot to run a self-check throughout and to report any running instruction. Which takes less than a millisecond. If he didn’t get that or an equivalent answer, he would rush straight here to find out what’s wrong. But I’m going to add another answer. Or more.”
“I thought you refused to modify anything.”
“Aunt Hillbilly, this is software, not hardware. I’m authorized and directed to amplify the answers to include all of us, by name for each of our voices. That is programming, elementary. You say good morning to this gadget and it will – when I’m finished – answer you and call you either ‘Hilda’ or ‘Mrs. Burroughs.'”
“Oh, let her call me Hilda.'”
“All right, but let her call you ‘Mrs. Burroughs’ now and then for variety.”
“Well… all right. Keep her a personality.”
“I could even have her call you – low weighting! – ‘Nanny Goat.'”
I guffawed. “Do, Deety, please do. But I want to be around to see Jacob’s face.”
“You will be; it won’t be programmed to answer that way to any voice but yours. Just don’t say, ‘Good morning, Gay’ unless Pop is listening. But here’s one for my husband: Zebadiah says, ‘Good morning, Gay. How are you?’ – and the speaker answers, ‘I’m fine, Zeb. But your fly is unzipped and your eyes are bloodshot. Are you hung over again?'”
Deety is so solemn and yet playful. “Do it, dear! Poor Zebbie – who drinks least of any of us. But he might not be wearing anything zippered.”
“Zebadiah always wears something at meals. Even his underwear shorts are zippered. He dislikes elastic.”
“But he’ll recognize your voice, Deety.”
“Nope. Because it will be your voice – modified.”
And it was. I’m contralto about the range of the actress – or girl friend – who recorded Gay Deceiver’s voice originally. I don’t think my voice has her sultry, bedroom quality but I’m a natural mimic. Deety borrowed a wigglescope – oscilloscope? – from her father, my Jacob, and I practiced until my patterns for Gay Deceiver’s original repertoire matched hers well enough – Deety said she could not tell them apart without close checking.
I got into the spirit of it, such as having Deety cause Gay Deceiver occasionally to say to my husband, “Fine – except for my back ache, you wicked old Billy Goat!” – and Jacob tripped that reply one morning when I did have a back ache, and I feel sure he had one, too.
We didn’t put in answers that Deety felt might be too bawdy for Jacob’s “innocent” mind – I didn’t even hint how her father actually talked, to me in private. Let us all preserve our illusions; it lubricates social relations. Possibly Deety and Zebbie talked the same way to each other in private – and regarded us “old folks” as hopelessly square.

Chapter IX

Most males have an unhealthy tendency to obey laws.

Deety:
Aunt Hilda and I finished reprogramming in the time it took Zebadiah and Pop to design and make the fail-safes and other mods needed to turn Gay Deceiver, with the time-space widget installed, into a continua traveler – which included placing the back seats twenty centimeters farther back (for leg room) after they had been pulled out to place the widget abaft the bulkhead and weld it to the shell. The precessing controls and triple verniers were remoted to the driver’s instrument board – with one voice control for the widget, all others manual:
If any of our voices said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!” car and passengers would instantly return to Snug Harbor.
I don’t know but I trust my Pop. He brought us home safe twice, doing it with no fail-safes and no dead-man switch. The latter paralleled the “Take us home!” voice order, was normally clamped closed and covered – but could be uncovered and held in a fist, closed. There were other fail-safes for temperature, pressure, air, radar collision course, and other dangers. If we wound up inside a star or planet, none of this could save us, but it is easy to prove that the chances of falling downstairs and breaking your neck are enormously higher than the chance of co-occupying space with other matter in our native universe – space is plentiful, mass is scarce. We hoped that this would be true of other universes.
No way ahead of time to check on the Number-of-the-Beast spaces – but “The cowards never started and the weaklings died on the way.” None of us ever mentioned not trying to travel the universes. Besides, our home planet had turned unfriendly. We didn’t discuss “Black Hats” but we all knew that they were still here, and that we remained alive by lying doggo and letting the world think we were dead.
We ate breakfast better each morning after hearing Gay Deceiver offer “null report” on news retrievals. Zebadiah, I am fairly certain, had given up his cousin for dead. I feel sure Zebadiah would have gone to Sumatra to follow a lost hope, were it not that he had acquired a wife and a prospective child. I missed my next period, so did Hilda. Our men toasted our not-yet bulging bellies; Hilda and I smugly resolved to be good girls, yes, sir! – and careful. Hilda joined my morning toning up, and the men joined us the first time they caught us at it.
Zebadiah did not need it but seemed to enjoy it. Pop brought his waistline down five centimeters in one week.
Shortly after that toast Zebadiah pressure-tested Gay Deceiver’s shell – four atmospheres inside her and a pressure gauge sticking out through a fitting in her shell.
There being little we could do while our space-time rover was sealed, we knocked off early. “Swim, anybody?” I asked. Snug Harbor doesn’t have a citytype pool, and a mountain stream is too cooold. Pop had fixed that when he concealed our spring. Overflow was piped underground to a clump of bushes and thereby created a “natural” mountain rivulet that passed near the house; then Pop had made use of a huge fallen boulder, plus biggish ones, to create a pool, one that filled and spilled. He had done work with pigments in concrete to make this look like an accident of water flow.
This makes Pop sound like Paul Bunyan. Pop could have built Snug Harbor with his own hands. But Spanish-speaking labor from Nogales built the underground and assembled the prefab shell of the cabin. An air crane fetched parts and materials from an Albuquerque engineering company Jane had bought for Pop through a front – lawyers in Dallas. The company’s manager drove the air crane himself, having had it impressed on him that this was for a rich client of the law firm, and that it would be prudent to do the job and forget it. Pop bossed the work in TexMex, with help from his secretary – me – Spanish being one language I had picked for my doctorate.
Laborers and mechanics never got a chance to pinpoint where they were, but they were well paid, well fed, comfortably housed in prefabs brought in by crane, and the backbreaking labor was done by power – who cares what “locos gringos” do? Two pilots had to know where we were building, but they homed in on a radar beacon that is no longer there.
“Blokes in Black Hats” had nothing to do with this secrecy; it was jungle caution I had learned from Mama: Never let the revenooers know anything. Pay cash, keep your lips closed, put nothing through banks that does not appear later in tax returns – pay taxes greater than your apparent standard of living and declare income accordingly. We had been audited three times since Mama died; each time the government returned a small “overpayment” – I was building a reputation of being stupid and honest.
My inquiry of “Swim, anybody?” was greeted with silence. Then Pop said, “Zeb, your wife is too energetic. Deety, later the water will be warmer and the trees will give us shade. Then we can walk slowly down to the pool. Zeb?”
“I agree, Jake. I need to conserve ergs.”
“Nap?”
“I don’t have the energy to take one. What were you saying this morning about reengineering the system?”
Aunt Hilda looked startled. “I thought Miss Gay Deceiver was already engineered? Are you thinking of changing everything?”
“Take it easy, Sharpie darlin’. Gay Deceiver is finished. A few things to stow that have been weighed and their moment arms calculated.”
I could have told her. In the course of figuring what could be stowed in every nook and cranny and what that would do to Gay’s balance, I had discovered that my husband had a highly illegal laser cannon. I said nothing, merely included its mass and distance from optimum center of weight in my calculations. I sometimes wonder which of us is the outlaw: Zebadiah or I? Most males have an unhealthy tendency to obey laws. But that concealed L-cannon made me wonder.
“Why not leave well enough alone?” Aunt Hilda demanded. “Jacob and God know I’m happy here… But You All Know Why We Should Not Stay Here Longer Than We Must.”
“We weren’t talking about Gay Deceiver; Jake and I were discussing reengineering the Solar System.”
“The Solar System! What’s wrong with it the way it is?”
“Lots of things,” Zebadiah told Aunt Hilda. “It’s untidy. Real estate going to waste. This tired old planet is crowded and sort o’ worn in spots. True, industry in orbit and power from orbit have helped, and both Lagrange-Four and -Five have self-supporting populations; anybody who invested in space stations early enough made a pile.” (Including Pop, Zebadiah!) “But these are minor compared with what can be done – and this planet is in worse shape each year. Jake’s six-dimensional principle can change that.”
“Move people into another universe? Would they go?”
“We weren’t thinking of that, Hilda. We’re trying to apply Clarke’s Law.”
“I don’t recall it. Maybe it was while I was out with mumps.”
“Arthur C. Clarke,” Pop told her. “Great man – too bad he was liquidated in The Purge. Clarke defined how to make a great discovery or create a key invention. Study what the most respected authorities agree can not be done – then do it. My continua craft is a godchild of Clarke via his Law. His insight inspired my treatment of six-dimensional continua. But this morning Zeb added corollaries.”
“Jake, don’t kid the ladies. I asked a question; you grabbed the ball and ran.”
“Uh, we heterodyned. Hilda, you know that the time-space traveler doesn’t require power.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, darling man. Why were you installing power packs in Gay Deceiver?”
“Auxiliary uses. So that you won’t have to cook over an open fire, for example.”
“But the pretzel bender doesn’t use power,” agreed Zebadiah. “Don’t ask why. I did, and Jake started writing equations in Sanskrit and I got a headache.”
“It doesn’t use power, Aunt Hilda,” I agreed. “Just parasitic power. A few microwatts so that the gyros never slow down, milliwatts for instrument readouts and for controls – but the widget itself uses none.”
“What happened to the law of conservation of energy?”
“Sharpie,” my husband answered, “as a fairish mechanic, an amateur electron pusher, and as a bloke who has herded unlikely junk through the sky, I never worry about theory as long as machinery does what it is supposed to do. I worry when a machine turns and bites me. That’s why I specialize in fail-safes and backups and triple redundancy. I try never to get a machine sore at me. There’s no theory for that but every engineer knows it.”
“Hilda my beloved, the law of conservation of mass-energy is not broken by our continua craft; it is simply not relevant to it. Once Zeb understood that -“
“I didn’t say I understood it.”
“Well… once Zeb stipulated that, he raised interesting questions. For example: Jupiter doesn’t need Ganymede – “
“Whereas Venus does. Although Titan might be better.”
“Mmm… possible.”
“Yes. Make an inhabitable base more quickly. But the urgent problem, Jake, is to seed Venus, move atmosphere to Mars, put both of them through forced aging. Then respot them. Earth-Sol Trojan points?”
“Certainly. We’ve had millions of years of evolution this distance from the Sun. We had best plan on living neither closer nor farther. With careful attention to stratospheric protection. But I still have doubts about anchoring in the Venerian crust. We wouldn’t want to lose the planet on Tau axis.”
“Mere R. & D., Jake. Calculate pressures and temperatures; beef up the vehicle accordingly – spherical, save for exterior anchors – then apply a jigger factor of four. With automatic controls quintuply redundant. Catch it when it comes out and steady it down in Earth’s orbit, sixty degrees trailing – and start selling subdivisions the size of old Spanish Land Grants. Jake, we should gather enough mass to create new earths at all Trojan points, a hexagon around the Sun. Five brand-new earths would give the race room enough to breed. On this maiden voyage let’s keep our eyes open.”
Aunt Hilda looked at Zebadiah with horror. “Zebbie! Creating planets indeed! Who do you think you are? Jesus Christ?”
“I’m not that junior. That’s the Holy Ghost over there, scratching his belly, The Supreme Inseminator. I’m the other one, the Maker and Shaper. But in setting up a pantheon for the Celestial Age, we’re going to respect women’s rights, Hilda. Deety is Earth Mother; she’s perfect for the job. You are Moon Goddess, Selene. Good job, dear – more moons than earths. It fits you. You’re little and silvery and you wax and wane and you’re beautiful in all your phases. How about it? Us four and no more.”
“Quit pulling my leg!”
My husband answered, “I haven’t been pulling your leg. Come closer and I will; you have pretty legs, Step-Mother-in-Law. These things Jake and I have been discussing are practical – once we thought about the fact that the spacetime twister uses no power. Move anything anywhere – all spaces, all times. I add the plural because at first I could not see what Jake had in mind when he spoke of forced aging of a planet. Rotate Venus into the Tau axis, fetch it back along Teh axis, reinsert it centuries – or millennia – older at this point in ‘t’ axis. Perhaps translate it a year or so into the future – our future – so as to be ready for it when it returns, all sweet and green and beautiful and ready to grow children and puppies and butterflies. Terraformed but virginal.”
Aunt Hilda looked frightened. “Jacob? Would one highball do any harm to this peanut inside me? I need a bracer.”
“I don’t think so. Jane often had a drink with me while she was pregnant. Her doctor did not have her stop until her third trimester. Can’t see that it hurt Deety. Deety was so healthy she drove Jane home from the hospital.”
“Pop, that’s a fib. I didn’t learn to drive until I was three months old. But I need one, too,” I added. “Zebadiah?”
“Certainly, Princess. A medicinal drink should be by body mass. That’s half a jigger for you, Sharpie dear, a jigger for Deety, a jigger and a half for Jake – two jiggers for me.”
“Oh, how unfair!”
“It certainly is,” I agreed. “I outweigh Pop – he’s been losing, I’ve been gaining. Pick us up and see!”
My husband took us each around the waist, crouched, then straightened and lifted us.
“Close to a standoff,” he announced. “Pop may be a trifle heavier, but you’re more cuddly” – kissed me and put us down.
“There is no one more cuddly than Jacob!”
“Hilda, you’re prejudiced. Let’s each mix our own drinks, at the strength required for our emotional and physical conditions.”
So we did – it wound up with Hilda and me each taking a jigger with soda, Pop taking a jigger and a half over ice – and Zebadiah taking a half jigger of vodka and drowning it with Coke.
While we were sipping our “medicine,” Zebadiah, sprawled out, looked up over the fireplace. “Pop, you were in the Navy?”
“No – Army. If you count ‘chair-borne infantry.’ They handed me a commission for having a doctorate in mathematics, told me they needed me for ballistics. Then I spent my whole tour as a personnel officer, signing papers.”
“Standard Operating Procedure. That’s a Navy sword and belt up there. Thought it might be yours.”
“It’s Deety’s – belonged to Jane’s Grandfather Rodgers. I have a dress saber. Belonged to my Dad, who gave it to me when the Army took me. Dress blues, too. I took them with me, never had occasion to wear either.” Pop got up and went into his – their bedroom, calling back, “I’ll show you the saber.”
My husband said to me, “Deety, would you mind my handling your sword?”
“My Captain, that sword is yours.”
“Heavens, dear, I can’t accept an heirloom.”
“If my warlord will not permit his princess to gift him with a sword, he can leave it where it is! I’ve been wanting to give you a wedding present – and did not realize that I had the perfect gift for Captain John Carter.”
“My apologies, Dejah Thoris. I accept and will keep it bright. I will defend my princess with it against all enemies.”
“Helium is proud to accept. If you make a cradle of your hands, I can stand in them and reach it down.”
Zebadiah grasped me, a hand above each knee, and I was suddenly three meters tall. Sword and belt were on hooks; I lifted them down, and myself was placed down. My husband stood straight while I buckled it around him – then he dropped to one knee and kissed my hand.
My husband is mad north-northwest but his madness suits me. I got tears in my eyes which Deety doesn’t do much but Dejah Thoris seems prone to, since John Carter made her his.
Pop and Aunt Hilda watched – then imitated, including (I saw!) tears in Hilda’s eyes after she buckled on Pop’s saber, when he knelt and kissed her hand.
Zebadiah drew sword, tried its balance, sighted along its blade. “Handmade and balanced close to the hilt. Deety, your great-grandfather paid a pretty penny for this. It’s an honest weapon.”
“I don’t think he knew what it cost. It was presented to him.”
“For good reason, I feel certain.” Zebadiah stood back, went into hanging guard, made fast moulinets vertically, left and right, then horizontally clockwise and counterclockwise – suddenly dropped into swordsman’s guard – lunged and recovered, fast as a striking cat.
I said softly to Pop, “Did you notice?”
Pop answered quietly. “Know saber. Sword, too.”
Hilda said loudly, “Zebbie! You never told me you went to Heidelberg.”
“You never asked, Sharpie. Around the Red Ox they called me ‘The Scourge of the Neckar.'”
“What happened to your scars?”
“Never got any, dear. I hung around an extra year, hoping for one. But no one got through my guard – ever. Hate to think about how many German faces I carved into checkerboards.”
“Zebadiah, was that where you took your doctorate?”
My husband grinned and sat down, still wearing sword. “No, another school.”
“M.I.T.?” inquired Pop.
“Hardly. Pop, this should stay in the family. I undertook to prove that a man can get a doctorate from a major university without knowing anything and without adding anything whatever to human knowledge.”
“I think you have a degree in aerospace engineering,” Pop said flatly.
“I’ll concede that I have the requisite hours. I hold two degrees – a baccalaureate in humane arts… meaning I squeaked through… and a doctorate from an old and prestigious school – a Ph.D. in education.”
“Zebadiah! You wouldn’t!” (I was horrified.)
“But I did, Deety. To prove that degrees per se are worthless. Often they are honorifics of true scientists or learned scholars or inspired teachers. Much more frequently they are false faces for overeducated jackasses.”
Pop said, “You’ll get no argument from me, Zeb. A doctorate is a union card to get a tenured job. It does not mean that the holder thereof is wise or learned.”
“Yes, sir. I was taught it at my grandfather’s knee – my Grandfather Zachariah, the man responsible for the initial ‘Z’ in the names of his male descendants. Deety, his influence on me was so strong that I must explain him – no, that’s impossible; I must tell about him in order to explain me… and how I happened to take a worthless degree.”
Hilda said, “Deety, he’s pulling a long bow again.”
“Quiet, woman. ‘Get thee to a nunnery, go!”
“I don’t take orders from my step-son-in-law. Make that a monastery and I’ll consider it.”
I kept my blinkin’ mouf shut. My husband’s fibs entertain me. (If they are fibs.)
“Grandpa Zach was as cantankerous an old coot as you’ll ever meet. Hated government, hated lawyers, hated civil servants, hated preachers, hated automobiles, public schools, and telephones, was contemptuous of most editors, most writers, most professors, most of almost anything. But he overtipped waitresses and porters and would go out of his way to avoid stepping on an insect.
“Grandpa had three doctorates: biochemistry, medicine, and law – and he regarded anyone who couldn’t read Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, and German as illiterate.”
“Zebbie, can you read all those?”
“Fortunately for me, my grandfather had a stroke while filling out a tax form before he could ask me that question. I don’t know Hebrew. I can read Latin, puzzle out Greek, speak and read French, read technical German, understand it in some accents, swear in Russian – very useful! – and speak an ungrammatical smattering of Spanish picked up in cantinas and from horizontal dictionaries.
“Grandpa would have classed me as subliterate as I don’t do any of these well – and I sometimes split infinitives which would have infuriated him. He practiced forensic medicine, medical jurisprudence, was an expert witness in toxicology, pathology, and traumatology, bullied judges, terrorized lawyers, medical students, and law students. He once threw a tax assessor out of his office and required him to return with a search warrant setting forth in detail its constitutional limitations, He regarded the income tax and the Seventeenth Amendment and the direct primary as signs of the decay of the Republic.”
“How did he feel about the Nineteenth?”
“Hilda, Grandpa Zach supported female suffrage. I remember hearing him say that if women were so dad-burned foolish as to want to assume the burden, they should be allowed to – they couldn’t do the country more harm than men had. ‘Votes for Women’ didn’t annoy him but nine thousand other things did. He lived at a slow simmer, always ready to break into a rolling boil.
“He had one hobby: collecting steel engravings.”
“‘Steel engravings’?” I repeated.
“Of dead presidents, my Princess. Especially of McKinley, Cleveland, and Madison – but he didn’t scorn those of Washington. He had that instinct for timing so necessary to a collector. In 1929 on Black Thursday he held not one share of common stock; instead he had sold short. When the 1933 Bank Holiday came along every old-dollar he owned, except current cash, was in Zurich in Swiss money. Eventually U.S. citizens were forbidden by ’emergency’ decree to own gold even abroad.
“Grandpa Zach ducked into Canada, applied for Swiss citizenship, got it, and thereafter split his time between Europe and America, immune to inflation and the confiscatory laws that eventually caused us to knock three zeros off the old-dollar in creating the newdollar.
“So he died rich, in Locarno – beautiful place; I stayed with him two summers as a boy. His will was probated in Switzerland and the U.S. Revenue Service could not touch it.
“Most of it was a trust with its nature known to his offspring before his death or I would not have been named Zebadiah.
“Female descendants got pro-rata shares of income with no strings attached but males had to have first names starting with ‘Z’ – and even that got them not one Swiss franc; there was a ‘Root, hog, or die!’ clause. Zachariah believed in taking care of daughters, but sons and grandsons had to go out and scratch, with no help from their fathers, until they had earned and saved on their own – or accumulated without going to jail – assets equal to one pro-rata share of the capital sum of the trust before they shared in the trust’s income.”
“Sexism,” said Aunt Hilda. “Raw, unadulterated sexism. Any FemLib gal would sneer at his dirty old money, on those terms.”
“Would you have refused it, Sharpie?”
“Me? Zebbie dear, are you feverish? I would have both greedy hands out. I’m strong for women’s rights but no fanatic. Sharpie wants to be pampered and that’s what men are best at – their natural function.”
“Pop, do you need help in coping with her?”
“No, Son. I like pampering Hilda. I don’t see you abusing my daughter.”
“I don’t dare; you told me she’s vicious at karate.” (I am good at karate; Pop made sure that I learned all the dirty fighting possible. But not against Zebadiah! If I ever do – Heaven forbid! – find myself opposed to my husband, I’ll quiver my chin and cry.)
“On my graduation from high school my father had a talk with me. ‘Zeb,’ he told me. ‘The time has come. I’ll put you through any school you choose. Or you can take what you have saved, strike out on your own, and try to qualify for a share in your grandfather’s will. Suit yourself, I shan’t influence you.’
“Folks, I had to think. My father’s younger brother was past forty and still hadn’t qualified. The size of the trust made a pro-rata of its assets amount to a requirement that a male descendant had to get rich on his own – well-to-do at least – whereupon he was suddenly twice as rich. But with over half of this country’s population living on the taxes of the lesser number it is not as easy to get rich as it was in Grandpa’s day.
“Turn down a paid-for education at Princeton, or M.I.T.? Or go out and try to get rich with nothing but a high school education? – I hadn’t learned much in high school; I had majored in girls.
“So I had to think hard and long. Almost ten seconds. I left home next day with one suitcase and a pitiful sum of money.
“Wound up on campus that had two things to recommend it: an Aerospace R.O.T.C. that would pick up part of my expenses, and a phys. ed. department willing to award me a jockstrap scholarship in exchange for daily bruises and contusions, plus all-out effort whenever we played. I took the deal.”
“What did you play?” asked my father.
“Football, basketball, and track – they would have demanded more had they been able to figure a way to do it.”
“I had thought you were going to mention fencing.”
“No, that’s another story. These did not quite close the gap. So I also waited tables for meals – food so bad the cockroaches ate out. But that closed the gap, and I added to it by tutoring in mathematics. That gave me my start toward piling up money to qualify.”
I asked, “Did tutoring math pay enough to matter? I tutored math before Mama died; the hourly rate was low.”
“Not that sort of tutoring, Princess. I taught prosperous young optimists not to draw to inside straights, and that stud poker is not a game of chance, but that craps is, controlled by mathematical laws that cannot be flouted with impunity. To quote Grandfather Zachariah, ‘A man who bets on greed and dishonesty won’t be wrong too often.’ There is an amazingly high percentage of greedy people and it is even easier to win from a dishonest gambler than it is from an honest one… and neither is likely to know the odds at craps, especially side bets, or all of the odds in poker, in particular how odds change according to the number of players, where one is seated in relation to the dealer, and how to calculate changes as cards are exposed in stud.
“That was also how I quit drinking, my darling, except for special celebrations. In every ‘friendly’ game some players contribute, some take a profit; a player determined to take a profit must be neither drunk nor tired. Pop, the shadows are growing long – I don’t think anybody wants to know how I got a worthless doctorate.”
“I do!” I put in. “Me, too!” echoed Aunt Hilda.
“Son, you’re outvoted.”
“Okay. Two years active duty after I graduated. Sky jockeys are even more optimistic than students and have more money – meanwhile I learned more math and engineering. Was sent inactive just in time to be called up again for the Spasm War. Didn’t get hurt, I was safer than civilians. But that kept me on another year even though fighting was mostly over before I reported in. That made me a veteran, with benefits. I went to Manhattan and signed up for school again. Doctoral candidate. School of Education. Not serious at first, simply intending to use my veteran’s benefits while enjoying the benefits of being a student – and devote most of my time to piling up cash to qualify for the trust.
“I knew that the stupidest students, the silliest professors, and the worst bull courses are concentrated in schools of education. By signing for large-class evening lectures and the unpopular eight a.m. classes I figured I could spend most of my time finding out how the stock market ticked. I did, by working there, before I risked a dime.
“Eventually I had to pick a research problem or give up the advantages of being a student. I was sick of a school in which the pie was all meringue and no filling but I stuck as I knew how to cope with courses in which the answers are matters of opinion and the opinion that counts is that of the professor. And how to cope with those large-class evening lectures: Buy the lecture notes. Read everything that professor ever published. Don’t cut too often and when you do show up, get there early, sit front row center, be certain the prof catches your eye every time he looks your way – by never taking your eyes off him. Ask one question you know he can answer because you’ve picked it out of his published papers – and state your name in asking a question. Luckily ‘Zebadiah Carter’ is a name easy to remember. Family, I got straight ‘A’s’ in both required courses and seminars… because I did not study ‘education,’ I studied professors of education.
“But I still had to make that ‘original contribution to human knowledge’ without which a candidate may not be awarded a doctor’s degree in most so-called disciplines… and the few that don’t require it are a tough row to hoe.
“I studied my faculty committee before letting myself be tied down to a research problem… not only reading everything each had published but also buying their publications or paying the library to make copies of out-of-print papers.”
My husband took me by my shoulders. “Dejah Thoris, here follows the title of my dissertation. You can have your divorce on your own terms.”
“Zebadiah, don’t talk that way!”
“Then brace yourself. ‘An Ad-Hoc Inquiry Concerning the Optimization of the Infrastructure of Primary Educational Institutions at the Interface Between Administration and Instruction, with Special Attention to Group Dynamics Desiderata.”
“Zebbie! What does that mean?”
“It means nothing, Hilda.”
“Zeb, quit kidding our ladies. Such a title would never be accepted.”
“Jake, it seems certain that you have never taken a course in a school of education.”
“Well… no. Teaching credentials are not required at university level but -“
“But me no ‘buts,’ Pop. I have a copy of my dissertation; you can check its authenticity. While that paper totally lacks meaning it is a literary gem in the sense in which a successful forging of an ‘old master’ is itself a work of art. It is loaded with buzz words. The average length of sentences is eighty-one words. The average word length, discounting ‘of,’ ‘a,’ ‘the,’ and other syntactical particles, is eleven-plus letters in slightly under four syllables. The bibliography is longer than the dissertation and cites three papers of each member of my committee and four of the chairman, and those citations are quoted in part – while avoiding any mention of matters on which I knew that members of the committee held divergent (but equally stupid) opinions.
“But the best touch was to get permission to do field work in Europe and have it count toward time on campus; half the citations were in foreign languages, ranging from Finnish to Croatian – and the translated bits invariably agreed with the prejudices of my committee. It took careful quoting out of context to achieve this, but it had the advantage that the papers were unlikely to be on campus and my committee were not likely to go to the trouble of looking them up even if they were. Most of them weren’t at home in other languages, even easy ones like French, German, and Spanish.
“But I did not waste time on phony field work; I simply wanted a trip to Europe at student air fares and the use of student hostels – dirt cheap way to travel. And a visit to the trustees of Grandpa’s fund.
“Good news! The fund was blue chips and triple-A bonds and, at that time, speculative stocks were rising. So the current cash value of the fund was down, even though income was up. And two more of my cousins and one uncle had qualified, again reducing the pro-rata… so, Glory Be! – I was within reaching distance. I had brought with me all that I had saved, swore before a notary that it was all mine, nothing borrowed, nothing from my father – and left it on deposit in Zurich, using the trustees as a front. And I told them about my stamp and coin collection.
“Good stamps and coins never go down, always up. I had nothing but proof sets, first-day covers, and unbroken sheets, all in perfect condition – and had a notarized inventory and appraisal with me. The trustees got me to swear that the items I had collected before I left home had come from earned money – true, the earliest items represented mowed lawns and such – and agreed to hold the pro-rata at that day’s cash value – lower if the trend continued – if I would sell my collection and send a draft to Zurich, with businesslike speed as soon as I returned to the States.
“I agreed. One trustee took me to lunch, tried to get me liquored up – then offered me ten percent over appraisal if I would sell that very afternoon, then send it to him by courier at his expense (bonded couriers go back and forth between Europe and America every week).
“We shook hands on it, went back and consulted the other trustees. I signed papers transferring title, the trustee buying signed his draft to me, I endorsed it to the trustees to add to the cash I was leaving in their custody. Three weeks later I got a cable certifying that the collection matched the inventory. I had qualified.
“Five months later I was awarded the degree of doctor of philosophy, summa cum laude, And that, dear ones, is the shameful story of my life, Anyone have the energy to go swimming?”
“Son, if there is a word of truth in that, it is indeed a shameful story.”
“Pop! That’s not fair! Zebadiah used their rules – and outsmarted them!”
“I didn’t say that Zeb had anything to be ashamed of. It is a commentary on American higher education. What Zeb claims to have written is no worse than trash I know is accepted as dissertations these days. His case is the only one I have encountered wherein an intelligent and able scholar – you, Zeb – set out to show that an ‘earned’ Ph.D. could be obtained from a famous institution – I know which one! – in exchange for deliberately meaningless pseudoresearch. The cases I have encountered have involved button-counting by stupid and humorless young persons under the supervision of stupid and humorless old fools. I see no way to stop it; the rot is too deep. The only answer is to chuck the system and start over.” My father shrugged. “Impossible.”
“Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda asked, “what do you do on campus? I’ve never asked.”
My husband grinned. “Oh, much what you do, Sharpie.”
“I don’t do anything. Enjoy myself.”
“Me, too. If you look, you will find me listed as ‘research professor in residence.’ An examination of the university’s books would show that I am paid a stipend to match my rank. Further search would show that slightly more than that amount is paid by some trustees in Zurich to the university’s general fund… as long as I remain on campus, a condition not written down. I like being on campus, Sharpie; it gives me privileges not granted the barbarians outside the pale. I teach a course occasionally, as supply for someone on sabbatical or ill.”
“Huh? What courses? What departments?”
“Any department but education. Engineering mathematics. Physics One-Oh-One. Thermogoddamics. Machine elements. Saber and dueling sword. Swimming. And – don’t laugh – English poetry from Chaucer through the Elizabethans. I enjoy teaching something worth teaching. I don’t charge for courses I teach; the Chancellor and I understand each other.”
“I’m not sure I understand you,” I said, “but I love you anyhow. Let’s go swimming.”

Chapter X

“‘ – and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon’!”

Zeb:
Before heading for the pool our wives argued over how Barsoomian warriors dress – a debate complicated by the fact that I was the only one fairly sober. While I was telling my “shameful story,” Jake had refreshed his Scotch-on-rocks and was genially argumentative, Our brides had stuck to one highball each but, while one jigger gave Deety a happy glow, Sharpie’s mass is so slight that the same dosage made her squiffed.
Jake and I agreed to wear side arms. Our princesses had buckled them on; we would wear them. But Deety wanted me to take off the grease-stained shorts I had worn while working. “Captain John Carter never wears clothes. He arrived on Barsoom naked, and from then on never wore anything but the leather and weapons of a fighting man. Jeweled leather for state occasions, plain leather for fighting – and sleeping silks at night. Barsoomians don’t wear clothes. When John Carter first laid eyes on Dejah Thoris,” Deety closed her eyes and recited: “‘She was as destitute of clothes as the Green Martians… save for her highly wrought ornaments she was entirely naked… ‘” Deety opened her eyes, stared solemnly. “The women never wear clothes, just jewelry.”
“Purty shilly,” said her father, with a belch. “Scuse me!”
“When they were chilly, they wrapped furs around them, Pop. I mean ‘Mors Kajak, my revered father.'”
Jake answered with slow precision. “Not… ‘chilly.’ Silly! With a clash of blades and flash of steel, man doesn’t want family treasures swinging in the breeze ‘n’ banging his knees. Distracts him. Might get ’em sliced off. Correc’, Captain John Carter?”
“Logical,” I agreed.
“Besides, illustrations showed men wearing breech clouts. Pro’ly steel jockstrap underneath. I would.”
“Those pictures were painted early in the twentieth century, Pop. Censored. But the stories make it clear. Weapons for men, jewelry for women – furs for cold weather.”
“I know how I should dress,” put in Sharpie. “Thuvia wears jewels on bits of gauze – I remember the book cover. Not clothes. Just something to fasten jewels to. Deety – Dejah Thoris, I mean – do you have a gauze scarf I can use? Fortunately I was wearing pearls when Mors Kajak kidnapped me.”
“Sharpie,” I objected, “you can’t be Thuvia. She married Carthoris. Mors Kajak – or Mors Kajake, might be a misspelling – is your husband.”
“Cer’nly Mors Jake is my husband! But I’m his second wife; that explains everything. But it ill becomes the Warlord to address a princess of the House of Ptarth as ‘Sharpie.” Mrs. Burroughs drew herself up to her full 152 centimeters and tried to look offended.
“My humble apologies, Your Highness.”
Sharpie giggled. “Can’t stay mad at our Warlord. Dejah Thoris hon – Green tulle? Blue? Anything but white.”
“I’ll go look.”
“Ladies,” I objected, “if we don’t get moving, the pool will cool off. You can sew on pearls this evening. Anyhow, where do pearls come from on Barsoom? Dead sea bottoms – no oysters.”
“From Korus, the Lost Sea of Dor,” Deety explained.
“They’ve got you, Son. But I either go swimming right now – or I have another drink… and then another, and then another. Working too hard. Too tense. Too much worry.”
“Okay, Pop; we swim. Aunt H – Aunt Thuvia?”
“All right, Dejah Thoris. To save Mors Jacob from himself. But I won’t wear earthling clothes. You can have my mink cape; may be chilly coming back.”
Jake wrapped his sarong into a breech clout, strapped it in place with his saber belt. I replaced those grimy shorts with swim briefs which Deety conceded were “almost Barsoomian.” I was no longer dependent on Jake’s clothes; my travel kit, always in my car, once I got at it, supplied necessities from passport to poncho. Sharpie wore pearls and rings she had been wearing at her party, plus a scarf around her waist to which she attached all the costume jewelry Deety could dig up. Deety carried Hilda’s mink cape – then wrapped it around her. “My Captain, someday I want one like this.”
“I’ll skin the minks personally,” I promised her.
“Oh, dear! I think this is synthetic.”
“I don’t. Ask Hilda.”
“I will most carefully not ask her. But I’ll settle for synthetic.”
I said, “My beloved Princess, you eat meat. Minks are vicious carnivores and the ones used for fur are raised for no other purpose – not trapped. They are well treated, then killed humanely. If your ancestors had not killed for meat and fur as the last glaciation retreated, you would not be here. Illogical sentiment leads to the sort of tragedy you find in India and Bangladesh.”
Deety was silent some moments as we followed Jake and Hilda down toward the pool. “My Captain -“
“Yes, Princess?”
“I stand corrected. But your brain works so much like a computer that you scare me.”
“I don’t ever want to scare you. I’m not bloodthirsty – not with minks, not with steers, not with anything. But I’ll kill without hesitation… for you.”
“Zebadiah -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“I am proud that you made me your wife. I will try to be a good wife… and your princess.”
“You do. You have. You always will. Dejah Thoris, my princess and only love, until I met you, I was a boy playing with oversized toys. Today I am a man. With a wife to protect and cherish… a child to plan for. I’m truly alive, at last! Hey! What are you sniffling about? Stop it!”
“I’ll cry if I feel like it!”
“Well… don’t get it on Hilda’s cape.”
“Gimme a hanky.”
“I don’t even have a Kleenex.” I brushed away her tears with my fingers. “Sniff hard. You can cry on me tonight. In bed.”
“Let’s go to bed early.”
“Right after dinner. Sniffles all gone?”
“I think so. Do pregnant women always cry?”
“So I hear.”
“Well… I’m not going to do it again. No excuse for it; I’m terribly happy.”
“The Polynesians do something they call ‘Crying happy.’ Maybe that’s what you do.”
“I guess so. But I’ll save it for private.” Deety started to shrug the cape off. “Too hot, lovely as it feels.” She stopped with the cape off her shoulders, suddenly pulled it around her again. “Who’s coming up the hill?”
I looked up, saw that Jake and Hilda had reached the pool – and a figure was appearing from below, beyond the boulder that dammed it.
“I don’t know. Stay behind me.” I hurried toward the pool.
The stranger was dressed as a Federal Ranger. As I closed in, I heard the stranger say to Jake, “Are you Jacob Burroughs?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you or aren’t you? If you are, I have business with you. If you’re not, you’re trespassing. Federal land, restricted access.”
“Jake!” I called out. “Who is he?”
The newcomer turned his head. “Who are you?”
“Wrong sequence,” I told him. “You haven’t identified yourself.”
“Don’t be funny,” the stranger said. “You know this uniform. I’m Bennie Hibol, the Ranger hereabouts.”
I answered most carefully, “Mr. Highball, you are a man in a uniform, wearing a gun belt and a shield. That doesn’t make you a Federal officer. Show your credentials and state your business.”
The uniformed character sighed. “I got no time to listen to smart talk.” He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “If one of you is Burroughs, speak up. I’m going to search this site and cabin. There’s stuff coming up from Sonora; this sure as hell is the transfer point.”
Deety suddenly came out from behind me, moved quickly and placed herself beside her father. “Where’s your search warrant? Show your authority!” She had the cape clutched around her; her face quivered with indignation.
“Another joker!” This clown snapped open his holster. “Federal land – here’s my authority!”
Deety suddenly dropped the cape, stood naked in front of him. I drew, lunged, and cut down in one motion – slashed the wrist, recovered, thrust upward from low line into the belly above the gun belt.
As my point entered, Jake’s saber cut the side of the neck almost to decapitation. Our target collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, lay by the pool, bleeding at three wounds.
“Zebadiah, I’m sorry!”
“About what, Princess?” I asked as I wiped my blade on the alleged ranger’s uniform. I noticed the color of the blood with distaste.
“He didn’t react! I thought my strip act would give you more time.”
“You did distract him,” I reassured her. “He watched you and didn’t watch me. Jake, what kind of a creature has bluish green blood?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharpie came forward, squatted down, dabbed a finger in the blood, sniffed it. “Hemocyanin. I think,” she said calmly. “Deety, you were right. Alien. The largest terrestrial fauna with that method of oxygen transport is a lobster. But this thing is no lobster, it’s a ‘Black Hat.’ How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But he didn’t sound right. Rangers are polite. And they never fuss about showing their I.D.’s.”
“I didn’t know,” I admitted. “I wasn’t suspicious, just annoyed.”
“You moved mighty fast,” Jake approved.
“I never know why till it’s over. You didn’t waste time yourself, tovarishch. Drawing saber while he was pulling a gun – that takes guts and speed. But let’s not talk now – where are his pals? We may be picked off getting back to the house.”
“Look at his pants,” Hilda suggested. “He hasn’t been on horseback. Hasn’t climbed far, either. Jacob, is there a jeep trail?”
“No. This isn’t accessible by jeep – just barely by horse.”
“Hasn’t been anything overhead,” I added. “No chopper, no air car.”
“Continua craft,” said Deety.
“Huh?”
“Zebadiah, the ‘Black Hats’ are aliens who don’t want Pop to build a time-space machine. We know that. So it follows that they have continua craft.”
I thought about it. “Deety. I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed. Jake, how do we spot an alien continua craft? It doesn’t have to look like Gay Deceiver.”
Jake frowned. “No. Any shape. But a one-passenger craft might not be much larger than a phone booth.”
“If it’s a one-man – one-alien – job, it should be parked down in that scrub,” I said, pointing. “We can find it.”
“Zebadiah,” protested Deety, “we don’t have time to search. We ought to get out of here! Fast!”
Jake said, “My daughter is right but not for that reason. Its craft is not necessarily waiting. It could be parked an infinitesimal interval away along any of six axes, and either return automatically, preprogrammed, or by some method of signaling that we can postulate but not describe. The alien craft would not be here-now… but will be here-later. For pickup.”
“In that case, Jake, you and I and the gals should scram out of here-now to there-then. Be missing. How long has our pressure test been running? What time is it?”
“Seventeen-seventeen,” Deety answered instantly.
I looked at my wife. “Naked as a frog. Where do you hide your watch, dearest? Surely, not there.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Smarty. I have a clock in my head. I never mention it because people give me funny looks.”
“Deety does have innate time sense,” agreed her father, “accurate to thirteen seconds plus or minus about four seconds; I’ve measured it.”
“I’m sorry, Zebadiah – I don’t mean to be a freak.”
“Sorry about what, Princess? I’m impressed. What do you do about time zones?”
“Same as you do. Add or subtract as necessary. Darling, everyone has a built-in circadian. Mine is merely more nearly exact than most people’s. Like having absolute pitch – some do, some don’t.”
“Are you a lightning calculator?”
“Yes… but computers are so much faster that I no longer do it much. Except one thing – I can sense a glitch – spot a wrong answer. Then I look for garbage in the program. If I don’t find it, I send for a hardware specialist. Look, sweetheart, discuss my oddities later. Pop, let’s dump that thing down the septic tank and go. I’m nervous, I am.”
“Not so fast, Deety.” Hilda was still squatting by the corpse. “Zebbie. Consult your hunches. Are we in danger?”
“Well… not this instant.”
“Good. I want to dissect this creature.”
“Aunt Hilda!”
“Take a Miltown, Deety. Gentlemen, the Bible or somebody said, ‘Know thy enemy.’ This is the only ‘Black Hat’ we’ve seen… and he’s not human and not born on earth. There is a wealth of knowledge lying here and it ought not to be shoved down a septic tank until we know more about it. Jacob, feel this.”
Hilda’s husband got down on his knees, let her guide his hand through the “ranger’s” hair. “Feel those bumps, dearest?”
“Yes!”
“Much like the budding horns of a lamb, are they not?”
“Oh – ‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon’!”
I squatted down, felt for horn buds. “Be damned! He did come up out of the earth – up this slope anyhow – and he spake as a dragon. Talked unfriendly, and all the dragons I’ve ever heard of talked mean or belched fire. Hilda, when you field-strip this critter, keep an eye out for the Number of the Beast.”
“I shall! Who’s going to help me get this specimen up to the house? I want three volunteers.”
Deety gave a deep sigh, “I volunteer. Aunt Hilda… must you do this?”
“Deety, it ought to be done at Johns Hopkins, with x-ray and proper tools and color holovision. But I’m the best biologist for it because I’m the only biologist. Honey child, you don’t have to watch. Aunt Sharpie has helped in an emergency room after a five-car crash; to me, blood is just a mess to clean up. Green blood doesn’t bother me even that much.”
Deety gulped. “I’ll help carry. I said I would!”
“Dejah Thoris!”
“Sir? Yes, my Captain?”
“Back away from that. Take this. And this.” I unbuckled sword and belt, shoved down my swimming briefs, handed all of it to Deety. “Jake, help me get him up into fireman’s carry.”
“I’ll help carry, Son.”
“No, I can tote him easier than two could. Sharpie, where do you want to work?”
“It will have to be the dining table.”
“Aunt Hilda, I don’t want that thing on my – ! I beg your pardon; it’s your dining table.”
“You’re forgiven only if you’ll concede that it is our dining table. Deety, how many times must I repeat that I am not crowding you out of your home? We are co-housewives – my only seniority lies in being twenty years older. To my regret.”
“Hilda my dear one, what would you say to a workbench in the garage with a drop cloth on it and flood lights over it?”
“I say, ‘Swell!’ I don’t think a dining table is the place for a dissection, either. But I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”
With help from Jake, I got that damned carcass draped across my shoulders in fireman’s carry. Deety started up the path with me, carrying my belt and sword and my briefs in one arm so that she could hold my free hand – despite my warning that she might be splashed with alien blood. “No, Zebadiah, I got overtaken by childishness. I won’t let it happen again. I must conquer all squeamishness – I’ll be changing diapers soon.” She was silent a moment. “That is the first time I’ve seen death. In a person, I mean. An alien humanoid person I should say… but I thought he was a man. I once saw a puppy run over – I threw up. Even though it was not my puppy and I didn’t go close.” She added, “An adult should face up to death, should she not?”
“Face up to it, yes,” I agreed. “But not grow calloused. Deety, I’ve seen too many men die. I’ve never grown inured to it. One must accept death, learn not to fear it, then never worry about it. ‘Make Today Count!’ as a friend whose days are numbered told me. Live in that spirit and when death comes, it will come as a welcome friend.”
“You say much what my mother told me before she died.”
“Your mother must have been an extraordinary woman. Deety, in the two weeks I’ve known you, I’ve heard so much about her from all three of you that I feel as if I knew her. A friend I hadn’t seen lately. She sounds like a wise woman.”
“I think she was, Zebadiah. Certainly she was good. Sometimes, when I have a hard choice, I ask myself, ‘What would Mama do?’ – and everything falls into place.”
“Both good and wise… and her daughter shows it. Uh, how old are you, Deety?”
“Does it matter, sir?”
“No. Curiosity.”
“I wrote my birth date on our marriage license application.”
“Beloved, my head was spinning so hard that I had trouble remembering my own. But I should not have asked – women have birthdays, men have ages. I want to know your birthday; I have no need to know the year.”
“April twenty-second, Zebadiah – one day older than Shakespeare.”
“‘Age could not wither her – ‘ Woman, you carry your years well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That snoopy question came from having concluded in my mind that you were twenty-six… figuring from the fact that you have a doctor’s degree. Although you look younger.”
“I think twenty-six is a satisfactory age.”
“I wasn’t asking,” I said hastily. “I got confused from knowing Hilda’s age… then hearing her say that she is – or claims to be – twenty years older than you. It did not jibe with my earlier estimate, based on your probable age on graduating from high school plus your two degrees.”
Jake and Hilda had lingered at the pool while Jake washed his hands and rinsed from his body smears of alien ichor. Being less burdened, they climbed the path faster than we and came up behind us just as Deety answered,
“Zebadiah, I never graduated from high school.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right,” agreed her father. “Deety matriculated by taking College Boards. At fourteen. No problem since she stayed home and didn’t have to live in a dorm. Got her B.S. in three years… and that was a happy thing, as Jane lived to see Deety move the tassel from one side of her mortar board to the other. Jane in a wheelchair and happy as a child – her doctor said it couldn’t hurt her… meaning she was dying anyhow.” He added, “Had her mother been granted only three more years she could have seen Deety’s doctorate conferred, two years ago.”
“Pop… sometimes you chatter.”
“Did I say something out of line?”
“No, Jake,” I assured him. “But I’ve just learned that I robbed the cradle. I knew I had but hadn’t realized how much. Deety darling, you are twenty-two.”
“Is twenty-two an unsatisfactory age?”
“No, my Princess. Just right.”
“My Captain said that women have birthdays while men have ages. Is it permitted to inquire your age, sir? I didn’t pay close attention to that form we had to fill out, either.”
I answered solemnly. “But Dejah Thoris knows that Captain John Carter is centuries old, cannot recall his childhood, and has always looked thirty years old.”
“Zebadiah, if that is your age, you’ve had a busy thirty years. You said you left home when you graduated from high school, worked your way through college, spent three years on active duty, then worked your way through a doctor’s degree -“
“A phony one!”
“That doesn’t reduce required residence. Aunt Hilda says you’ve been a professor four years.”
“Uh… will you settle for nine years older than you are?”
“I’ll settle for whatever you say.”
“He’s at it again,” put in Sharpie. “He was run off two other campuses. Co-ed scandals. Then he found that in California nobody cared, so he moved west.”
I tried to look hurt. “Sharpie darling, I always married them. One gal turned out already to be married and in the other case the child wasn’t mine; she slipped one over on me.”
“The truth isn’t in him, Deety. But he’s brave and he bathes every day and he’s rich – and we love him anyhow.”
“The truth isn’t in you either, Aunt Hilda. But we love you anyhow. It says in ‘Little Women’ that a bride should be half her husband’s age plus seven years. Zebadiah and I hit close to that.”
“A rule that makes an old hag out of me. Jacob, I’m just Zebbie’s age – thirty-one. But we’ve both been thirty-one for ages.”
“I’ll bet he does feel aged after carrying that thing uphill. Atlas, can you support your burden while I get the garage open, a bench dragged out and covered? Or shall I help you put it down?”
“I’d just have to pick it up again. But don’t dally.”

Chapter XI

” – citizens must protect themselves.”

Zeb:
I felt better after I got that “ranger’s” corpse dumped and the garage door closed, everyone indoors. I had told Hilda that I felt no “immediate” danger – but my wild talent does not warn me until the Moment of Truth. The “Blokes in the Black Hats” had us located. Or possibly had never lost us; what applies to human gangsters has little to do with aliens whose powers and motives and plans we had no way to guess.
We might be as naive as a kitten who thinks he is hidden because his head is, unaware that his little rump sticks out.
They were alien, they were powerful, they were multiple (three thousand? three million? – we didn’t know the Number of the Beast) – and they knew where we were. True, we had killed one – by luck, not by planning. That “ranger” would be missed; we could expect more to call in force.
Foolhardiness has never appealed to me. Given a chance to run, I run. I don’t mean I’ll bug out on wing mate when the unfriendlies show up, and certainly not on a wife and unborn child. But I wanted us all to run – me, my wife, my blood brother who was also my father-in-law, and his wife, my chum Sharpie who was brave, practical, smart, and unsqueamish (that she would joke in the jaws of Moloch was not a fault but a source of esprit).
I wanted us to go! – Tau axis, Teh axis, rotate, translate, whatever – anywhere not infested by gruesomes with green gore.
I checked the gauge and felt better; Gay’s inner pressure had not dropped. Too much to expect Gay to be a spaceship – not equipped to scavenge and replenish air. But it was pleasant to know that she would hold pressure much longer than it would take us to scram for home if we had to – assuming that unfriendlies had not shot holes in her graceful shell.
I went by the inside passageway into the cabin, used soap and hot water, rinsed off and did it again, dried down and felt clean enough to kiss my wife, which I did. Deety held onto me and reported.
“Your kit is packed, sir. I’m finishing mine, the planned weight and space, and nothing but practical clothes -“
“Sweetheart.”
“Yes, Zebadiah?”
“Take the clothes you were married in and mine too. Same for Jake and Hilda. And your father’s dress uniform. Or was it burned in Logan?”
“But, Zebadiah, you emphasized rugged clothes.”
“So I did. To keep your mind on the fact that we can’t guess the conditions we’ll encounter and don’t know how long we’ll be gone or if we’ll be back. So I listed everything that might be useful in pioneering a virgin planet – since we might be stranded and never get home. Everything from Jake’s microscope and water-testing gear to technical manuals and tools. And weapons – and flea powder. But it’s possible that we will have to play the roles of ambassadors for humanity at the court of His Extreme Majesty, Overlord of Galactic Empires in thousandth-and-third continuum. We may need the gaudiest clothes we can whip up. We don’t know, we can’t guess.”
“I’d rather pioneer.”
“We may not have a choice. When you were figuring weights, do you recall spaces marked ‘Assigned mass such and such – list to come’?”
“Certainly. Total exactly one hundred kilos, which seemed odd. Space slightly less than one cubic meter split into crannies.”
“Those are yours, snubnose. And Pop or Hilda. Mass can be up to fifty percent over; I’ll tell Gay to trim to match. Got an old doll? A security blanket? A favorite book of poems? Scrapbook? Family photographs? Bring ’em all!”
“Golly!” (I never enjoy looking at my wife quite so much as when she lights up and is suddenly a little girl.)
“Don’t leave space for me. I have only what I arrived with. What about shoes for Hilda?”
“She claims she doesn’t need any, Zebadiah – that her calluses are getting calluses on them. But I’ve worked out expedients. I got Pop some Dr. Scholl’s shoe liners when we were building; I have three pairs left and can trim them. Liners and enough bobby sox make her size three-and-half feet fit my clodhoppers pretty well. And I have a sentimental keepsake; Keds Pop bought me when I first went to summer camp, at ten. They fit Aunt Hilda.”
“Good girl!” I added, “You seem to have everything in hand. How about food? Not stores we are carrying, I mean now. Has anybody thought about dinner? Killing aliens makes me hungry.”
“Buffet style, Zebadiah. Sandwiches and stuff on the kitchen counter, and I thawed and heated an apple pie. I fed one sandwich to Hilda, holding it for her; she says she’s going to finish working, then scrub before she eats anything more.”
“Sharpie munched a sandwich while she carved that thing?”
“Aunt Hilda is rugged, Zebadiah – almost as rugged as you are.”
“More rugged than I am. I could do an autopsy if I had to – but not while eating. I think I speak for Jake, too.”
“I know you speak for Pop. He saw me feeding her, turned green and went elsewhere. Go look at what she’s been doing, Zebadiah; Hilda has found interesting things.”
“Hmmm – Are you the little girl who had a tizzy at the idea of dissecting a dead alien?”
“No, sir, I am not. I’ve decided to stay grown up. It’s not easy. But it’s more satisfying. An adult doesn’t panic at a snake; she just checks to see if it’s got rattles. I’ll never squeal again. I’m grown up at last… a wife instead of a pampered princess.”
“You will always be my Princess!”
“I hope so, my Chieftain. But to merit that, I must learn to be a pioneer mother – wring the neck of a rooster, butcher a hog, load while my husband shoots, take his place and his rifle when he is wounded. I’ll learn – I’m stubborn, I am. Grab a hunk of pie and go see Hilda. I know just what to do with the extra hundred kilos: books, photographs, Pop’s microfilm files and portable viewer, Pop’s rifle and a case of ammo that the weight schedule didn’t allow for -“
“Didn’t know he had it – what calibre?”
“Seven point six two millimeters, long cartridge.”
“Glory be! Pop and I use the same ammo!”
“Didn’t know you carried a rifle, Zebadiah.”
“I don’t advertise it, it’s unlicensed. I must show all of you how to get at it.”
“Got any use for a lady’s purse gun? A needle gun, Skoda fléchettes. Not much range but either they poison or they break up and expand… and it fires ninety times on one magazine.”
“What are you, Deety? Honorable Hatchet Man?”
“No, sir. Pop got it for me – black market – when I started working nights. He said he would rather hire shysters to get me acquitted – or maybe probation – than to have to go down to the morgue to identify my body. Haven’t had to use it; in Logan I hardly need it. Zebadiah, Pop has gone to a great deal of trouble to get me the best possible training in self-defense. He’s just as highly trained – that’s why I keep him out of fist fights. Because it would be a massacre. He and Mama decided this when I was a baby. Pop says cops and courts no longer protect citizens, so citizens must protect themselves.”
“I’m afraid he’s right.”
“My husband, I can’t evaluate my opinions of right and wrong because I learned them from my parents and haven’t lived long enough to have formed opinions in disagreement with theirs.”
“Deety, your parents did okay.”
“I think so… but that’s subjective. As may be, I was kept out of blackboard jungles – public schools – until we moved to Utah. And I was trained to fight – armed or unarmed. Pop and I noticed how you handled a sword. Your moulinets are like clockwork. And when you drop into point guard, your forearm is perfectly covered.”
“Jake is no slouch. He drew so fast I never saw it, and cut precisely above the collar.”
“Pop says you are better at it.”
“Mmm – Longer reach. He’s probably faster. Deety, the best swordmaster I ever had was your height and reach. I couldn’t even cross blades with him unless he allowed me to.”
“You never did say where you had taken up swordsmanship.”
I grinned down at her. “Y.M.C.A. in downtown Manhattan. I had foil in high school. I fiddled with saber and épée in college. But I never encountered swordsmen until I moved to Manhattan. Took it up because I was getting soft. Then during that so-called ‘research trip’ in Europe I met swordsmen with family tradition – sons and grandsons and great-grandsons of maîtres d’armes. Learned that it was a way of life – and I had started too late. Deety, I fibbed to Hilda; I’ve never fought a student duel. But I did train in saber in Heidelberg under the Säbelmeister reputed to coach one underground Korps. He was the little guy I couldn’t cross steel with. Fast! Up to then I had thought I was fast. But I got faster under his tutelage. The day I was leaving he told me that he wished he had had me twenty years sooner; he might have made a swordsman of me.”
“You were fast enough this afternoon!”
“No, Deety. You had his eye, I attacked from the flank. You won that fight – not me, not Pop. Although what Pop did was far more dangerous than what I did.”
“My Captain, I will not let you disparage yourself! I cannot hear you!”
Women, bless their warm hearts and strange minds – Deety had appointed me her hero; that settled it. I would have to try to measure up. I cut a piece of apple pie, ate it quickly while I walked slowly through the passage into the garage – didn’t want to reach the “morgue” still eating.
The “ranger” was on its back with clothes cut away, open from chin to crotch, and spread. Nameless chunks of gizzard were here and there around the cadaver. It gave off a fetid odor.
Hilda was still carving, ice tongs in left hand, knife in her right, greenish goo up over her wrists. As I approached she put down the knife, picked up a razor blade – did not look up until I spoke. “Learning things, Sharpie?”
She put down her tools, wiped her hands on a towel, pushed back her hair with her forearm. “Zebbie, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Well… look at this.” She touched the corpse’s right leg, and spoke to the corpse itself. “What’s a nice joint like this doing in a girl like you?”
I saw what she meant: a long, gaunt leg with an extra knee lower than the human knee; it bent backwards. Looking higher, I saw that its arms had similar extra articulation. “Did you say ‘girl’?”
“I said ‘girl.’ Zebbie, this monster is either female or hermaphroditic. A fully developed uterus, two-horned like a cat, one ovary above each horn. But there appear to be testes lower down and a dingus that may be a retractable phallus. Female – but probably male as well. Bisexual but does not impregnate itself; the plumbing wouldn’t hook up. I think these critters can both pitch and catch.”
“Taking turns? Or simultaneously?”
“Wouldn’t that be sump’n? No, for mechanical reasons I think they take turns. Whether ten minutes apart or ten years, deponent sayeth not. But I’d give a pretty to see two of ’em going to it!”
“Sharpie, you’ve got a one-track mind.”
“It’s the main track. Reproduction is the main track; the methods and mores of sexual copulation are the central feature of all higher developments of life.”
“You’re ignoring money and television.”
“Piffle! All human activities including scientific research are either mating dances and care of the young, or the dismal sublimations of born losers in the only game in town. Don’t try to kid Sharpie. Took me forty-two years to grab a real man and get myself knocked up – but I made it! Everything I’ve done up to the last two weeks has been ‘vamp till ready.’ How about you, you shameless stud? Am I not right? Careful how you answer; I’ll tell Deety.”
“I’ll take the Fifth.”
“Make mine a quart. Zebbie, I hate these monsters; they interfere with my plans – a rose-covered cottage, a baby in the crib, a pot roast in the oven, me in a gingham dress, and my man coming down the lane after a hard day flunking freshmen – me with his slippers and his pipe and a dry martini waiting for him. Heaven! All else is vanity and vexation. Four fully developed mammary glands but lacking the redundant fat characteristic of the human female – ‘cept me, damn it. A double stomach, a single intestine. A two-compartment heart that seems to pump by peristalsis rather than by beating. Cordate. I haven’t examined the brain; I don’t have a proper saw – but it must be as well developed as ours. Definitely humanoid, outrageously nonhuman. Don’t knock over those bottles; they are specimens of body fluids.”
“What are these things?”
“Splints to conceal the unhuman articulation. Plastic surgery on the face, too, I’m pretty sure, and cheaters to reshape the skull. The hair is fake; these Boojums don’t have hair. Something like tattooing – or maybe masking I haven’t been able to peel off – to make the face and other exposed skin look human instead of blue-green. Zeb, seven-to-two a large number of missing persons have been used as guinea pigs before they worked out methods for this masquerade. Swoop! A flying saucer dips down and two more guinea pigs wind up in their laboratories.”
“There hasn’t been a flying saucer scare in years.”
“Poetic license, dear. If they have space-time twisters, they can pop up anywhere, steal what they want – or replace a real human with a convincing fake – and be gone like switching off a light.”
“This one couldn’t get by very long. Rangers have to take physical examinations.”
“This one may be a rush job, prepared just for us. A permanent substitution might fool anything but an x-ray – and might fool even x-ray if the doctor giving the examination was one of Them … a theory you might think about. Zebbie, I must get to work. There is so much to learn and so little time. I can’t learn a fraction of what this carcass could tell a real comparative biologist.”
“Can I help?” (I was not anxious to.)
“Well -“
“I haven’t much to do until Jake and Deety finish assembling the last of what they are going to take. So what can I do to help?”
“I could work twice as fast if you would take pictures. I have to stop to wipe my hands before I touch the camera.”
“I’m your boy, Sharpie. Just say what angle, distance, and when.”
Hilda looked relieved. “Zebbie, have I told you that I love you despite your gorilla appearance and idiot grin? Underneath you have the soul of a cherub. I want a bath so badly I can taste it – could be the last hot bath in a long time. And the bidet – the acme of civilized decadence. I’ve been afraid I would still be carving strange meat when Jacob said it was time to leave.”
“Carve away, dear; you’ll get your bath.” I picked up the camera, the one Jake used for record-keeping: a Polaroid Stereo-Instamatic-self-focusing, automatic irising, automatic processing, the perfect camera for engineer or scientist who needs a running record.
I took endless pictures while Hilda sweated away. “Sharpie, doesn’t it worry you to work with bare hands? You might catch the Never-Get-Overs.”
“Zebbie, if these critters could be killed by our bugs, they would have arrived here with no immunities and died quickly. They didn’t. Therefore it seems likely that we can’t by hurt by their bugs. Radically different biochemistries.”
It sounded logical – but I could not forget Kettering’s Law: “Logic is an organized way of going wrong with confidence.”
Deety appeared, set down a loaded hamper. “That’s the last.” She had her hair up in a bath knot and was dressed solely in rubber gloves. “Hi, dearest. Aunt Hilda, I’m ready to help.”
“Not much you can do, Deety hon – unless you want to relieve Zebbie.”
Deety was staring at the corpse and did not look happy – her nipples were down flat. “Go take a bath!” I told her. “Scram.”
“Do I stink that badly?”
“You stink swell, honey girl. But Sharpie pointed out that this may be our last chance at soap and hot water in quite a while. I’ve promised her that we won’t leave for Canopus and points east until she has her bath. So get yours out of the way, then you can help me stow while she gets sanitary.”
“All right.” Deety backed off and her nipples showed faintly – not rigid but she was feeling better. My darling keeps her feelings out of her face, mostly – but those pretty pink spigots are barometers of her morale.
“Just a sec, Deety,” Hilda added. “This afternoon you said, ‘He didn’t react!’ What did you mean?”
“What I said. Strip in front of a man and he reacts, one way or another. Even if he tries to ignore it, his eyes give him away. But he didn’t. Of course he’s not a man – but I didn’t know that when I tried to distract him.”
I said, “But he did notice you, Deety – and that gave me my chance.”
“But only the way a dog, or a horse, or any animal, will notice any movement. He noticed but ignored it. No reaction.”
“Zebbie, does that remind you of anything?”
“Should it?”
“The first day we were here you told us a story about a ‘zaftig co-ed.'”
“I did?”
“She was flunking math.”
“Oh! ‘Brainy.'”
“Yes, Professor N. O’Heret Brain. See any parallel?”
“But ‘No Brain’ has been on campus for years. Furthermore he turns red in the face. Not a tattoo job.”
“I said this one might be a rush job. Would anyone be in a better position to discredit a mathematical theory than the head of the department of mathematics at a very prominent university? Especially if he was familiar with that theory and knew that it was correct?”
“Hey, wait a minute!” put in Deety. “Are you talking about that professor who argued with Pop? The one with the phony invitation? I thought he was just a stooge? Pop says he’s a fool.”
“He behaves like a pompous old fool,” agreed Hilda. “I can’t stand him. I plan to do an autopsy on him.”
“But he’s not dead.”
“That can be corrected!” Sharpie said sharply.

Chapter XII

“They might fumigate this planet and take it.”

Hilda:
By the time I was out of my bath, Jacob, Deety, and Zebbie had Gay Deceiver stowed and lists checked (can opener, cameras, et cetera) – even samples of fluids and tissues from the cadaver, as Zebbie’s miracle car had a small refrigerator. Deety wasn’t happy about my specimens being in the refrigerator but they were very well packed, layer on layer of plastic wrap, then sealed into a freezer box. Besides, that refrigerator contained mostly camera film, dynamite caps, and other noneatables. Food was mostly freeze-dried and sealed in nitrogen, except foods that won’t spoil.
We were dog tired. Jacob moved that we sleep, then leave. “Zeb, unless you expect a new attack in the next eight hours, we should rest. I need to be clearheaded in handling verniers. This house is almost a fortress, will be pitch black, and does not radiate any part of the spectrum. They may conclude that we ran for it right after we got their boy – hermaphrodite, I mean; the fake ‘ranger’ – what do you think?”
“Jake, I wouldn’t have been surprised had we been clobbered at any moment. Since they didn’t – Well, I don’t like to handle Gay when I’m not sharp. More mistakes are made in battle through fatigue than from any other cause. Let’s sack in. Anybody need a sleeping pill?”
“All I need is a bed. Hilda my love, tonight I sleep on my own side.”
I said, “Can’t I even cuddle up your back?”
“Promise not to tickle?”
I made a face at my darling. “I promise.”
“Zebadiah,” Deety said. “I don’t want to cuddle; I want to be held… so I’ll know I’m safe. For the first time since my twelfth birthday I don’t feel sexy.”
“Princess, it’s settled; we sleep. But I suggest that we be up before daylight. Let’s not crowd our luck.”
“Sensible,” agreed Jacob.
I shrugged. “You men have to pilot; Deety and I are cargo. We can nap in the back seats – if we miss a few universes, what of it? If you’ve seen one universe, you’ve seen ’em all. Deety?”
“If it were up to me, I would lam out of here so fast my shoes would be left standing. But Zebadiah has to pilot and Pop has to set verniers… and both are tired and don’t want to chance it. But, Zebadiah… don’t fret if I rest with my eyes and ears open.”
“Huh? Deety – why?”
“Somebody ought to be on watch. It might give us that split-second advantage – split seconds have saved us at least twice. Don’t worry, darling; I often skip a night to work a long program under shared time. Doesn’t hurt me; a nap next day and I’m ready to bite rattlesnakes. Tell him, Pop.”
“That’s correct, Zeb, but -“
Zebbie cut him off. “Maybe you gals can split watches and have breakfast ready. Right now I’ve got to hook up Gay Deceiver so that she can reach me in our bedroom. Deety, I can add a program so that she can listen around the cabin, too. Properly programmed, Gay’s the best watch dog of any of us. Will that satisfy you duty-struck little broads?”
Deety said nothing so I kept quiet. Zebbie, frowning, turned back to his car, opened a door and prepared to hook Gay’s voice and ears to the three house intercoms. “Want to shift the basement talky-talk to your bedroom, Jake?”
“Good idea,” Jacob agreed.
“Wait a half while I ask Gay what she has. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. Wipe off your chin.”
“Program. Running new retrievals. Report new items since last report.”
“Null report, Boss.”
“Thank you, Gay.”
“You’re welcome, Zeb.”
“Program, Gay. Add running news retrieval. Area, Arizona Strip north of Grand Canyon plus Utah. Persons: all persons listed in current running news retrieval programs plus rangers, Federal rangers, forest rangers, park rangers, state rangers. End of added program.”
“New program running, Boss.”
“Program. Add running acoustic report, maximum gain.”
“New program running, Zeb.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Isn’t it time you married me?”
“Good night, Gay.”
“Good night, Zeb. Sleep with your hands outside the covers.”
“Deety, you’ve corrupted Gay. I’ll run a lead outdoors for a microphone while Jake moves the basement intercom to the master bedroom. But maximum gain will put a coyote yapping ten miles away right into bed with you. Jake, I can tell Gay to subtract acoustic report from the news retrieval for your bedroom.”
“Hilda my love, do you want the acoustic subtracted?”
I didn’t but didn’t say so; Gay interrupted:
“Running news retrieval, Boss.”
“Report!”
“Reuters, Straits Times, Singapore. Tragic News of Marston Expedition. Indonesian News Service, Palembang. Two bodies identified as Dr. Cecil Yang and Dr. Z. Edward Carter were brought by jungle buggy to National Militia Headquarters, Telukbetung. The district commandant stated that they will be transferred by air to Palembang for further transport to Singapore when the commandant-in-chief releases them to the Minister of Tourism and Culture. Professor Marston and Mr. Smythe-Belisha are still unreported. Commandants of both districts concede that hopes of finding them alive have diminished. However, a spokesman for the Minister of Tourism and Culture assured a press conference that the Indonesian government would pursue the search more assiduously than ever.”
Zebbie whistled tunelessly. Finally, he said, “Opinions, anyone?”
“He was a brilliant man, Son,” my husband said soberly. “An irreplaceable loss. Tragic.”
“Ed was a good Joe, Jake. But that’s not what I mean. Our tactical situation. Now. Here.”
My husband paused before answering, “Zeb, whatever happened in Sumatra apparently happened about a month ago. Emotionally I feel great turmoil. Logically I am forced to state that I cannot see that our situation has changed.”
“Hilda? Deety?”
“News retrieval report,” announced Gay.
“Report!”
“AP San Francisco via satellite from Saipan, Marianas. TWA hypersonicsemiballistic liner Winged Victory out of San Francisco International at twenty o’clock this evening Pacific Coast Time was seen by eye and radar to implode on reentry. AP Honolulu US Navy Official. USS Submersible Carrier Flying Fish operating near Wake Island has been ordered to proceed flank speed toward site of Winged Victory reentry. She will surface and launch search craft at optimum point. Navy PIO spokesman, when asked what was ‘optimum,’ replied ‘No comment.’ Associated Press’s military editor noted that submerged speed of Flying Fish class, and type and characteristics of craft carried, are classified information. AP-UPI add San Francisco, Winged Victory disaster. TWA public relations released a statement quote if reports received concerning Winged Victory are correct it must be tentatively assumed that no survivors can be expected. But our engineering department denies that implosion could be cause. Collision with orbital debris decaying into atmosphere or even a strike by a meteor could repeat could endrep cause disaster by mischance so unlikely that it can only be described as an Act of God endquote TWA spokesmen released passenger list by order of the Civil Aerospace Board. List follows: California -“
The list was longish. I did not recognize any names until Gay reached: “Doctor Neil O. Brain -“
I gasped. But no one said a word until Gay announced:
“End running news retrieval.”
“Thank you, Gay.”
“A pleasure, Zeb.”
Zebbie said, “Professor?”
“You’re in command, Captain!”
“Very well, sir! All of you – lifeboat rules! I expect fast action and no back talk. Estimated departure – five minutes! First everybody take a pee! Second, put on the clothes you’ll travel in. Jake, switch off, lock up – whatever you do to secure your house for long absence. Deety – follow Jake, make sure he hasn’t missed anything – then you, not Jake, switch out lights and close doors. Hilda, bundle what’s left of that Dutch lunch and fetch it – fast, not fussy. Check the refrigerator for solid foods – no liquids – and cram what you can into Gay’s refrigerator. Don’t dither over choices. Questions, anyone? Move!”
I gave Jacob first crack at our bathroom because the poor dear tenses up; I used the time to slide sandwiches into a freezer sack and half a pie into another. Potato salad? Scrape it into a third and stick in one plastic picnic spoon; germs were now community property. I stuffed this and some pickles into the biggest freezer sack Deety stocked, and closed it.
Jake came out of our bedroom; I threw him a kiss en passant, ducked into our john, turned on water in the basin, sat down, and recited mantras – that often works when I’m jumpy – then used the bidet – patted it and told it goodbye without stopping. My travel clothes were Deety’s baby tennis shoes with a green-and-gold denim miniskirt dress of hers that came to my knees but wasn’t too dreadful with a scarf to belt it. Panties? I had none. Deety had put a pair of hers out for me – but her size would fall off me. Then I saw that the dear baby had gotten at the elastic and knotted it. Yup! pretty good fit – and, with no telling when our next baths would be, panties were practical even though a nuisance.
I spread my cape in front of the refrigerator, dumped my purse and our picnic lunch into it, started salvaging – half a boned ham, quite a bit of cheese, a loaf and a half of bread, two pounds of butter (freezer sacks, and the same for the ham – if Deety hadn’t had a lavish supply of freezer sacks I could not have salvaged much – as it was, I didn’t even get spots on my cape). I decided that jams and jellies and catsup were liquid within Zebbie’s meaning – except some in squeeze tubes. Half a chocolate cake, and the cupboard was bare.
By using my cape as a Santa Claus pack, I carried food into the garage and put it down by Gay – and was delighted to find that I was first.
Zebbie strode in behind me, dressed in a coverall with thigh pockets, a pilot suit. He looked at the pile on my cape. “Where’s the elephant, Sharpie?”
“Cap’n Zebbie, you didn’t say how much, you just said what. What won’t go she can have.” I hooked a thumb at the chopped-up corpse.
“Sorry, Hilda; you are correct.” Zebbie glanced at his wrist watch, the multiple-dial sort they call a “navigator’s watch.”
“Cap’n, this house has loads of gimmicks and gadgets and bells and whistles. You gave them an impossible schedule.”
“On purpose, dear. Let’s see how much food we can stow.”
Gay’s cold chest is set flush in the deck of the driver’s compartment. Zebbie told Gay to open up, then with his shoulders sideways, reached down and unlocked it. “Hand me stuff.”
I tapped his butt. “Out of there, you overgrown midget, and let Sharpie pack. I’ll let you know when it’s tight as a girdle.”
Space that makes Zebbie twist and grunt is roomy for me. He passed things in, I fitted them for maximum stowage. The third item he handed me was the leavings of our buffet dinner. “That’s our picnic lunch,” I told him, putting it on his seat.
“Can’t leave it loose in the cabin.”
“Cap’n, we’ll eat it before it can spoil. I will be strapped down; is it okay if I clutch it to my bosom?”
“Sharpie, have I ever won an argument with you?”
“Only by brute force, dear. Can the chatter and pass the chow.”
With the help of God and a shoehorn it all went in. I was in a back seat with our lunch in my lap and my cape under me before our spouses showed up. “Cap’n Zebbie? Why did the news of Brainy’s death cause your change of mind?”
“Do you disapprove, Sharpie?”
“On the contrary, Skipper. Do you want my guess?”
“Yes.”
“Winged Victory was booby-trapped. And dear Doctor Brain, who isn’t the fool I thought he was, was not aboard. Those poor people were killed so that he could disappear.”
“Go to the head of the class, Sharpie. Too many coincidences… and they – the ‘Blokes in the Black Hats’ – know where we are.”
“Meaning that Professor No Brain, instead of being dead in the Pacific, might show up any second.”
“He and a gang of green-blooded aliens who don’t like geometers.”
“Zebbie, what do you figure their plans are?”
“Can’t guess. They might fumigate this planet and take it. Or conquer us as cattle or as slaves. The only data we have is that they are alien, that they are powerful – and that they have no compunction about killing us. So I have no compunction about killing them. To my regret, I don’t know how. So I’m running – running scared – and taking the three I’m certain are in danger with me.”
“Will we ever be able to find them and kill them?”
Zebbie didn’t answer because Deety and my Jacob arrived, breathless. Father and daughter were in jump suits. Deety looked chesty and cute; my darling looked trim – but worried. “We’re late. Sorry!”
“You’re not late,” Zeb told them. “But into your seats on the bounce.”
“As quick as I open the garage door and switch out the lights.”
“Jake, Jake – Gay is now programmed to do those things herself. In you go, Princess, and strap down. Seat belts, Sharpie. Copilot, after you lock the starboard door, check its seal all the way around by touch before you strap down.”
“Wilco, Cap’n.” It tickled me to hear my darling boning military. He had told me privately that he was a reserve colonel of ordnance – but that Deety had promised not to tell this to our smart young captain and that he wanted the same promise from me – because the T.O. was as it should be; Zeb should command while Jacob handled space-time controls – to each his own. Jacob had asked me to please take orders from Zeb with no back talk… which had miffed me a little. I was an unskilled crew member; I am not stupid, I knew this. In direst emergency I would try to get us home. But even Deety was better qualified than I.
Checkoffs completed, Gay switched off lights, opened the garage door, and backed out onto the landing flat.
“Copilot, can you read your verniers?”
“Captain, I had better loosen my chest belt.”
“Do so if you wish. But your seat adjusts forward twenty centimeters – here, I’ll get it.” Zeb reached down, did something between their seats. “Say when.”
“There – that’s about right. I can read ’em and reach ’em, with chest strap in place. Orders, sir?”
“Where was your car when you and Deety went to the space-time that lacked the letter ‘J’?”
“About where we are now.”
“Can you send us there?”
“I think so. Minimum translation, positive – entropy increasing – along Tau axis.”
“Please move us there, sir.”
My husband touched the controls. “That’s it, Captain.”
I couldn’t see any change. Our house was still a silhouette against the sky, with the garage a black maw in front of us. The stars hadn’t even flickered.
Zebbie said, “Let’s check,” and switched on Gay’s roading lights, brightly lighting our garage. Empty and looked normal.
Zebbie said, “Hey! Look at that!”
“Look at what?” I demanded, and tried to see around Jacob.
“At nothing, rather. Sharpie, where’s your alien?”
Then I understood. No corpse. No green-blood mess. Workbench against the wall and flood lights not rigged.
Zebbie said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!”
Instantly the same scene… but with carved-up corpse. I gulped.
Zebbie switched out the lights. I felt better but not much.
“Captain?”
“Copilot.”
“Wouldn’t it have been well to have checked for that letter ‘J’? It would have given me a check on calibration.”
“I did check, Jake.”
“Eh?”
“You have bins on the back of your garage neatly stenciled. The one at left center reads ‘Junk Metal.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, and your analog in that space – your twin, Jake-prime, or what you will – has your neat habits. The left-corner bin read ‘Iunk Metal’ spelled with an ‘I.’ A cupboard above and to the right contained ‘Iugs & Iars.’ So I told Gay to take us home. I was afraid they might catch us. Embarrassing.”
Deety said, “Zebadiah – I mean ‘Captain’ – embarrassing how, sir? Oh, that missing letter in the alphabet scared me but it no longer does. Now I’m nervous about aliens. ‘Black Hats.'”
“Deety, you were lucky that first time. Because Deety-prime was not at home. But she may be, tonight. Possibly in bed with her husband, named Zebadiah-prime. Unstable cuss. Likely to shoot at a strange car shining lights into his father-in-law’s garage. A violent character.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“No, Princess; it did worry me. A parallel space, with so small a difference as the lack of one unnecessary letter, but with house and grounds you mistook for your own, seems to imply a father and daughter named ‘Iacob’ and ‘Deiah Thoris.” (Captain Zebbie pronounced the names ‘Yacob’ and ‘Deyah Thoris.’)
“Zebadiah, that scares me almost as much as aliens.”
“Aliens scare me far more. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. Your nose is runny.”
“Smart Girl, one gee vertically to one klick. Hover.”
“Roger dodger, you old codger.”
We rested on our backs and head rests for a few moments, then with the stomach-surging swoosh of a fast lift, we leveled off and hovered. Zebbie said, “Deety, can the autopilot accept a change in that homing program by voice? Or does it take an offset in the verniers?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Same ell-and-ell two klicks above ground.”
“I think so. Shall I? Or do you want to do it, Captain?”
“You try it, Deety.”
“Yes, sir. Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Program check. Define ‘Home.”
“‘Home.’ Cancel any-all inertials transitions translations rotations. Return to preprogrammed zero latitude longitude, ground level.”
“Report present location.”
“One klick vertically above ‘Home.”
“Gay. Program revision.”
“Waiting, Deety.”
“Home program. Cancel ‘Ground level.’ Substitute ‘Two klicks above ground level, hovering.”
“Program revision recorded.”
“Gay Deceiver, take us home!”
Instantly, with no feeling of motion, we were much higher.
Zeb said, “Two klicks on the nose! Deety, you’re a smart girl!”
“Zebadiah, I bet you tell that to all the girls.”
“No, just to some. Gay, you’re a smart girl.”
“Then why are you shacked up with that strawberry blonde with the fat knockers?”
Zebbie craned his neck and looked at me. “Sharpie, that’s your voice.”
I ignored him with dignity. Zebbie drove south to the Grand Canyon, eerie in starlight. Without slowing, he said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!” – and again we were hovering over our cabin. No jar, no shock, no nothing.
Zebbie said, “Jake, once I figure the angles, I’m going to quit spending money on juice. How does she do it when we haven’t been anywhere? – no rotation, no translation.”
“I may have given insufficient thought to a trivial root in equation ninety-seven. But it is analogous to what we were considering doing with planets. A five-dimensional transform simplified to three.”
“‘I dunno, I just work here,'” Captain Zebbie admitted. “But it looks like we will be peddling gravity and transport, as well as real estate and time. Burroughs and Company, Space Warps Unlimited – ‘No job too large, no job too small.’ Send one newdollar for our free brochure.”
“Captain,” suggested Jacob, “would it not be prudent to translate into another space before experimenting further? The alien danger is still with us – is it not?”
Zebbie sobered at once. “Copilot, you are right and it is your duty to advise me when I goof off. However, before we leave, we have one duty we must carry out.”
“Something more urgent than getting our wives to safety?” my Jacob asked – and I felt humble and proud.
“‘Something more urgent.’ Jake, I’ve bounced her around not only to test but to make it hard to track us. Because we must break radio silence. To warn our fellow humans.”
“Oh. Yes, Captain. My apologies, sir. I sometimes forget the broader picture.”
“Don’t we all! I’ve wanted to run and hide ever since this rumpus started. But that took preparation and the delay gave me time to think. Point number one: We don’t know how to fight these critters so we must take cover. Point number two: We are duty-bound to tell the world what we know about aliens. While that little isn’t much – we’ve stayed alive by the skin of our teeth – if five billion people are watching for them, they can be caught. I hope.”
“Captain,” asked Deety, “may I speak?”
“Of course! Anyone with ideas about how to cope with these monsters must speak.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t have such ideas. You must warn the world, sir – of course! But you won’t be believed.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Deety. But they don’t have to believe me. That monster in the garage speaks for itself. I’m going to call rangers – real rangers! – to pick it up.”
I said, “So that was why you told me just to leave it! I thought it was lack of time.”
“Both, Hilda. We didn’t have time to sack that cadaver and store it in the freezer room. But, if I can get rangers – real rangers – to that garage before ‘Black Hats’ get there, that corpse tells its own story: an undeniable alien lying in its goo on a ranger’s uniform that has been cut away from it. Not a ‘close encounter’ UFO that can be explained away, but a creature more startling than the duckbill platypus ever was. But we have to hook it in with other factors to show them what to look for. Your booby-trapped car, an arson case in Logan, Professor Brain’s convenient disappearance, my cousin’s death in Sumatra – and your six-dimensional non-Euclidean geometry.”
I said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. Can’t we move somewhere away from right over our cabin before you break silence? I’m jumpy – ‘Black Hats’ are hunting us.”
“You’re right, Sharpie; I’m about to move us. The story isn’t long – all but the math – so I taped a summary while the rest of you were getting ready. Gay will speed-zip it, a hundred to one.” Zebbie reached for the controls. “All secure?”
“Captain Zebadiah!”
“Trouble, Princess?”
“May I attempt a novel program? It may save time.”
“Programming is your pidgin. Certainly.”
“Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Retrieve last program. Report execute code.”
“Reporting, Deety. ‘Gay Deceiver, take us home!'”
“Negative erase permanent program controlled by execute-code Gay Deceiver take us home. Report confirm.”
“Confirmation report. Permanent program execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home negative erase. I tell you three times.”
“Deety,” said Zeb, “a neg scrub to Gay tells her to place item in perms three places. Redundancy safety factor.”
“Don’t bother me, dear! She and I sling the same lingo. Hello, Gay.”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Analyze latest program execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home. Report.”
“Analysis complete.”
“Invert analysis.”
“Null program.”
Deety sighed. “Typing a program is easier. New program.”
“Waiting, Deety.”
“Execute-code new permanent program. Gay Deceiver, countermarch! At new execute-code, repeat reversed in real time latest sequence inertials transitions translations rotations before last use of program execute-code Gay Deceiver take us home.”
“New permanent program accepted.”
“Gay, I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“Gay Deceiver – countermarch!”
Instantly we were over the Grand Canyon, cruising south. I saw Zeb reach for the manual controls. “Deety, that was slick.”
“I didn’t save time, sir – I goofed. Gay, you’re a smart girl.”
“Deety, don’t make me blush.”
“You’re both smart girls,” said Captain Zebbie. “If anyone had us on radar, he must think he’s getting cataracts. Vice versa, if anyone picked us up here, he’s wondering how we popped up. Smart dodge, dear. You’ve got Gay Deceiver so deceptive that nobody can home on us. We’ll be elsewhere.”
“Yes – but I had something else in mind, too, my Captain.”
“Princess, I like your ideas. Spill it.”
“Suppose we used that homing preprogram and went from frying pan into fire. It might be useful to have a preprogram that would take us back into the frying pan, then do something else quickly. Should I try to think up a third escape-maneuver preprogram?”
“Sure – but discuss it with the court magician, your esteemed father – not me. I’m just a sky jockey.”
“Zebadiah, I will not listen to you disparage yours -“
“Deety! Lifeboat rules. Jake, are your professional papers aboard? Both theoretical and drawings?”
“Why, no, Zeb – Captain. Too bulky. Microfilms I brought. Originals are in the basement vault. Have I erred?”
“Not a bit! Is there any geometer who gave your published paper on this six-way system a friendly reception?”
“Captain, there aren’t more than a handful of geometers capable of judging my postulate system without long and intensive study. It’s too unorthodox. Your late cousin was one – a truly brilliant mind! Uh… I now suspect that Doctor Brain understood it and sabotaged it for his own purposes.”
“Jake, is there anyone friendly to you and able to understand the stuff in your vault? I’m trying to figure out how to warn our fellow humans. A fantastic story of apparently unrelated incidents is not enough. Not even with the corpse of an extra-terrestrial to back it up. You should leave mathematical theory and engineering drawings to someone able to understand them and whom you trust. We can’t handle it; every time we stick our heads up, somebody takes a shot at us and we have no way to fight back. It’s a job that may require our whole race. Well? Is there a man you can trust as your professional executor?”
“Well… one, perhaps. Not my field of geometry but brilliant. He did write me a most encouraging letter when I published my first paper – the paper that was so sneered at by almost everyone except your cousin and this one other. Professor Seppo Rãikannonen. Turku. Finland.”
“Are you certain he’s not an alien?”
“What? He’s been on the faculty at Turku for years! Over fifteen.”
I said, “Jacob… that is about how long Professor Brain was around.”
“But – ” My husband looked around at me and suddenly smiled. “Hilda my love, have you ever taken sauna?”
“Once.”
“Then tell our Captain why I am sure that my friend Seppo is not an alien in disguise. I – Deety and I – attended a professional meeting in Helsinki last year. After the meeting we visited their summer place in the Lake Country… and took sauna with them.”
“Papa, Mama, and three kids.” agreed Deety. “Unmistakably human.”
“‘Brainy’ was a bachelor,” I added thoughtfully. “Cap’n Zebbie, wouldn’t disguised aliens have to be bachelors?”
“Or single women. Or pseudo-married couples. No kids, the masquerade wouldn’t hold up. Jake, let’s try to phone your friend. Mmm, nearly breakfast time in Finland – or we may wake him. That’s better than missing him.”
“Good! My comcredit number is Nero Aleph -“
“Let’s try mine. Yours might trigger something… if ‘Black Hats’ are as smart as I think they are. Smart Girl.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Don Ameche.”
“To hear is to obey, O Mighty One.”
“Deety, you’ve been giving Gay bad habits.”
Shortly a flat male voice answered, “The communications credit number you have cited is not a valid number. Please refer to your card and try again. This is a recording.”
Zebbie made a highly unlikely suggestion. “Gay can’t send out my comcredit code incorrectly; she has it tell-me-three-times. The glitch is in their system. Pop, we have to use yours.”
I said, “Try mine, Zebbie. My comcredit is good; I predeposit.”
A female voice this time: ” – not a valid number. Puh-lease refer to your card and try again. This is a recording.”
Then my husband got a second female voice: ” – try again. This is a recording.”
Deety said, “I don’t have one. Pop and I use the same number.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cap’n Zebbie said bitterly. “These aren’t glitches. We’ve been scrubbed. Unpersons. We’re all dead.”
I didn’t argue. I had suspected that we were dead since the morning two weeks earlier when I woke up in bed with my cuddly new husband. But how long had we been dead? Since my party? Or more recently?
I didn’t care. This was a better grade of heaven than a Sunday School in Terre Haute had taught me to expect. While I don’t think I’ve been outstandingly wicked, I haven’t been very good either. Of the Ten Commandments I’ve broken six and bent some others. But Moses apparently had not had the last Word from on High – being dead was weird and wonderful and I was enjoying every minute… or eon, as the case may be.

Chapter XIII

Being too close to a fireball can worry a man –

Zeb:
Not being able to phone from my car was my most frustrating experience since a night I spent in jail through mistake (I made the mistake). I considered grounding to phone – but the ground did not seem healthy. Even if all of us were presumed dead, nullifying our comcredit cards so quickly seemed unfriendly; all of us had high credit ratings.
Canceling Sharpie’s comcredit without proof of death was more than unfriendly; it was outrageous as she used the predeposit method.
I was forced to the decision that it was my duty to make a military report; I radioed NORAD, stated name, rank, reserve commission serial number, and asked for scramble for a crash priority report. and ran into “correct” procedure that causes instant ulcers. What was my clearance? What led me to think that I had crash priority intelligence? By what authority did I demand a scramble code? Do you know how many screwball calls come in here every day? Get off this frequency; it’s for official traffic only. One more word out of you and I shall alert the civil sky patrol to pick you up.
I said one more word after I chopped off. Deety and her father ignored it; Hilda said, “My sentiments exactly!”
I tried the Federal Rangers Kaibab Barracks at Jacob Lake, then the office at Littlefield and back to Kaibab. Littlefield didn’t answer; Jacob Lake answered: “This is a recording. Routine messages may be recorded during beep tone. Emergency reports should be transmitted to Flagstaff HQ. Stand by for beep tone… Beep!… Beep!… Beep!”
I was about to tell Gay to zip my tape – when the whole world was lighted by the brightest light imaginable.
Luckily we were cruising south with that light behind us. I goosed Gay to flank speed while telling her to tuck in her wings. Not one of my partners asked a foolish question, although I suspect that none had ever seen a fireball or mushroom cloud.
“Smart Girl.”
“Here, Boss.”
“DR problem. Record true bearing light beacon relative bearing astern. Record radar range and bearing same beacon. Solve latitude longitude beacon. Compare solution with fixes in perms. Confirm.”
“Program confirmed.”
“Execute.”
“Roger Wilco, Zeb. Heard any new ones lately?” She added at once, “Solution. True bearing identical with fix execute-coded ‘Gay Deceiver take us home.’ True range identical plus-minus zero point six klicks.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Flattery will get you anywhere, Zeb. Over.”
“Roger and out. Hang onto your hats, folks; we’re going straight up.” I had outraced the shock wave but we were close to the Mexican border; either side might send sprint birds homing on us. “Copilot!”
“Captain.”
“Move us! Out of this space!”
“Where, Captain?”
“Anywhere! Fast!”
“Uh, can you ease the acceleration? I can’t lift my arms.”
Cursing myself, I cut power, let Gay Deceiver climb free. Those vernier controls should have been mounted on arm rests. (Designs that look perfect on the drawing board can kill test pilots.)
“Translation complete, Captain.”
“Roger, Copilot. Thank you.” I glanced at the board: six-plus klicks height-above-ground and rising – thin but enough air to bite. “Hang onto our lunch, Sharpie!” I leaned us backwards while doing an Immelman into level flight, course north, power still off. I told Gay to stretch the glide, then tell me when we had dropped to three klicks H-above-G.
What should be Phoenix was off to the right; another city – Flagstaff? – farther away, north and a bit east; we appeared to be headed home. There was no glowing cloud on the horizon. “Jake, where are we?”
“Captain, I’ve never been in this universe. We translated ten quanta positive Tau axis. So we should be in analogous space close to ours – ten minimum intervals or quanta.”
“This looks like Arizona.”
“I would expect it to, Captain. You recall that one-quantum translation on this axis was so very like our own world that Deety and I confused it with our own, until she picked up a dictionary.”
“Phone book, Pop.”
“Irrelevant, dear. Until she missed the letter ‘J’ in an alphabetical list. Ten quanta should not change geological features appreciably and placement of cities is largely controlled by geography.”
“Approaching three klicks, Boss.”
“Thanks, Gay. Hold course and H-above-G. Correction! Hold course and absolute altitude. Confirm and execute.”
“Roger Wilco, Zeb.”
I had forgotten that the Grand Canyon lay ahead – or should. “Smart Girl” is smart, but she’s literal-minded. She would have held height-above-ground precisely and given us the wildest roller-coaster ride in history. She is very flexible but the “garbage-in-garbage-out” law applies. She had many extra fail-safes – because I make mistakes. Gay can’t; anything she does wrong is my mistake. Since I’ve been making mistakes all my life, I surrounded her with all the safeguards I could think of. But she had no program against wild rides – she was beefed up to accept them. Violent evasive tactics had saved our lives two weeks ago, and tonight as well. Being too close to a fireball can worry a man – to death.
“Gay, display map, please.”
The map showed Arizona – our Arizona; Gay does not have in her gizzards any strange universes. I changed course to cause us to pass over our cabin site – its analog for this space-time. (Didn’t dare tell her: “Gay, take us home!” – for reasons left as an exercise for the class.) “Deety, how long ago did that bomb go off?”
“Six minutes twenty-three seconds. Zebadiah, was that really an A-bomb?”
“Pony bomb, perhaps. Maybe two kilotons. Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m all ears, Zeb.”
“Report time interval since radar-ranging beacon.”
“Five minutes forty-four seconds, Zeb.”
Deety gasped. “Was I that far off?”
“No, darling. You reported time since flash. I didn’t ask Gay to range until after we were hypersonic.”
“Oh. I feel better.”
“Captain,” inquired Jake, “how did Gay range an atomic explosion? I would expect radiation to make it impossible. Does she have instrumentation of which I am not aware?”
“Copilot, she has several gadgets I have not shown you. I have not been holding out – any more than you held out in not telling me about guns and ammo you -“
“My apologies, sir!”
“Oh, stuff it, Jake. Neither of us held out; we’ve been running under the whip. Deety, how long has it been since we killed that fake ranger?”
“That was seventeen fourteen. It is now twenty-two twenty. Five hours six minutes,”
I glanced at the board; Deety’s “circadian clock” apparently couldn’t be jarred by anything; Gay’s clock showed 0520 (Greenwich) with “ZONE PLUS SEVEN” display. “Call it five hours – feels like five weeks. We need a vacation.”
“Loud cheers!” agreed Sharpie.
“Check. Jake, I didn’t know that Gay could range an atomic blast. Light ‘beacon’ means a visible light to her just as ‘radar beacon’ means to her a navigational radar beacon. I told her to get a bearing on the light beacon directly aft; she selected the brightest light with that bearing. Then I told her to take radar range and bearing on it – spun my prayer wheel and prayed.
“There was ‘white noise’ possibly blanketing her radar frequency. But her own radar bursts are tagged; it would take a very high noise level at the same frequency to keep her from recognizing echoes with her signature. Clearly she had trouble for she reported ‘plus-minus’ of six hundred meters. Nevertheless range and bearing matched a fix in her permanents and told us our cabin had been bombed. Bad news. But the aliens got there too late to bomb us. Good news.”
“Captain, I decline to grieve over material loss. We are alive.”
“I agree – although I’ll remember Snug Harbor as the happiest home I’ve ever had. But there is no point in trying to warn Earth – our Earth – about aliens. That blast destroyed the clincher: that alien’s cadaver. And papers and drawings you were going to turn over to your Finnish friend. I’m not sure we can go home again.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, Captain. Two seconds to set the verniers. Not to mention the ‘deadman switch’ and the program in Gay’s permanents.”
“Jake, I wish you would knock off ‘Captain’ other than for command conditions.”
“Zeb, I like calling you ‘Captain.”
“So do I! – my Captain.”
“Me, too, Cap’n Zebbie!”
“Don’t overdo it. Jake, I didn’t mean that you can’t pilot us home; I mean we should not risk it. We’ve lost our last lead on the aliens. But they know who we are and have shown dismaying skill in tracking us down. I’d like to live to see two babies born and grown up.”
“Amen!” said Sharpie. “This might be the place for it. Out of a million billion zillion earths this one may be vermin-free. Highly likely.”
“Hilda my dear, there are no data on which to base any assumption.”
“Jacob, there is one datum.”
“Eh? What did I miss, dear?”
“That we do know that our native planet is infested. So I don’t want to raise kids on it. If this isn’t the place we’re looking for, let’s keep looking.”
“Mmm, logical. Yes. Cap – Zeb?”
“I agree. But we can’t tell much before morning. Jake, I’m unclear on a key point. If we translated back to our own earth now, where would we find ourselves? And when?”
“Pop, may I answer that?”
“Go ahead, Deety.”
“The time Pop and I translated to the place with no ‘J’ we thought we had failed. Pop stayed in our car, trying to figure it out. I went inside, intending to fix lunch. Everything looked normal. But the phone book was on the kitchen counter and doesn’t belong there. That book had a toll area map on its back cover. My eye happened to land on ‘Juab County’ – and it was spelled ‘Iuab’ – and I thought, ‘What a funny misprint!’ Then I looked inside and couldn’t find any ‘J’s’ and dropped the book and went running for Pop.”
“I thought Deety was hysterical. But when I checked a dictionary and the Britannica we got out in a hurry.”
“This is the point, Zebadiah. When we flipped back, I dashed into the house. The phone book was where it belonged. The alphabet was back the way it ought to be. The clock in my head said that we had been gone twenty-seven minutes. The kitchen clock confirmed it and it agreed with the clock in the car. Does that answer you, sir?”
“I think so. In a translation, duration just keeps chugging along. I wondered because I’d like to check that crater after it has had time to cool down. What about that one rotation?”
“Harder to figure, Zebadiah. We weren’t in that other space-time but a few seconds and we both passed out. Indeterminate.”
“I’m convinced. But, Jake, what about Earth’s proper motions? Rotation, revolution around the Sun, sidereal motion, and so forth.”
“A theoretical answer calls for mathematics you tell me are outside your scope of study, uh – Zeb.”
“Beyond my capacity, you mean.”
“As you will, sir. An excursion elsewhere-and-elsewhen… and return… brings you back to where you would have been had you experienced that duration on earth. But ‘when’ requires further definition. As we were discussing, uh… earlier this afternoon but it seems longer, we can adjust the controls to reenter any axis at any point with permanent change of interval. For planetary engineering. Or other purposes. Including reentry reversed against the entropy arrow. But I suspect that would cause death.”
“Why, Pop? Why wouldn’t it just reverse your memory?”
“Memory is tied to entropy increase, my darling daughter. Death might be preferable to amnesia combined with prophetic knowledge. Uncertainty may be the factor that makes life tolerable. Hope is what keeps us going. Captain!”
“Copilot.”
“We have just passed over North Rim.”
“Thank you, Copilot.” I placed my hands lightly on the controls.
“Pop, our cabin is still there. Lights in it, too.”
“So I see. They’ve added a wing on the west.”
“Yes. Where we discussed adding a library.”
I said, “Family, I’m not going closer. Your analogs in this world seem to be holding a party. Flood lights show four cars on the grounding flat.” I started Gay into a wide circle. “I’m not going to hover; it could draw attention. A call to their sky cops – Hell’s bells, I don’t even know that they speak English.”
“Captain, we’ve seen all we need. It’s not our cabin.”
“Recommendation?”
“Sir, I suggest maximum altitude. Discuss what to do while we get there.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“On deck, Captain Ahab.”
“One gee, vertical.”
“Aye aye, sir.” (How many answers had Deety taped?)
“Anybody want a sandwich?” asked Sharpie. “I do – I’m a pregnant mother.”
I suddenly realized that I had had nothing but a piece of pie since noon. As we climbed we finished what was left of supper.
“Zat Marsh?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Sharpie.”
“Zebbie you brute, I said, ‘Is that Mars?’ Over there.”
“That’s Antares. Mars is – Look left about thirty degrees. See it? Same color as Antares but brighter.”
“Got it. Jacob darling, let’s take that vacation on Barsoom!”
“Hilda dearest, Mars is uninhabitable. The Mars Expedition used pressure suits. We have no pressure suits.”
I added, “Even if we did, they would get in the way of a honeymoon.”
Hilda answered, “I read a jingle about ‘A Space Suit Built for Two.’ Anyhow, let’s go to Barsoom! Jacob, you did tell me we could go anywhere in Zip – nothing flat.”
“Quite true.”
“So let’s go to Barsoom.”
I decided to flank her. “Hilda, we can’t go to Barsoom. Mors Kajak and John Carter don’t have their swords.”
“Want to bet?” Deety said sweetly.
“Huh?”
“Sir, you left it to me to pick baggage for that unassigned space. If you’ll check that long, narrow stowage under the instrument board, you’ll find the sword and saber, with belts. With socks and underwear crammed in to keep them from rattling.”
I said soberly, “My Princess, I couldn’t moan about my sword when your father took the loss of his house so calmly – but thank you, with all my heart.”
“Let me add my thanks, Deety. I set much store by that old saber, unnecessary as it is.”
“Father, it was quite necessary this afternoon.”
“Hi ho! Hi ho! It’s to Barsoom we go!”
“Captain, we could use the hours till dawn for a quick jaunt to Mars. Uh – Oh, dear, I have to know its present distance – I don’t.”
“No problem,” I said. “Gay gobbles the Aerospace Almanac each year.”
“Indeed! I’m impressed.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“You again? I was thinking.”
“So think about this. Calculation program. Data address, Aerospace Almanac. Running calculation, line-of-sight distance to planet Mars. Report current answers on demand. Execute.”
“Program running.”
“Report.”
“Klicks two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point plus-minus nine-eight-zero.”
“Display running report.”
Gay did so. “You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“I can do card tricks, too. Program continuing.”
“Jake, how do we this?”
“Align ‘L’ axis with your gun sight. Isn’t that easiest?”
“By far!” I aimed at Mars as if to shoot her out of the sky – then got cold feet. “Jake? A little Tennessee windage? I think those figures are from center-of-gravity to center-of-gravity. Half a mil would place us a safe distance away. Over a hundred thousand klicks.”
“A hundred and twelve thousand,” Jake agreed, watching the display.
I offset one half mil. “Copilot.”
“Captain.”
“Transit when ready. Execute.”
Mars in half phase, big and round and ruddy and beautiful, was swimming off our starboard side.

Chapter XIV

“Quit worrying and enjoy the ride.”

Deety:
Aunt Hilda said softly, “Barsoom. Dead sea bottoms. Green giants.” I just gulped.
“Mars. Hilda darling.” Pop gently corrected her. “Barsoom is a myth.”
“Barsoom.” she repeated firmly. “It’s not a myth, it’s there. Who says its name is Mars? A bunch of long-dead Romans. Aren’t the natives entitled to name it? Barsoom.”
“My dearest, there are no natives. Names are assigned by an international committee sponsored by Harvard Observatory. They confirmed the traditional name.”
“Pooh! They don’t have any more right to name it than I have. Deety, isn’t that right?”
I think Aunt Hilda had the best argument but I don’t argue with Pop unless necessary; he gets emotional. My husband saved me.
“Copilot, astrogation problem. How are we going to figure distance and vector? I would like to put this wagon into orbit. But Gay is no spaceship; I don’t have instruments. Not even a sextant!”
“Mmm, suppose we try it one piece at a time, Captain. We don’t seem to be falling fast and – ulp!”
“What’s the trouble, Jake!”
Pop turned pale, sweat broke out, he clenched his jaws, swallowed and reswallowed. Then his lips barely opened. “M’sheashick.”
“No, you’re space sick. Deety!”
“Yessir!”
“Emergency kit, back of my seat. Unzip it, get Bonine. One pill – don’t let the others get loose.”
I got at the first-aid kit, found a tube marked Bonine. A second pill did get loose but I snatched it out of the air. Free fall is funny – you don’t know whether you are standing on your head or floating sideways. “Here, Captain.”
Pop said, “Mall righ’ now. Jus’ took all over queer a moment.”
“Sure, you’re all right. You can take this pill – or you can have it pushed down your throat with my dirty, calloused finger. Which?”
“Uh, Captain, I’d have to have water to swallow it – and I don’t think I can.”
“Doesn’t take water, pal. Chew it. Tastes good, raspberry flavor. Then keep gulping your saliva. Here.” Zebadiah pinched Pop’s nostrils. “Open up.”
I became aware of a strangled sound beside me. Aunt Hilda had a hanky pressed to her mouth and her eyes were streaming tears – she was split seconds from adding potato salad and used sandwich to the cabin air.
Good thing I was still clutching that wayward pill. Aunt Hilda struggled but she’s a little bitty. I treated her the way my husband had treated her husband, then clamped my hand over her mouth. I don’t understand seasickness (or free-fall nausea); I can walk on bulkheads with a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other and enjoy it.
But the victims really are sick and somewhat out of their heads. So I held her mouth closed and whispered into her ear. “Chew it, Aunty darling, and swallow it, or I’m going to spank you with a club.”
Shortly I could feel her chewing. After several minutes she relaxed. I asked her, “Is it safe for me to ungag you?”
She nodded. I took my hand away. She smiled wanly and patted my hand. “Thanks, Deety.” She added, “You wouldn’t really beat Aunt Sharpie.”
“I sure would, darling. I’d cry and cry and wallop you and wallop you. I’m glad I don’t have to.”
“I’m glad, too. Can we kiss and make up – or is my breath sour?”
It wasn’t but I wouldn’t have let that stop me. I loosened my chest strap and hers, and put both arms around her. I have two ways of kissing: one is suitable for faculty teas; the other way I mean it. I never got a chance to pick; Aunt Hilda apparently never found out about the faculty-tea sort. No, her breath wasn’t sour – just a slight taste of raspberry.
Me, I’m the wholesome type; if it weren’t for those advertisements on my chest, men wouldn’t give me a second glance. Hilda is a miniature Messalina, pure sex in a small package. Funny how a person can grow up never really believing that the adults you grow up with have sex – just gender. Now my saintly father turns out to be an insatiable goat, and Aunt Hilda, who had babied me and changed my diapers, is sexy enough for a platoon of Marines.
I let her go while thinking pleasant thoughts about teaching my husband technique I had learned – unless Hilda had taught him in the past. No, or he would have taught me – and he hadn’t shown her style of virtuosity. Zebadiah, just wait till I get you alone!
Which might not be too soon. Gay Deceiver is wonderful but no honeymoon cottage. There was space back of the bulkhead behind my head – like a big phone booth on its side – where Zebadiah kept a sleeping bag and (he says) sometimes sacked out. But it had the space-time twister in it and nineteen dozen other things. Hilda and I were going to have to repress our primary imperative until our men found us a pied-à-terre on some planet in some universe, somewhere, somewhen.
Mars-Barsoom seemed to have grown while I was curing Aunt Hilda’s space sickness. Our men were talking astrogation. My husband was saying, “Sorry, but at extreme range Gay’s radar can see a thousand kilos. You tell me our distance is about a hundred times that.”
“About. We’re falling toward Mars. Captain, we must do it by triangulation.”
“Not even a protractor where I can get at it. How?”
“Hmmmm – If the Captain pleases, recall how you worked that ‘Tennessee windage.'”
My darling looked like a school boy caught making a silly answer. “Jake, if you don’t quit being polite when I’m stupid, I’m going to space you and put Deety in the copilot’s seat. No, we need you to get us home. I’d better resign and you take over.”
“Zeb, a captain can’t resign while his ship is underway. That’s universal.”
“This is another universe.”
“Transuniversal. As long as you are alive, you are stuck with it. Let’s attempt that triangulation.”
“Stand by to record.” Zebadiah settled into his seat, pressed his head against its rest. “Copilot.”
“Ready to record, sir.”
“Damn!”
“Trouble, Captain?”
“Some. This reflectosight is scaled fifteen mils on a side, concentric circles crossed at center point horizontally and vertically. Normal to deck and parallel to deck, I mean. When I center the fifteen-mil ring on Mars, I have a border around it. I’m going to have to guesstimate. Uh, the border looks to be about eighteen mils wide. So double that and add thirty.”
“Sixty-six mils.”
“And a mil is one-to-one-thousand. One-to-one-thousand-and-eighteen and a whisker, actually – but one-to-a-thousand is good enough. Wait a half! I’ve got two sharp high lights near the meridian – if the polar caps mark the meridian. Le’me tilt this buggy and put a line crossing them – then I’ll yaw and what we can’t measure in one jump, we’ll catch in three.”
I saw the larger “upper” polar cap (north? south? well, it felt north) roll gently about eighty degrees, while my husband fiddled with Gay’s manual controls. “Twenty-nine point five, maybe… plus eighteen point seven… plus sixteen point three. Add.”
My father answered, “Sixty-four and a half” while I said, six four point five in my mind and kept quiet.
“Who knows the diameter of Mars? Or shall I ask Gay?”
Hilda answered, “Six thousand seven hundred fifty kilometers, near enough.”
Plenty near enough for Zebadiah’s estimates. Zebadiah said, “Sharpie! How did you happen to know that?”
“I read comic books. You know – ‘Zap! Polaris is missing.'”
“I don’t read comic books.”
“Lots of interesting things in comic books, Zebbie. I thought the Aerospace Force used comic-book instruction manuals.”
My darling’s ears turned red. “Some are,” he admitted, “but they are edited for technical accuracy. Hmm – Maybe I had better check that figure with Gay.”
I love my husband but sometimes women must stick together. “Don’t bother, Zebadiah,” I said in chilly tones. “Aunt Hilda is correct. The polar diameter of Mars is six seven five two point eight plus. But surely three significant figures is enough for your data.”
Zebadiah did not answer… but did not ask his computer. Instead he said, “Copilot, will you run it off on your pocket calculator? We can treat it as a tangent at this distance.”
This time I didn’t even try to keep still. Zebadiah’s surprise that Hilda knew anything about astronomy caused me pique. “Our height above surface is one hundred four thousand six hundred and seventy-two kilometers plus or minus the error of the data supplied. That assumes that Mars is spherical and ignores the edge effect or horizon bulge… negligible for the quality of your data.”
Zebadiah answered so gently that I was sorry that I had shown off: “Thank you, Deety. Would you care to calculate the time to fall to surface from rest at this point?”
“That’s an unsmooth integral, sir. I can approximate it but Gay can do it faster and more accurately. Why not ask her? But it will be many hours.”
“I had hoped to take a better look. Jake, Gay has enough juice to put us into a tight orbit, I think… but I don’t know where or when I’ll be able to juice her again. If we simply fall, the air will get stale and we’ll need the panic button – or some maneuver – without ever seeing the surface close up.”
“Captain, would it suit you to read the diameter again? I don’t think we’ve simply been falling.”
Pop and Zebadiah got busy again. I let them alone, and they ran even the simplest computations through Gay. Presently, Pop said, “Over twenty-four kilometers per second! Captain, at that rate we’ll be there in a little over an hour.”
“Except that we’ll scram before that. But, ladies, you’ll get your closer look. Dead sea bottoms and green giants. If any.”
“Zebadiah, twenty-four kilometers per second is Mars’ orbital speed.”
My father answered, “Eh? Why, so it is!” He looked very puzzled, then said, “Captain – I confess to a foolish mistake.”
“Not one that will keep us from getting home, I hope.”
“No, sir. I’m still learning what our continua craft can do. Captain, we did not aim for Mars.”
“I know. I was chicken.”
“No, sir, you were properly cautious. We aimed for a specific point in empty space. We transited to that point… but not with Mars’ proper motion. With that of the Solar System, yes. With Earth’s motions subtracted; that is in the program. But we are a short distance ahead of Mars in its orbit… so it is rushing toward us.”
“Does that mean we can never land on any planet but Earth?”
“Not at all. Any vector can be included in the program – either before or after transition, translation or rotation. Any subsequent change in motion is taken into account by the inertial integrator. But I am learning that we still have things to learn.”
“Jake, that is true even of a bicycle. Quit worrying and enjoy the ride. Brother, what a view!”

“Jake, that doesn’t look like the photographs the Mars Expedition brought back.”
“Of course not,” said Aunt Hilda. “I said it was Barsoom.”
I kept my mouth shut. Ever since Dr. Sagan’s photographs anyone who reads The National Geographic – or anything – knows what Mars looks like. But when it involves changing male minds, it is better to let men reach their own decisions; they become somewhat less pig-headed. That planet rushing toward us was not the Mars of our native sky. White clouds at the caps, big green areas that had to be forest or crops, one deep blue area that almost certainly was water – all this against ruddy shades that dominated much of the planet.
What was lacking were the rugged mountains and craters and canyons of “our” planet Mars. There were mountains – but nothing like the Devil’s Junkyard known to science.
I heard Zebadiah say, “Copilot, are you certain you took us to Mars?”
“Captain, I took us to Mars-ten, via plus on Tau axis. Either that or I’m a patient in a locked ward.”
“Take it easy, Jake. It doesn’t resemble Mars as much as Earth-ten resembles Earth.”
“Uh, may I point out that we saw just a bit of Earth-ten, on a moonless night?”
“Meaning we didn’t see it. Conceded.”
Aunt Hilda said, “I told you it was Barsoom. You wouldn’t listen.”
“Hilda, I apologize. ‘Barsoom.’ Copilot, log it. New planet, ‘Barsoom,’ named by right of discovery by Hilda Corners Burroughs, Science Officer of Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We’ll all witness: Z. J. Carter, Commanding – Jacob J. Burroughs, Chief Officer – D. T. B. Carter, uh, Astrogator. I’ll send certified copies to Harvard Observatory as soon as possible.”
“I’m not astrogator, Zebadiah!”
“Mutiny. Who reprogrammed this cloud buster into a continua craft? I’m pilot until I can train all of you in Gay’s little quirks. Jake is copilot until he can train more copilots in setting the verniers. You are astrogator because nobody else can acquire your special knowledge of programming and skill at calculation. None of your lip, young woman, and don’t fight the Law of Space. Sharpie is chief of science because of her breadth of knowledge. She not only recognized a new planet as not being Mars quicker than anyone else but carved up that double-jointed alien with the skill of a born butcher. Right, Jake?”
“Sure thing!” agreed Pop.
“Cap’n Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda drawled, “I’m science officer if you say so. But I had better be ship’s cook, too. And cabin boy.”
“Certainly, we all have to wear more than one hat. Log it, Copilot. ‘Here’s to our jolly cabin girl, the plucky little nipper – ‘”
“Don’t finish it. Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda cut in, “I don’t like the way the plot develops.”

‘ – she carves fake ranger,
‘Dubs planet stranger,
‘And dazzles crew and skipper.’

Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “That’s not the classic version. I like the sentiment better… though the scansion limps.”
“Sharpie darling, you are a floccinaucinihilipilificatrix.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Certainly! Means you’re so sharp you spot the slightest flaw.”
I kept quiet. It was possible that Zebadiah meant it as a compliment. Just barely –
“Maybe I’d better check it in a dictionary.”
“By all means, dear – after you are off watch.” (I dismissed the matter. Merriam Microfilm was all we had aboard and Aunt Hilda would not find that word in anything less than the O.E.D.)
“Copilot, got it logged?”
“Captain, I didn’t know we had a log.”
“No log? Even Vanderdecken keeps a log. Deety, the log falls in your department. Take your father’s notes, get what you need from Gay, and let’s have a taut ship. First time we pass a Woolworth’s we’ll pick up a journal and you can transcribe it – notes taken now are your rough log.”
“Aye aye, sir. Tyrant.”
“‘Tyrant,’ sir, please. Meanwhile let’s share the binoculars and see if we can spot any colorful exotic natives in colorful exotic costumes singing colorful exotic songs with their colorful exotic hands out for baksheesh. First one to spot evidence of intelligent life gets to wash the dishes.”

Chapter XV

“We’ll hit so hard we’ll hardly notice it.”

Hilda:
I was so flattered by Cap’n Zebbie’s crediting me with “discovering” Barsoom that I pretended not to understand the jibe he added. It was unlikely that Deety would know such a useless word, or my beloved Jacob. It was gallant of Zeb to give in all the way, once he realized that this planet was unlike its analog in “our” universe. Zebbie is a funny one – he wears rudeness like a Hallowe’en mask, afraid that someone will discover the Galahad underneath.
I knew that “my” Barsoom was not the planet of the classic romances. But there are precedents: The first nuclear submarine was named for an imaginary undersea vessel made famous by Jules Verne; an aircraft carrier of the Second Global War had been named “Shangri La” for a land as nonexistent as “Erewhon”; the first space freighter had been named for a starship that existed only in the hearts of its millions of fans – the list is endless. Nature copies art.
Or as Deety put it: “Truth is more fantastic than reality.”
During that hour Barsoom rushed at us. It began to swell and swell, so rapidly that binoculars were a nuisance – and my heart swelled with it, in childlike joy. Deety and I unstrapped so that we could see better, floating just “above” and behind our husbands while steadying ourselves on their headrests.
We were seeing it in half phase, one half dark, the other in sunlight – ocher and umber and olive green and brown and all of it beautiful.
Our pilot and copilot did not sightsee; Zebbie kept taking sights, kept Jacob busy calculating. At last he said, “Copilot, if our approximations are correct, at the height at which we will get our first radar range, we will be only a bit over half a minute from crashing. Check?”
“To the accuracy of our data, Captain.”
“Too close. I don’t fancy arriving like a meteor. Is it time to hit the panic button? Advise, please – but bear in mind that puts us – should put us – two klicks over a hot, new crater… possibly in the middle of a radioactive cloud. Ideas?”
“Captain, we can do that just before crashing – and it either works or it doesn’t. If it works, that radioactive cloud will have had more time to blow away. If it doesn’t work – “
“We’ll hit so hard we’ll hardly notice it. Gay Deceiver isn’t built to reenter at twenty-four klicks per second. She’s beefed up – but she’s still a Ford, not a reentry vehicle.”
“Captain, I can try to subtract the planet’s orbital speed. We’ve time to make the attempt.”
“Fasten seat belts and report! Move it, gals!”
Free fall is funny stuff. I was over that deathly sickness – was enjoying weightlessness, but didn’t know how to move in it. Nor did Deety. We floundered the way one does the first time on ice skates – only worse.
“Report, damn it!”
Deety got a hand on something, grabbed me. We started getting into seats – she in mine, I in hers. “Strapping down, Captain!” she called out, while frantically trying to loosen my belts to fit her. (I was doing the same in reverse.)
“Speed it up!”
Deety reported, “Seat belts fastened,” while still getting her chest belt buckled – by squeezing out all her breath. I reached over and helped her loosen it.
“Copilot.”
“Captain!”
“Along ‘L’ axis, subtract vector twenty-four klicks per second – and for God’s sake don’t get the signs reversed.”
“I won’t!”
“Execute.”
Seconds later Jacob reported, “That does it, Captain. I hope.”
“Let’s check. Two readings, ten seconds apart. I’ll call the first, you call the end of ten seconds. Mark!”
Zeb added, “One point two. Record.”
After what seemed a terribly long time Jacob said, “Seven seconds… eight seconds… nine seconds… mark!”
Our men conferred, then Jacob said, “Captain, we are still falling too fast.”
“Of course,” said Deety. “We’ve been accelerating from gravity. Escape speed for Mars is five klicks per second. If Barsoom has the same mass as Mars -“
“Thank you, Astrogator. Jake, can you trim off, uh, four klicks per second?”
“Sure!”
“Do it.”
“Uh… done! How does she look?”
“Uh… distance slowly closing. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Program. Radar. Target dead ahead. Range.”
“No reading.”
“Continue ranging. Report first reading. Add program. Display running radar ranges to target.”
“Program running. Who blacked your eye?”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“I’m sexy, too. Over.”
“Continue program.” Zeb sighed, then said, “Copilot, there’s atmosphere down there. I plan to attempt to ground. Comment? Advice?”
“Captain, those are words I hoped to hear. Let’s go!”
“Barsoom – here we come!”

Chapter XVI

  • a maiden knight, eager to break a lance –

Jake:
My beloved bride was no more eager than I to visit “Barsoom.” I had been afraid that our captain would do the sensible thing: establish orbit, take pictures, then return to our own space-time before our air was stale. We were not prepared to explore strange planets. Gay Deceiver was a bachelor’s sports car. We had a little water, less food, enough air for about three hours. Our craft refreshed its air by the scoop method. If she made a “high jump,” her scoop valves sealed from internal pressure just as did commercial ballistic-hypersonic intercontinental liners – but “high jump” is not space travel.
True, we could go from point to point in our own or any universe in null time, but how many heavenly bodies have breathable atmospheres? Countless billions – but a small fraction of one percent from a practical viewpoint – and no publication lists their whereabouts. We had no spectroscope, no star catalogs, no atmosphere testing equipment, no radiation instruments, no means of detecting dangerous organisms. Columbus with his cockleshells was better equipped than we.
None of this worried me.
Reckless? Do you pause to shop for an elephant gun while an elephant is chasing you?
Three times we had escaped death by seconds. We had evaded our killers by going to earth – and that safety had not lasted. So again we fled like rabbits.
At least once every human should have to run for his life, to teach him that milk does not come from supermarkets, that safety does not come from policemen, that “news” is not something that happens to other people. He might learn how his ancestors lived and that he himself is no different – in the crunch his life depends on his agility, alertness, and personal resourcefulness.
I was not distressed. I felt more alive than I had felt since the death of my first wife.
Underneath the persona each shows the world lies a being different from the masque. My own persona was a professorial archetype. Underneath? Would you believe a maiden knight, eager to break a lance? I could have avoided military service – married, a father, protected profession. But I spent three weeks in basic training, sweating with the rest, cursing drill instructors – and loving it! Then they took my rifle, told me I was an officer, gave me a swivel chair and a useless job. I never forgave them for that.
Hilda, until we married, I knew not at all. I had valued her as a link to my lost love but I had thought her a lightweight, a social butterfly. Then I found myself married to her and learned that I had unnecessarily suffered lonely years. Hilda was what I needed, I was what she needed – Jane had known it and blessed us when at last we knew it. But I still did not realize the diamondhard quality of my tiny darling until I saw her dissecting that pseudo “ranger.” Killing that alien was easy. But what Hilda did – I almost lost my supper.
Hilda is small and weak; I’ll protect her with my life. But I won’t underrate her again!
Zeb is the only one of us who looks the part of intrepid explorer – tall, broadshouldered, strongly muscled, skilled with machines and with weapons, and (sine qua non!) cool-headed in crisis and gifted with the “voice of command.”
One night I had been forced to reason with my darling; Hilda felt that I should lead our little band. I was oldest, I was inventor of the time-space “distorter” – it was all right for Zeb to pilot – but I must command. In her eyes Zeb was somewhere between an overage adolescent and an affectionate Saint Bernard. She pointed out that Zeb claimed to be a “coward by trade” and did not want responsibility.
I told her that no born leader seeks command; the mantle descends on him, he wears the burden because he must. Hilda could not see it – she was willing to take orders from me but not from her pet youngster “Zebbie.”
I had to be firm: Either accept Zeb as commander or tomorrow Zeb and I would dismount my apparatus from Zeb’s car so that Mr. and Mrs. Carter could go elsewhere. Where? Not my business or yours, Hilda. I turned over and pretended to sleep.
When I heard sobs, I turned again and held her. But I did not budge. No need to record what was said; Hilda promised to take any orders Zeb might give – once we left.
But her capitulation was merely coerced until the gory incident at the pool. Zeb’s instantaneous attack changed her attitude. From then on my darling carried out Zeb’s orders without argument – and between times kidded and ragged him as always. Hilda’s spirit wasn’t broken; instead she placed her indomitable spirit subject to the decisions of our captain. Discipline – self-discipline; there is no other sort.
Zeb is indeed a “coward by trade” – he avoids trouble whenever possible – a most commendable trait in a leader. If a captain worries about the safety of his command, those under him need not worry.

Barsoom continued to swell. At last Gay’s voice said, “Ranging, Boss” as she displayed “1000 km,” and flicked at once to “999 km.” I started timing when Zeb made it unnecessary: “Smart Girl!”
“Here, Zeb.”
“Continue range display. Show as H-above-G. Add dive rate.”
“Null program.”
“Correction. Add program. Display dive rate soonest.”
“New program dive rate stored. Display starts H-above-G six hundred klicks.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“‘Smartest little girl in the County, Oh! Daddy and Mommy told me so!’ Over.”
“Continue programs.”
Height-above-ground seemed to drop both quickly and with stomach-tensing slowness. No one said a word; I barely breathed. As “600 km” appeared the figures were suddenly backed by a grid; on it was a steep curve, height-against-time, and a new figure flashed underneath the H-above-G figure: 1968 km/hr. As the figure changed, a bright abscissa lowered down on the grid.
Our captain let out a sigh. “We can handle that. But I’d give fifty cents and a double-dip ice-cream cone for a parachute brake.”
“What flavor?”
“Your choice, Sharpie. Don’t worry, folks; I can stand her on her tail and blast. But it’s an expensive way to slow up. Gay Deceiver.”
“Busy, Boss.”
“I keep forgetting that I can’t ask her to display too many data at once. Anybody know the sea level – I mean ‘surface’ atmospheric pressure of Mars? Don’t all speak at once.”
My darling said hesitantly, “It averages about five millibars. But, Captain – this isn’t Mars.”
“Huh? So it isn’t – and from the looks of that green stuff, Barsoom must have lots more atmosphere than Mars.” Zeb took the controls, overrode the computer, cautiously waggled her elevons. “Can’t feel bite. Sharpie, how come you bone astronomy? Girl Scout?”
“Never got past tenderfoot. I audited a course, then subscribed to ‘Astronomy’ and ‘Sky and Telescope.’ It’s sort o’ fun.”
“Chief of Science, you have again justified my faith in you. Copilot, as soon as I have air bite, I’m going to ease to the east. We’re headed too close to the terminator. I want to ground in daylight. Keep an eye out for level ground. I’ll hover at the last – but I don’t want to ground in forest. Or in badlands.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Astrogator.”
“Yessir!”
“Deety darling, search to port – and forward, as much as you can see around me. Jake can favor the starboard side.”
“Captain – I’m on the starboard side. Behind Pop.”
“Huh? How did you gals get swapped around?”
“Well… you hurried us, sir – any old seat in a storm.”
“Two demerits for wrong seat – and no syrup on the hot cakes we’re going to have for breakfast as soon as we’re grounded.”
“Uh, I don’t believe hot cakes are possible.”
“I can dream, can’t I? Chief Science Officer, watch my side.”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
“While Deety backs up Jake. Any cow pasture.”

“Hey! I feel air! She bites!”
I held my breath while Zeb slowly brought the ship out of dive, easing her east. “Gay Deceiver.”
“How now, Brown Cow?”
“Cancel display programs. Execute.”
“Inshallâh, ya sayyid.”
The displays faded. Zeb held her just short of stalling. We were still high, about six klicks, still hypersonic.
Zeb slowly started spreading her wings as air speed and altitude dropped. After we dropped below speed of sound, he opened her wings full for maximum lift. “Did anyone remember to bring a canary?”
“A canary!” said Deety. “What for, Boss Man?”
“My gentle way of reminding everyone that we have no way to test atmosphere. Copilot.”
“Captain,” I acknowledged.
“Uncover deadman switch. Hold it closed while you remove clamp. Hold it high where we all can see it. Once you report switch ready to operate, I’m going to crack the air scoops. If you pass out, your hand will relax and the switch will get us home. I hope. But – All hands! – if anyone feels dizzy or woozy or faint… or sees any of us start to slump, don’t wait! Give the order orally. Deety, spell the order I mean. Don’t say it – spell it.”
“G, A, Y, D, E, C, I, E, V, E, R, T, A, K, E, U, S, H, O, M, E.”
“You misspelled it.”
“I did not!”
“You did so; ‘”i” before “e” except after “c.”‘ You reversed ’em.”
“Well… maybe I did. That diphthong has always given me trouble. Floccinaucinihilipilificator!”
“So you understood it? From now on, on Barsoom, ‘i’ comes before ‘e’ at all times. By order of John Carter, Warlord. I have spoken. Copilot?”
“Deadman switch ready, Captain,” I answered.
“You gals hold your breaths or breathe, as you wish. Pilot and copilot will breathe. I am about to open air scoops.”
I tried to breathe normally and wondered if my hand would relax if I passed out.
The cabin got suddenly chilly, then the heaters picked up. I felt normal. Cabin pressure slightly higher, I thought, under ram effect.
“Everybody feel right? Does everybody look right? Copilot?”
“I feel fine. You look okay. So does Hilda. I can’t see Deety.”
“Science Officer?”
“Deety looks normal. I feel fine.”
“Deety. Speak up.”
“Golly, I had forgotten what fresh air smells like!”
“Copilot, carefully – most carefully! – put the clamp back on the switch, then rack and cover it. Report completion.”
A few seconds later I reported, “Deadman switch secured, Captain.”
“Good. I see a golf course; we’ll ground.” Zeb switched to powered flight; Gay responded, felt alive. We spiraled, hovered briefly, grounded with a gentle bump. “Grounded on Barsoom. Log it, Astrogator. Time and date.”
“Huh?”
“On the instrument board.”
“But that says oh-eight-oh-three and it’s just after dawn here.”
“Log it Greenwich. With it, log estimated local time and Barsoom day one.” Zeb yawned. “I wish they wouldn’t hold mornings so early.”
“Too sleepy for hot cakes?” my wife inquired.
“Never that sleepy.”
“Aunt Hilda!”
“Deety, I stowed Aunt Jemima mix. And powdered milk. And butter. Zebbie, no syrup – sorry. But there is grape jelly in a tube. And freeze-dried coffee. If one of you will undog this bulkhead door, we’ll have breakfast in a few minutes.”
“Chief Science Officer, you have a duty to perform.”
“I do? But – Yes, Captain?”
“Put your dainty toe to the ground. It’s your planet, your privilege. Starboard side of the car, under the wing, is the ladies’ powder room – portside is the men’s jakes. Ladies may have armed escort on request.”
I was glad Zeb remembered that. The car had a “honey bucket” under the cushion of the port rear seat, and, with it, plastic liners. I did not ever want to have to use it.
Gay Deceiver was wonderful but, as a spaceship, she left much to be desired. However, she had brought us safely to Barsoom.
Barsoom! Visions of thoats and beautiful princesses –

Chapter XVII

The world wobbled –

Deety:
We spent our first hour on “Barsoom” getting oriented. Aunt Hilda stepped outside, then stayed out. “Isn’t cold,” she told us. “Going to be hot later.”
“Watch where you step!” my husband warned her. “Might be snakes or anything.” He hurried after her – and went head over heels.
Zebadiah was not hurt; the ground was padded, a greenish-yellow mat somewhat like “ice plant” but looking more like clover. He got up carefully, then swayed as if walking on a rubber mattress. “I don’t understand it,” he complained. “This gravity ought to be twice that of Luna. But I feel lighter.”
Aunt Hillbilly sat down on the turf. “On the Moon you were carrying pressure suit and tanks and equipment.” She unfastened her shoes. “Here you aren’t.”
“Yeah, so I was,” agreed my husband. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shoes. When were you on the Moon? Cap’n Zebbie, you’re a fraud.”
“Don’t take off your shoes! You don’t know what’s in this grass.”
The Hillbilly stopped, one shoe off. “If they bite me, I bite ’em back. Captain, in Gay Deceiver you are absolute boss. But doesn’t your crew have any free will? I’ll play it either way: free citizen… or your thrall who dassn’t even take off a shoe without permission. Just tell me.”
“Uh -“
“If you try to make all decisions, all the time, you’re going to get as hysterical as a hen raising ducklings. Even Deety can be notional. But I won’t even pee without permission. Shall I put this back on? Or take the other off?”
“Aunt Hilda, quit teasing my husband!” (I was annoyed!)
“Dejah Thoris, I am not teasing your husband; I am asking our captain for instructions.”
Zebadiah sighed. “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed in Australia.”
I said, “Is it all right for Pop and me to come out?”
“Oh. Certainly. Watch your step; it’s tricky.”
I jumped down, then jumped high and wide, with entrechats as I floated – landed sur les pointes. “Oh, boy! What a wonderful place for ballet!” I added, “Shouldn’t do that on a full bladder. Aunt Hilda, let’s see if that powder room is unoccupied.”
“I was about to, dear, but I must get a ruling from our captain.”
“You’re teasing him.”
“No, Deety; Hilda is right; doctrine has to be clear. Jake? How about taking charge on the ground?”
“No, Captain. Druther be a Balkan general, given my druthers.”
Aunt Hilda stood up, shoe in hand, reached high with her other hand, patted my husband’s cheek. “Zebbie, you are a dear. You worry about us all – me especially, because you think I’m a featherhead. Remember how we did at Snug Harbor? Each one did what she could do best and there was no friction. If that worked there, it ought to work here.”
“Well… all right. But will you gals please be careful?”
“We’ll be careful. How’s your E.S.P.? Any feeling?”
Zebadiah wrinkled his forehead. “No. But I don’t get advance warning. Just barely enough.”
“‘Just barely’ is enough. Before we had to leave, you were about to program Gay to listen at high gain. Would that change ‘just barely’ to ‘ample’?”
“Yes! Sharpie, I’ll put you in charge, on the ground.”
“In your hat, Buster. Ole Massa done freed us slaves. Zebbie, the quicker you quit dodging, the sooner you get those hot cakes. Spread my cape down and put the hot plate on the step.”
We ate breakfast in basic Barsoomian dress: skin. Aunt Hilda pointed out that laundries seemed scarce, and the car’s water tanks had to be saved for drinking and cooking. “Deety, I have just this dress you gave me; I’ll air it and let the wrinkles hang out. Panties, too. An air bath is better than no bath. I know you’ll divvy with me but you are no closer to a laundry than I am.”
My jump suit joined Hilda’s dress. “Aunt Hilda, you could skip bathing a week. Me, right after a bath I have a body odor but not too bad. In twenty four hours I’m whiff. Forty-eight and I smell like a skunk. An air bath may help.”
The same reasoning caused our men to spread their used clothing on the port wing, and caused Zebadiah to pick up Hilda’s cape. “Sharpie, you can’t get fur Hollanderized in this universe. Jake, you stowed some tarps?”
After dishes were “washed” (scoured with turf, placed in the sun) we were sleepy. Zebadiah wanted us to sleep inside, doors locked. Aunt Hilda and I wanted to nap on a tarpaulin in the shade of the car. I pointed out that moving rear seats aft in refitting had made it impossible to recline them.
Zebadiah offered to give up his seat to either of us women. I snapped, “Don’t be silly, dear! You barely fit into a rear seat and it brings your knees so far forward that the seat in front can’t be reclined.”
Pop intervened. “Hold it! Daughter, I’m disappointed – snapping at your husband. But, Zeb, we’ve got to rest. If I sleep sitting up, I get swollen ankles, half crippled, not good for much.”
“I was trying to keep us safe,” Zebadiah said plaintively.
“I know, Son; you’ve been doing so – and a smart job, or we all would be dead three times over. Deety knows it, I know it, Hilda knows it -“
“I sure do, Zebbie!”
“My Captain, I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“We’ll need you later. Flesh has its limits – even yours. If necessary, we would bed you down and stand guard over you -“
“No!”
“We sure would, Zebbie!”
“We will, my Captain.”
“But I doubt that it’s necessary. When we sat on the ground to eat, did anyone get chigger bites or anything?”
My husband shook his head.
“Not me,” Aunt Hilda agreed.
I added, “I saw some little beasties but they didn’t bother me.”
“Apparently,” Pop went on, “they don’t like our taste. A ferocious-looking dingus sniffed at my ankle – but it scurried away. Zeb, Gay can hear better than we can?”
“Oh, much better!”
“Can her radar be programmed to warn us?”
Zebadiah looked thoughtful. “Uh… anti-collision alarm would wake the dead. If I pulled it in to minimum range, then – No, the display would be cluttered with ‘grass.’ We’re on the ground. False returns.”
I said, “Subtract static display, Zebadiah.”
“Eh? How, Deety?”
“Gay can do it. Shall I try?”
“Deety, if you switch on radar, we have to sleep inside. Microwaves cook your brains.”
“I know, sir. Gay has sidelookers, eyes fore and aft, belly, and umbrella – has she not?”
“Yes. That’s why -“
“Switch off her belly eye. Can sidelookers hurt us if we sleep under her?” His eyes widened. “Astrogator, you know more about my car than I do. I’d better sign her over to you.”
“My Captain, you have already endowed me with all your worldly goods. I don’t know more about Gay; I know more about programming.”

We made a bed under the car by opening Zebadiah’s sleeping bag out flat, a tarpaulin on each side. Aunt Hilda dug out sheets: “In case anyone gets chilly.”
“Unlikely,” Pop told her. “Hot now, not a cloud and no breeze.”
“Keep it by you, dearest. Here’s one for Zebbie.” She dropped two more on the sleeping bag, lay down on it. “Down flat, gentlemen” – waited for them to comply, then called to me: “Deety! Everybody’s down.”
From inside I called back, “Right with you!” – then said, “Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Retrieve newest program. Execute.”
Five scopes lighted, faded to dimness; the belly eye remained blank. I told her, “You’re a good girl, Gay.”
“I like you, too, Deety. Over.”
“Roger and out, sister.” I scrunched down, got at the stowage under the instrument board, pulled out padding and removed saber and sword, each with belt. These I placed at the door by a pie tin used at breakfast. I slithered head first out the door, turned without rising, got swords and pie plate, and crawled toward the pallet, left arm cluttered with hardware.
I stopped. “Your sword, Captain.”
“Deety! Do I need a sword to nap?”
“No, sir. I shall sleep soundly knowing that my captain has his sword.”
“Hmm – ” Zebadiah withdrew it a span, returned it with a click. “Silly… but I feel comforted by it, too.”
“I see nothing silly, sir. Ten hours ago you killed a thing with it that would have killed me.”
“I stand – sprawl – corrected, my Princess. Dejah Thoris is always correct.”
“I hope my Chieftain will always think so.”
“He will. Give me a big kiss. What’s the pie pan for?”
“Radar alarm test.”
Having delivered the kiss, I crawled past Hilda and handed Pop his saber. He grinned at me. “Deety hon, you’re a one! Just the security blanket I need. How did you know?”
“Because Aunt Hilda and I need it. With our warriors armed, we will sleep soundly.” I kissed Pop, crawled out from under. “Cover your ears!”
I got to my knees, sailed that pan far and high, dropped flat and covered my ears. As the pan sailed into the zone of microwave radiation, a horrid clamor sounded inside the car, kept up until the pan struck the ground and stopped rolling – chopped off. “Somebody remind me to recover that. Good night, all!”
I crawled back, stretched out by Hilda, kissed her goodnight, set the clock in my head for six hours, went to sleep.

The sun was saying that it was fourteen instead of fourteen-fifteen and I decided that my circadian did not fit Barsoom. Would the clock in my head “slow” to match a day forty minutes longer? Would it give me trouble? Not likely – I’ve always been able to sleep anytime. I felt grand and ready for anything.
I crept off the pallet, snaked up into the car’s cabin, and stretched. Felt good!
I crawled through the bulkhead door back of the rear seats, got some scarves and my jewelry case, went forward into the space between seats and instrument board.
I tried tying a filmy green scarf as a bikini bottom, but it looked like a diaper. I took it off, folded it corner to corner, pinned it at my left hip with a jeweled brooch. Lots better! “Indecently decent” Pop would say.
I looped a rope of imitation pearls around my hips, arranged strands to drape with the cloth, fastened them at the brooch. I hung around my neck a pendant of pearls and cabochon emeralds – from my father the day I received the title doctor of philosophy.
I was adding bracelets and rings when I heard “Psst!” – looked down and saw the Hillbilly’s head and hands at the doorsill. Hilda put a finger to her lips. I nodded, gave her a hand up, whispered, “Still asleep?”
“Like babies.”
“Let’s get you dressed… ‘Princess Thuvia.'” Aunt Hilda giggled. “Thank you… ‘Princess’ Dejah Thoris.” “Want anything but jewelry?”
“Just something to anchor it. That old-gold scarf if you can spare it.”
“Course I can! Nothing’s too good for my Aunt Thuvia and that scarf is durn near nothing. Baby doll, we’re going to deck you out for the auction block. Will you do my hair?”
“And you mine. Deety – I mean ‘Dejah Thoris’ – I miss a three-way mirror.”
“We’ll be mirrors for each other,” I told her. “I don’t mind camping out. My great-great-great-grandmother had two babies in a sod house. Except” – I ducked my head, sniffed my armpit – “we’d better find a stream.” I added, “Hold still. Or shall I pin it through your skin?”
“Either way, dear. We’ll find water – all this ground cover.”
“Ground cover doesn’t prove running water. This place may be a ‘dead sea bottom of Barsoom.'”
“Doesn’t look dead,” Aunt Hilda countered. “It’s pretty.”
“Yes, but this looks like a dead sea bottom. Which gave me an idea. Hold up your hair; I want to arrange your necklaces.”
“What idea?” Aunt Hilda demanded.
“Zebadiah told me to figure a third escape program. The first two – I’ll paraphrase, Gay is awake. One tells her to take us back to a height over Snug Harbor; the other tells her to scoot back to where she was before she was last given the first order.”
“I thought that one told her to place us over the Grand Canyon?”
“It does, at present. But if she got the first order now, that would change the second order. Instead of over the Grand Canyon, we would be back here quicker’n a frog could wink its eye.”
“Okay if you say so.”
“She’s programmed that way. Hit the panic button and we are over our cabin site. Suppose we arrive there and find trouble, then use the ‘C’ order. She takes us back to wherever she last got the ‘T’ order. Dangerous or we would not have left in a rush. So we need a third escape program, to take us to a safe place. This looks safe.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“Seems so. There! – more doodads than a Christmas tree and you look nakeder than ever.”
“That’s the effect we want, isn’t it? Sit down in the copilot’s seat; I’ll do your hair.”
“Want shoes?” I asked.
“On Barsoom? Dejah Thoris, thank you for your little-girl shoes. But they pinch my toes. You’re going to wear shoes?”
“Not bleedin’ likely, Aunt Nanny Goat. I toughened my feet for karate – I can break a four-by-nine with my feet and get nary a bruise. Or run on sharp gravel. What’s a good escape phrase? I plan to store in Gay an emergency signal for every spot we visit that looks like a safe hidey-hole. So give me a phrase.”
“Your mudder chaws terbacker!”
“Nanny Goat! A code-phrase should have a built-in mnemonic.”
“‘Bug Out’?”
“A horrid expression and just what we need. ‘Bug Out’ will mean to take us to this exact spot. I’ll program it. And post it and others on the instrument board so that, if anyone forgets, she can read it.”
“And so could any outsider, if she got in.”
“Fat lot of good it would do her! Gay ignores an order not in our voices. Hello, Gay.”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Retrieve present location. Report.”
“Null program.”
“Are we lost?”
“Not at all, Aunt Hilda. I was sloppy. Gay, program check. Define ‘Home.'”
“Cancel any-all transitions translations rotations inertials. Return to zerodesignated latitude longitude two klicks above ground level hovering.”
“Search memory reversed-real-time for last order execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home.”
“Retrieved.”
“From time of retrieved order integrate to time-present all transitions translations rotations inertials.”
“Integrated.”
“Test check. Report summary of integration.”
“Origin ‘Home.’ Countermarch program executed. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Tau axis ten minimals positive. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Ell axis two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point zero klicks. Negative vector Ell axis twenty-four klicks per sec. Negative vector Ell axis four klicks per sec. Complex maneuver inertials. Grounded here-then oh-eight-oh-two-forty-nine. Grounded inertials continuing eight hours three minutes nineteen seconds mark! Grounded inertials continue running realtime.”
“New program. Here-now grounded inertial location real-time running to real-time new execute order equals code-phrase bug-out. Report new program.”
Gay answered: “New program code-phrase bug-out: Definition: Here-now grounded inertials running real-time to future-time execute order code-phrase bug-out.”
“Gay, I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“New program. Execute-coded Gay Deceiver Bug Out. At execute-code move to location coded ‘bug-out.’ I tell you three times.”
“I hear you three times.”
“Gay Deceiver, you’re a smart girl.”
“Deety, why don’t you leave that big ape and live with me? Over.”
“Good night, Gay. Roger and out. Hillbilly, I didn’t give you that answer.” I tried to look fierce.
“Why, Deety, how could you say such a thing?”
“I know I didn’t. Well?”
“I ‘fess up, Deetikins. A few days ago while you and I were working, you were called away. While I waited, I stuck that in. Want it erased?”
I don’t know how to look fierce; I snickered. “No. Maybe Zebadiah will be around the next time it pops up. I wish our men would wake, I do.”
“They need rest, dear.”
“I know. But I want to check that new program.”
“It sounded complex.”
“Can be, by voice. I’d rather work on paper. A computer doesn’t accept excuses. A mistake can be anything from ‘null program’ to disaster. This one has features I’ve never tried. I don’t really understand what Pop does. Non-Euclidean n-dimensional geometry is way out in left field.”
“To me it’s not in the ball park.”
“So I’m itchy.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Did I show you our micro walky-talkies?”
“Jacob gave me one.”
“There’s one for each. Tiny but amazingly long-ranged. Uses less power than a hand calculator and weighs less – under two hundred grams. Mass, I mean – weight here is much less. Today I thought of a new use. Gay can accept their frequency.”
“That’s nice. How do you plan to use this?”
“This car can be remote-controlled.”
“Deety, who would you want to do that?”
I admitted that I did not know. “But Gay can be preprogrammed to do almost anything. For example, we could go outside and tell Gay, via walky-talky, to carry out two programs in succession: H, O, M, E, followed by B, U, G, O, U, T. Imagine Zebadiah’s face when he wakes up from sun in his eyes – because his car has vanished – then his expression two hours later when it pops back into existence.”
“Deety, go stand in the corner for thinking such an unfunny joke!” Then Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “Why would it take two hours? I thought Gay could go anywhere in no time.”
“Depends on your postulates, Princess Thuvia. We took a couple of hours to get here because we fiddled. Gay would have to follow that route in reverse because it’s the only one she knows. Then – ” I stopped, suddenly confused. “Or would it be four hours? No, vectors would cancel and – But that would make it instantaneous; we would never know that she had left. Or would we? Aunt Hilda, I don’t know! Oh, I wish our men would wake up, I do!” The world wobbled and I felt scared.
“I’m awake,” Pop answered, his head just showing above the doorsill. “What’s this debate?” He gave Aunt Hilda a lecherous leer. “Little girl, if you’ll come up to my room, I’ll give you some candy.”
“Get away from me, you old wolf!”
“Hilda my love, I could sell you down to Rio and retire on the proceeds. You look like expensive stuff.”
“I’m very expensive stuff, darling wolf. All I want is every cent a man has and constant pampering – then a fat estate when he dies.”
“I’ll try to die with plenty of money in the bank, dearest.”
“Instead we’re both dead and our bank accounts have gone Heaven knows where and I haven’t a rag to my back – and I’m wonderfully happy. Come inside – mind the radar! – and kiss me, you old wolf; you don’t have to buy me candy.”
“Pop,” I asked, “is Zebadiah asleep?”
“Just woke up.”
I spoke to Gay, then to Pop: “Will you tell Zebadiah radar is off? He can stand up without getting his ears fried.”
“Sure.” Pop ducked down and yelled, “Zeb, it’s safe; her husband left.”
“Coming!” Zebadiah’s voice rumbled back. “Tell Deety to put the steaks on.” My darling appeared wearing sword, carrying pie pan and sheets. “Are the steaks ready?” he asked, then kissed me.
“Not quite, sir,” I told him. “First, go shoot a thoat. Or will you settle for peanut butter sandwiches?”
“Don’t talk dirty. Did you say ‘thoat’?”
“Yes. This is Barsoom.”
“I thoat that was what you said.”
“If that’s a pun, you can eat it for supper. With peanut butter.”
Zebadiah shuddered. “I’d rather cut my thoat.”
Pop said, “Don’t do it, Zeb. A man can’t eat with his thoat cut. He can’t even talk clearly.”
Aunt Hilda said mildly, “If you three will cease those atrocities, I’ll see what I can scrape up for dinner.”
“I’ll help,” I told her, “but can we run my test first? I’m itchy.”
“Certainly, Deety. It will be a scratch meal.”
Pop looked at Aunt Hilda reproachfully. “And you told us to stop.”
“What test?” demanded my husband.
I explained the Bug-Out program. “I think I programmed it correctly. But here is a test. Road the car a hundred meters. If my program works – fine! If it tests null, no harm done but you and Pop will have to teach me more about the twister before I’ll risk new programming.”
“I don’t want to road the car, Deety; I’m stingy with every erg until I know when and where I can juice Gay. However – Jake, what’s your minimum transition?”
“Ten kilometers. Can’t use spatial quanta for transitions – too small. But the scale goes up fast – logarithmic. That’s short range. Middle range is in light-years – logarithmic again.”
“What’s long range, Jake?”
“Gravitic radiation versus time. We won’t use that one.”
“Why not, Jacob?” asked Aunt Hilda.
Pop looked sheepish. “I’m scared of it, dearest. There are three major theories concerning gravitic propagation. At the time I machined those controls, one theory seemed proved. Since then other physicists have reported not being able to reproduce the data. So I blocked off long range.” Pop smiled sourly. “I know the gun is loaded but not what it will do. So I spiked it.”
“Sensible,” agreed my husband. “Russian roulette lacks appeal. Jake, do you have any guess as to what options you shut off?”
“Better than a guess, Zeb. It reduces the number of universes accessible to us on this axis from the sixth power of six-to-the-sixth-power to a mere six to the sixth power. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six.”
“Gee, that’s tough!”
“I didn’t mean it as a joke, Zeb.”
“Jake, I was laughing at me. I’ve been looking forward to a lifetime exploring universes – and now I learn that I’m limited to a fiddlin’ forty-six thousand and some. Suppose I have a half century of exploration left in me. Assume that I take off no time for eating, sleeping, or teasing the cat, how much time can I spend in each universe?”
“About nine hours twenty minutes per universe,” I told him. “Nine hours, twenty-three minutes, thirty-eight point seven-two-two seconds, plus, to be more nearly accurate.”
“Deety, let’s do be accurate,” Zebadiah said solemnly. “If we stayed a minute too long in each universe, we would miss nearly a hundred universes.”
I was getting into the spirit. “Let’s hurry instead. If we work at it, we can do three universes a day for fifty years – one of us on watch, one on standby, two off duty – and still squeeze in maintenance, plus a few hours on the ground, once a year. If we hurry.”
“We haven’t a second to lose!” Zebadiah answered. “All hands! – places! Stand by to lift! Move!”
I was startled but hurried to my seat. Pop’s chin dropped but he took his place. Aunt Hilda hesitated a split second before diving for her seat, but, as she strapped herself in, wailed, “Captain? Are we really leaving Barsoom?”
“Quiet, please. Gay Deceiver, close doors! Report seat belts. Copilot, check starboard door seal.”
“Seat belt fastened,” I reported with no expression.
“Mine’s fastened. Oh, dear!”
“Copilot, by low range, ‘H’ axis upward, minimum transition.”
“Set, Captain.”
“Execute.”
Sky outside was dark, the ground far below. “Ten klicks exactly,” my husband approved. “Astrogator, take the conn, test your new program. Science Officer observe.”
“Yessir. Gay Deceiver – Bug Out!” We were parked on the ground.
“Science Officer – report,” Zebadiah ordered.
“Report what?” Aunt Hilda demanded.
“We tested a new program. Did it pass test?”
“Uh, we seem to be back where we were. We were weightless maybe ten seconds. I guess the test was okay, Except -“
“‘Except’ what?”
“Captain Zebbie, you’re the worst tease on Earth! And Barsoom! You did so put lime Jello in my pool!”
“I was in Africa.”
“Then you arranged it!”
“Hilda – please! I never said we were leaving Barsoom. I said that we haven’t a second to waste. We don’t, with so much to explore.”
“Excuses. What about my clothes? All on the starboard wing. Where are they now? Floating up in the stratosphere? Coming down where? I’ll never find them.”
“I thought you preferred to dress Barsoomian style?”
“Doesn’t mean I want to be forced to! Besides, Deety lent them to me. I’m sorry, Deety.”
I patted her hand. “‘S’all right, Aunt Hilda. I’ll lend you more. Give them, I mean.” I hesitated, then said firmly, “Zebadiah, you should apologize to Aunt Hilda.”
“Oh, for the love of – Sharpie? Sharpie darling.”
“Yes, Zebbie?”
“I’m sorry I let you think that we were leaving Barsoom. I’ll buy you clothes that fit. We’ll make a quick trip back to Earth -“
“Don’t want to go back to Earth! Aliens! They scare me.”
“They scare me, too. I started to say: ‘Earth-without-a-J.’ It’s so much like our own that I can probably use U.S. money. If not, I have gold. Or I can barter. For you, Sharpie, I’ll steal clothes. We’ll go to Phoenix-without-a-J – tomorrow – today we take a walk and see some of this planet – your planet – and we’ll stay on your planet until you get tired of it. Is that enough? Or must I confess putting Jello into your pool when I didn’t?”
“You really didn’t?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Be darned. Actually I thought it was funny. I wonder who did it? Aliens, maybe?”
“They play rougher than that. Sharpie darling, I’m not the only weirdo in your stable – not by dozens.”
“Guess maybe. Zebbie? Will you kiss Sharpie and make up?”

On the ground, under the starboard wing, we found our travel clothes, and under the port wing, those of our husbands. Zebadiah looked bemused. “Jake? I thought Hilda was right. It had slipped my mind that we had clothing on the wings.”
“Use your head, Son.”
“I’m not sure I have one.”
“I don’t understand it either, darling,” Aunt Hilda added.
“Daughter?” Pop said.
“Pop, I think I know. But – I pass!”
“Zeb, the car never moved. Instead -“
Aunt Hilda interrupted, “Jacob, are you saying that we did not go straight up? We were there – five minutes ago.”
“Yes, my darling. But we didn’t move there. Motion has a definable meaning: A duration of changing locations. But no duration was involved. We did not successively occupy loci between here-then and there-then.”
Aunt Hilda shook her head. “I don’t understand. We went whoosh! up into the sky… then whoosh! back where we started.”
“My darling, we didn’t whoosh! Deety! Don’t be reticent.”
I sighed. “Pop, I’m not sure there exists a symbol for the referent. Aunt Hilda. Zebadiah. A discontinuity. The car -“
“Got it!” said Zebadiah.
“I didn’t,” Aunt Hilda persisted.
“Like this, Sharpie,” my husband went on. “My car is here. Spung! – it vanishes. Our clothes fall to the ground. Ten seconds later – flip! – we’re back where we started. But our clothes are on the ground. Get it now?”
“I – I guess so. Yes.”
“I’m glad you do… because I don’t. To me, it’s magic.” Zebadiah shrugged. “‘Magic.'”
“‘Magic’,” I stated, “is a symbol for any process not understood.”
“That’s what I said, Deety. ‘Magic.’ Jake, would it have mattered if the car had been indoors?”
“Well… that fretted me the first time Deety and I translated to Earth-without-the-letter-J. So I moved our car outdoors. But now I think that only the destination matters. It should be empty – I think. But I’m too timid to experiment.”
“Might be interesting. Unmanned vehicle. Worthless target. A small asteroid. A baby sun?”
“I don’t know, Zeb. Nor do I have apparatus to spare. It took me three years to build this one.”
“So we wait a few years. Jake? Air has mass.”
“That worried me also. But any mass, other than degenerate mass, is mostly empty space. Air – Earth sea-level air – has about a thousandth the density of the human body. The body is mostly water and water accepts air readily. I can’t say that it has no effect – twice I’ve thought that my temperature went up a trifle at transition or translation in atmosphere but it could have been excitement. I’ve never experienced caisson disease from it. Has any of us felt discomfort?”
“Not me, Jake.”
“I’ve felt all right, Pop,” I agreed.
“I got space sick. Till Deety cured it,” Aunt Hilda added.
“So did I, my darling. But that was into vacuo and could not involve the phenomenon.”
“Pop,” I said earnestly, “we weren’t hurt; we don’t have to know why. A basic proposition of epistemology, bedrock both for the three basic statements of semantics and for information theory, is that an observed fact requires no proof. It simply is, self-demonstrating. Let philosophers worry about it; they haven’t anything better to do.”
“Suits me!” agreed Hilda. “You big brains had Sharpie panting. I thought we were going to take a walk?”
“We are, dear,” agreed my husband. “Right after those steaks.”

Chapter XVIII

” – the whole world is alive.”

Zebadiah:
Four Dagwoods later we were ready to start walkabout. Deety delayed by wanting to repeat her test by remote control. I put my foot down. “No!”
“Why not, my Captain? I’ve taught Gay a program to take her straight up ten klicks. It’s G, A, Y, B, O, U, N, C, E – a new fast-escape with no execution word necessary. Then I’ll recall her by B, U, G, O, U, T. If one works via walky-talky, so will the second. It can save our lives, it can!”
“Uh – ” I went on folding tarps and stowing my sleeping bag. The female mind is too fast for me. I often can reach the same conclusion; a woman gets there first and never by the route I have to follow. Besides that, Deety is a genius.
“You were saying, my Captain?”
“I was thinking. Deety, do it with me aboard. I won’t touch the controls. Check pilot, nothing more.”
“Then it won’t be a test.”
“Yes, it will. I promise, Cub Scout honor, to let it fall sixty seconds. Or to three klicks H-above-G, whichever comes first.”
“These walky-talkies have more range than ten kilometers even between themselves. Gay’s reception is much better.”
“Deety, you trust machinery; I don’t. If Gay doesn’t pick up your second command – sun spots, interference, open circuit, anything – I’ll keep her from crashing.”
“But if something else goes wrong and you did crash, I would have killed you!” She started to cry.
So we compromised. Her way. The exact test she had originally proposed. I wasted juice by roading Gay Deceiver a hundred meters, got out, and we all backed off. Deety said into her walky-talky, “Gay Deceiver… Bug Out!”
It’s more startling to watch than it is to be inside. There was Gay Deceiver off to our right, then she was off to our left. No noise – not even an implosion splat! Magic.
“Well, Deety? Are you satisfied?”
“Yes, Zebadiah. Thank you, darling. But it had to be a real test. You see that – don’t you?”
I agreed, while harboring a suspicion that my test had been more stringent. “Deety, could you reverse that? Go somewhere else and tell Gay to come to you?”
“Somewhere she’s never been?”
“Yes.”
Deety switched off her walky-talky and made sure that mine was off. “I don’t want her to hear this. Zebadiah, I always feel animistic about a computer. The Pathetic Fallacy – I know. But Gay is a person to me.”
Deety sighed. “I know it’s a machine. It doesn’t have ears; it can’t see; it doesn’t have a concept of space-time. What it can do is manipulate circuitry in complex ways – complexities limited by its grammar and vocabulary. But those limits are exact. If I don’t stay precisely with its grammar and vocabulary, it reports ‘Null program.’ I can tell it anything by radio that I can tell it by voice inside the cabin – and so can you. But I can’t tell it to come look for me in a meadow beyond a canyon about twelve or thirteen klicks approximately southwest of here-now. That’s a null program – five undefined terms.”
“Because you made it null. You fed ‘garbage in’ and expect me to be surprised at ‘garbage out’ – when you did it a-purpose.”
“I did not either, I didn’t!”
I kissed the end of her nose. “Deety darling, you should trust your instincts. Here’s one way to tell Gay to do that without defining even one new term into her vocabulary. Tell her to expect a three-part program. First part: bounce one minimum, ten klicks. Second part: transit twelve point five klicks true course two-two-five. Third part: drop to one klick H-over-G and hover. At that point, if what you described as your location is roughly correct, you will see her and can coach her to a landing without using Jake’s twister.”
“Uh… twelve and a half kilometers can’t be done in units of ten kilometers. Powered flight?”
“Waste juice? Hon, you just flunked high school geometry. Using Euclid’s tools, compass and straight edge, lay out that course and distance, then lay out how to get there in ten-klick units – no fractions.”
My wife stared. Then her eyes cleared. “Transit one minimum true course one-seven-three and two thirds, then transit one minimum true course two-seven-six and one third. The mirror image solution uses the same courses in reverse. Plus endless trivial solutions using more than two minima.”
“Go to the head of the class. If you don’t spot her, have her do a retreating search curve – in her perms, in an Aussie accent. Honey girl, did you actually do that Euclid style?”
“I approximated it Euclid style – but you didn’t supply compass and straight edge! Scribe circle radius twelve point five. Bisect circle horizontally by straight edge through origin; quarter it by dropping a vertical. Bisect lower left quadrant – that gives true course two-two-five or southwest. Then set compass at ten units and scribe arcs from origin and from southwest point of circle; the intersections give courses and vertices for both major roots to the accuracy of your straight edge and compass. But simply to visualize that construction – well, I got visualized angles of two-seven-five and one-seven-five. Pretty sloppy.
“So I did it accurately by Pythagorean proposition by splitting the isosceles triangle into two right triangles. Hypotenuse is ten, one side is six and a quarter – and that gives the missing side as seven point eight-zero-six-two-four-seven plus – which gives you one course and you read off the other by the scandalous Fifth Axiom. But I did check by trig. Arc sine point seven-eight-zero-six-two-four-seven – “
“Hold it! I believe you. What other ways can you program Gay to find you, using her present vocabulary?”
“Uh… burn juice?”
“If necessary.”
“I would have her bounce a minimum, then maximize my signal. Home on me.”
“Certainly. Now do the same thing without using juice. Just Jake’s twister.”
Deety looked thoughtful and about twelve years old, then suddenly said, “‘Drunkard’s Walk’!” – added at once, “But I would place a locus around the Walk just large enough to be certain that I’m inside it. Gay should plot signal level at each vertex. Such a plot would pinpoint the signal source.”
“Which way is faster? Home straight in under power? Or Drunkard’s Walk?” Deety answered, “Why, the – ” – looked startled. “Those are solid-state relays.”
“Jake sets verniers by hand – but when Gay is directing herself there are no moving parts. Solid state.”
“Zebadiah, am I thinking straight? Using power, at that distance – call it twelve kilometers – Gay should be able to home on me in three or four minutes. But – Zebadiah, this can’t be right! – using no power and relying on random numbers and pure chance in a Drunkard’s Walk, Gay should find me in less than a second. Where did I go wrong?”
“On the high side, Deety girl. Lost your nerve. The first fifty milliseconds should show the hot spot; in less than the second fifty she’ll part your hair. All over in a tenth of a second – or less. But, honey, we still haven’t talked about the best way. I said that you should trust your instincts. Gay is not an ‘it.’ She’s a person. You’ll never know how relieved I was when it turned out that you two were going to be friends. If she had been jealous of you – May the gods deliver us from a vindictive machine! But she’s not; she thinks you’re swell.”
“Zebadiah, you believe that?”
“Dejah Thoris, I know that.”
Deety looked relieved. “I know it, too – despite what I said earlier.”
“Deety, to me the whole world is alive. Some parts are sleeping and some are dozing and some are awake but yawning… and some are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and always ready to go. Gay is one of those.”
“Yes, she is. I’m sorry I called her an ‘it.’ But what is this ‘best way’?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Don’t tell her how – just tell her. Say to her, ‘Gay, come find me!’ All four words are in her vocabulary; the sentence is compatible with her grammar. She’ll find you.”
“But how? Drunkard’s Walk?”
“A tenth of a second might strike her as too long – she likes you, hon. She’ll look through her registers and pick the optimum solution. She might not be able to tell you how she did it, since she wipes anything she’s not told to remember. I think she does; I’ve never been certain.”

Jake and Hilda had wandered off while Deety and I had been talking. They had turned back, so we started toward them. Sharpie called out, “Zebbie, what happened to that hike?”
“Right away,” I agreed. “Jake, we have about three hours. We ought to be buttoned up before sundown. Check?”
“I agree. The temperature will drop rapidly at sundown.”
“Yup. We can’t do real exploring today. So let’s treat it as drill. Fully armed, patrol formation, radio discipline, and always alert, as if there were a ‘Black Hat’ behind every bush.”
“No bushes,” objected Hilda.
I pretended not to hear. “But what constitutes ‘fully armed,’ Jake? We each have rifles. You have that oldstyle Army automatic that will knock down anything if you’re close enough but – how good a shot are you?”
“Good enough.”
“How good is ‘Good enough’?” (Most people are as accurate with a baseball as with a pistol.)
“Skipper, I won’t attempt a target more than fifty meters away. But if I intend to hit, the target will be within range and I will hit it.”
I opened my mouth… closed it. Fifty meters is a long range for that weapon. But hint that my father-in-law was boasting?
Deety caught my hesitation. “Zebadiah – Pop taught me pistol in the campus R.O.T.C. range. I’ve seen him practice bobbing targets at thirty meters. I saw him miss one. Once.”
Jake harrumphed. “My daughter omitted to mention that I skip most surprise targets.”
“Father! ‘Most’ means ‘more than fifty percent.’ Not true!”
“Near enough.”
“Six occasions. Four strings, twenty-eight targets on three -“
“Hold it, honey! Jake, it’s silly to argue figures with your daughter. With my police special I won’t attempt anything over twenty meters – except covering fire. But I hand-load my ammo and pour my own dumdums; the result is almost as lethal as that howitzer of yours. But if it comes to trouble, or hunting for meat, we’ll use rifles, backed by Deety’s shotgun. Deety, can you shoot?”
“Throw your hat into the air.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Sharpie, we have five firearms, four people – is there one that fits you?”
“Cap’n Zebbie, the one time I fired a gun, I went backwards, the bullet went that-a-way, and I had a sore shoulder. Better have me walk in front to trip land mines.”
“Zebadiah, she could carry my fléchette gun.”
“Sharpie, we’ll put you in the middle and you carry the first-aid kit; you’re medical officer – armed with Deety’s purse gun for defense. Jake, it’s time we stowed these swords and quit pretending to be Barsoomian warriors. Field boots. I’m going to wear that same sweaty pilot suit, about equivalent to jump suits you and Deety wore – which I suggest you wear now. We should carry water canteens and iron rations. I can’t think of anything that would serve as a canteen. Damn! Jake, we aren’t doing this by the book.”
“What book?” demanded Hilda.
“Those romances about interstellar exploration. There’s always a giant mother ship in orbit, loaded with everything from catheters to Coca-Cola, and scouting is by landing craft, in touch with the mother ship. Somehow, we aren’t doing it that way.”
(All the more reason to conduct drill as realistically as possible. Jake or I, one of us, is honor bound to stay alive to take care of two women and unborn children; exterminating ‘Black-Hat’ vermin holds a poor second to that.)
“Zebbie, why are you staring at me?”
I hadn’t known that I was. “Trying to figure how to dress you, dear. Sharpie, you look cute in jewelry and perfume. But it’s not enough for a sortie in the bush. Take ’em off and put ’em away. You, too, Deety. Deety, do you have another jump suit that can be pinned up or stitched up for Hilda?”
“A something, sure. But it would take hours to do a good job. My sewing kit isn’t much.”
“‘Hours’ will have to be another day. Today we’ll make do with safety pins. But take time to do a careful job of padding her feet into your stoutest shoes. Confound it, she should have field boots. Sharpie, remind me when we make that shopping trip to Earth-without-a-J.”
“To hear is to obey, Exalted One. Is it permitted to make a parliamentary inquiry?”
She startled me. “Hilda, what did I do to cause that frosty tone?”
“It was what you didn’t do.” Suddenly she smiled, reached high and patted my cheek. “You mean well, Zebbie. But you slipped. While Gay Deceiver is on the ground, we’re equal. But you’ve been giving orders right and left.”
I started to answer; Jake cut in. “Hilda my love, for a scouting expedition the situation becomes equivalent to a craft in motion. Again we require a captain.”
Sharpie turned toward her husband. “Conceded, sir. But may I point out that we are not yet on that hike? Zebbie has consulted you; he has not consulted Deety and me. He asked us for information – darned seldom! Aside from that he has simply laid down the law. What are we, Zebbie? Poor little female critters whose opinions are worthless?”
Caught with your hand in the cooky jar, throw yourself on the mercy of the court.
“Sharpie, you’re right and I’m dead wrong. But before you pass sentence I claim extenuating circumstances: Youth and inexperience, plus long and faithful service.”
“You can’t,” put in my helpful wife. “You can plead one or the other but not both. They can’t overlap.”
Sharpie stood on tiptoes and kissed my chin. “In Zebbie’s case they do overlap. Do you still want to know what to use as water canteens?”
“Certainly!”
“Then why didn’t you ask?”
“But I did!”
“No, Cap’n Zebbie; you did not ask and did not even give us time to volunteer the answer.”
“I’m sorry, Hilda. Too many things on my mind.”
“I know, dear; Sharpie does not mean to scold. But I had to get your attention.”
“That baseball bat?”
“Almost. For an ersatz canteen – A hot-water bottle?”
Again she startled me. “In the danger we were in when we left, you worried about cold feet in bed? And packed a hot-water bottle?”
“Two,” answered Deety. “Aunt Hilda fetched one. So did I.”
“Deety, you don’t have cold feet and neither do I.”
Sharpie said, “Deety, is he actually that naïve?”
“I’m afraid he is, Aunt Hilda. But he’s sweet.”
“And brave,” added Hilda. “But retarded in spots. They do overlap in Zebbie’s case. He’s unique.”
“What,” I demanded, “are you talking about?”
“Aunt Hilda means that, when you refitted Gay, you neglected to install a bidet.”
“Oh.” That was the wittiest I could manage. “It’s not a subject I give much thought to.”
“No reason you should, Zebbie. Although men use them, too.”
“Zebadiah does. Pop, too. Bidets, I mean. Not hot-water bottles.”
“I meant hot-water bottles, dear. As medical officer I may find it necessary to administer an enema to the Captain.”
“Oh, no!” I objected. “You’re not equipped.”
“But she is, Zebadiah. We fetched both sorts of nozzles.”
“But you didn’t fetch four husky orderlies to hold me down. Let’s move on. Sharpie, what was the advice you would have given if I had been bright enough to consult you?”
“Some is not advice but a statement of fact. I’m not going for a hike on a hot day swaddled in a pinned-up jump suit eight sizes too big. While you all play Cowboys-and-Indians, I’m going to curl up in my seat and read ‘The Oxford Book of English Verse.’ Thank you for fetching it, Jacob.”
“Hilda beloved, I will worry.”
“No need to worry about me, Jacob. I can always tell Gay to lock her doors. But, were I to go with you, I would be a handicap. You three are trained to fight; I’m not.” Sharpie turned toward me. “Captain, since I’m not going, that’s all I have to say.”
What was there for me to say? “Thank you, Hilda. Deety, do you have things on your mind?”
“Yes, sir. I go along with field boots and jump suits and so forth even though they’ll be beastly hot. But I wish you would change your mind about your sword and Pop’s saber. Maybe they aren’t much compared with rifles but they’re good for my morale.”
Hilda interjected, “Had I decided to go, Captain, I would have said the same. Possibly it is an emotional effect from what happened, uh – was it only yesterday? – but perhaps it is subconscious logic. Just yesterday bare blades defeated a man – a thing, an alien – armed with a firearm and ready to use it.”
Jake spoke up. “Captain, I didn’t want to take off my saber.”
“We’ll wear them.” Any excuse is a good excuse to wear a sword. “Are we through? We’ve lost an hour and the Sun is dropping. Deety?”
“One more thing, Zebadiah – and I expect to be outvoted. I say to cancel the hike.”
“So? Princess, you’ve said too much or not enough.”
“If we do this, we spend the night here – sitting up. If we chase the Sun instead – There were lights on the night side that looked like cities. There was blue on the day side that looked like a sea. I think I saw canals. But whether we find something or not, at worst we’ll catch up with sunrise and be able to sleep outdoors in daylight, just as we did today.”
“Deety! Gay can overtake the Sun. Once. You want to use all her remaining juice just to sleep outdoors?”
“Zebadiah, I wasn’t planning on using any power.”
“Huh? It sounded like it.”
“Oh, no! Do transitions of three minima or more, bearing west. Aim us out of the atmosphere; we fall back in while looking for places of interest. As we reenter, we glide, but where depends on what you want to look at. When you have stretched the glide to the limit, unless you decide to ground, you do another transition. There is great flexibility, Zebadiah. You can reach sunrise line in the next few minutes. Or you could elect to stay on the day side for weeks, never land, never use any juice, and inspect the entire planet from pole to pole.”
“Maybe Gay can stay up for weeks – but not me. I’m good for several more hours. With that limitation, it sounds good, How about it? Hilda? Jake?”
“You mean that female suffrage is permanent? I vote Yes!”
Jake said, “You have a majority; no need for a male vote.”
“Jacob!” his wife said reproachfully.
“Joking, my dear. It’s unanimous.”
I said, “Somebody just cancelled the election. Look there.” We all looked. Deety said, “What is it? A pterodactyl?”
“No, an ornithopter. A big one.”

PART TWO – The Butterfly’s Mandarin

Chapter XIX

Something is gained in translation –

Hilda:
Jacob tightened his arm around me. “Zeb,” he said softly, “I don’t believe it.” He was staring (we all were) at this mechaniwockle pteranodon coming at us over the hills in the west.
“Neither do I,” Zebbie answered. “Wrong wing loading. Impossible articulation. There’s a second one. A third! All hands! Grab your clothes! Man the ship! Prepare to lift! Move! Jake, unbuckle your saber and into your jump suit, fast!”
Cap’n Zebbie was unhooking his sword belt and grabbing his coveralls as he yelped. I was inside first as I didn’t stop to dress – grabbed Deety’s baby shoes with one hand, my dress and panties with the other.
I wiggled into panties, slid the dress over my head, slipped on Deety’s Keds.
I anticipated the order to fasten seat belts – stopped suddenly and eased my belt. I had not stopped to take off the doodads that proclaimed me a Barsoomian “princess.” Now it seemed that every item of frippery was about to imprint me for life.
Deety was cursing softly over the same problem. Deety’s jump suit was harder to reach into, even when she unbelted and opened the zipper all the way. I helped readjust the hardware but cautioned her not to remove it and to close the zipper clear to her chin. “Deety, if you get holes in your hide, you’ll get well. But if something loose catches our captain in the eye, the culprit will be broken on the wheel.”
I clucked-clucked at her answer but big ones do get in the way. Meanwhile our men were having problems. That space under the instrument board could not be seen by a full-sized male. The best position to reach it was impossible for Jacob, ridiculously impossible for Zebbie.
Zebbie’s profanity was louder than Deety’s but not as colorful. My own darling was keeping quiet which meant that he was really in trouble. I said, “Gentlemen -“
Zebbie grunted, “Shut up, Sharpie; we’ve got problems! Deety! How did you get these toadstickers into this compartment?”
“I didn’t. Aunt Hilda did.”
“Sharpie, can I apologize later? Those Martians are circling us now!”
So they were, at least a dozen flapping monstrosities. One appeared about to ground. “Captain, I’ll do it – but there is a faster way.”
“How?”
“Unhook your scabbards, put on your sword belts. Saber and sword in scabbards fit easily if you point one right, the other left. They will rattle unless you stuff clothing around them.”
“They can bloody well rattle!” In seconds, our gallants had blades and scabbards stowed. As Cap’n Zebbie resumed sword belt and started on his seat belt he called out, “Fasten belts, prepare to lift! Sharpie, have I told you today that in addition to loving you, I admire you?”
“I think not, Captain.”
“I do. Enormously. Report! Science Officer?”
“Seat belt fastened. Thank you, Zebbie.”
“Seat belt fastened,” reported Deety. “Bulkhead door dogged.”
“Seat belt fastened, starboard door seal checked, copilot ready, sir!”
“Port door seal checked, pilot strapped down; we’re ready – and none too soon! One has grounded and somebody is getting out. Hey! They’re human!”
“Or disguised aliens,” said my darling.
“Well… yes, there’s that. I may lift any second. Deety – that new program: Just G, A, Y, B, O, U, N, C, E? No ‘do-it’ word?”
“Check.”
“Good. I won’t use it unless forced to. This may be that ‘first contact’ the world has been expecting.”
“Cap’n Zebbie, why would aliens disguise themselves when they outnumber us? I think they are human.”
“I hope you’re right. Copilot, should I open the door? Advice, please.”
“Captain, you can open the door anytime. But if it is open, it takes a few seconds to close it and the ship won’t lift with a door open.”
“Too right. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Boss. Where did you pick up the tarts?”
“Gay, check and report.”
“All circuits checked, all systems go, juice point seven-eight – and I’m in the mood.”
“Cast loose L-gun. Prepare to burn.”
“Done!”
“Captain,” my husband said worriedly, “are you planning to blast them?”
“I hope not. I’d rather run than fight. I’d rather stay and get help than either. But they grounded where I can burn them – using offset.”
“Captain, don’t do it!”
“Copilot, I don’t plan to. Now drop it!”
The grounded flappy bird was about two hundred meters and a few degrees left of dead ahead. Two men – they looked like men – had disembarked and headed toward us. They were dressed alike – uniforms? They seemed vaguely familiar – but all uniforms seem vaguely familiar, do they not?
They were less than a hundred meters from us. Cap’n Zebbie did something at his instrument board and suddenly their voices were inside, blastingly loud. He adjusted the setting and we could hear clearly. Zebbie said, “That’s Russian! Isn’t it, Jake?”
“Captain, I think so. A Slavic language, in any case.” Jacob added, “Do you understand it?”
“Me? Jake, I said that I can swear in Russian; I didn’t say I could speak it. I can say ‘thank you’ and ‘please’ and ‘da’ and ‘nyet’ – maybe six more. How about you?”
“I can puzzle out a paper about mathematics with the aid of a dictionary. But speak it? Understand it? No.”
I tried to remember whether or not I had ever told Zebbie that I know Russian. My husband and Deety I had not told. Well, if Zebbie knew, he would call on me. It is not something I mention as it does not fit my persona. I started it out of curiosity; I wanted to read those great Russian novelists – Dostoievsky, Tolstoy, and so forth – in the original in order to find out why they were so celebrated. Why I had never been able to read one of those classic novels all the way through? (They had cured me of sleeping pills.)
So I set out to learn Russian. Soon I was wearing earphones to bed, listening to Russian in my sleep, working with a tutor in the daytime. I never mastered a good accent; those six-consonants-in-a-row words tie knots in my tongue. But one cannot read a language easily unless one can “hear” the words. So I learned the spoken language along with the written.
(Oh, yes, those “classic novels”: Having invested so much effort I carried out my purpose: War and Peace, The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and so forth. Would you believe it? Something is gained in translation; the originals are even more depressing and soporific than translations. I’m not sure what purpose Russian fiction has, but it can’t be entertainment.)
I decided to wait. I was not eager to be interpreter and it would not be necessary if it turned out that Zebbie or Jacob had a language in common with our visitors – and I rationalized my decision by telling myself that it might turn out to be an advantage if the strangers thought that no one of us understood Russian.
(At that point I realized that I had been thinking in Russian. It’s a wonderful language for paranoid thoughts.)
When Zebbie switched on the outside mikes, the older was telling the Younger: ” – not let Fyodor Ivanovitch get wind of such thoughts, Yevgeny. He does not believe that (no good? stupid?) Britishers can excel us in anything. So don’t refer to that curious craft as ‘advanced engineering.’ A ‘weird assemblage of poorly organized experiments’ would be better.”
“I will remember. Shall I loosen my holster and take off the safety? To guard you, sir?”
The older man laughed. “You haven’t dealt with the damned British as long as I have. Never let them suspect that you are even mildly nervous. And always be sure to insult him first. Bear in mind that the lowliest serf in Ykraina is better than their so-called King-Emperor. That serf -“when Zebbie interrupted: “Arrêtez-là!”
The younger hesitated but the older never broke stride. Instead he answered in French: “You are telling me to halt, you British swine? An officer of the Tsar on Russian soil! I spit on your mother. And your father if your mother can remember who he was. Why are you speaking French, you soiled British spy? You fool no one. Speak Russian – or, if you are uncultured, speak English.”
Zebbie thumbed a button. “What about it, Jake? Switch to English when he’s so hipped on the subject of Englishmen? Or bull it through in French? My accent is better than his.”
“Maybe you can get away with it, Captain. I can’t.”
Zebbie nodded and opened the mike, spoke in English: “We are not British, not spies. We are American tourists and -“
“‘American’? What nonsense is this?” (He had shifted to English.) “A British colonial is still British – and a spy.”
My husband reached over, shut off the microphone. “Captain, I advise lifting. He won’t listen to reason.”
“Copilot, not till I must. We don’t even have enough water. I must try to parley.” Zebbie thumbed the switch. “I am not a British colonial. I am Zeb Carter of California, a citizen of the United States of America; I have my passport. If we have trespassed, we regret it and apologize.”
“Spy, that is the most bold-faced bluff I have ever heard. There is no such country as the United States of America. I am placing you under arrest. In the name of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar of All the Russias, by authority delegated to me by His Viceroy for New Russia Grand Duke Fyodor Ivanovitch Romanov, I arrest you and your party for the crime of espionage. Open up!”
By now they had reached Gay Deceiver and were at the portside door.
Zebbie answered, “You haven’t told me your name, much less identified yourself as a Russian officer. Or shown any authority over what is clearly unoccupied land.”
“What? Preposterous! I am Colonel the Count Morinosky of Novy Kiev, of the Viceroy’s Imperial Guard. As for my authority, look at the sky around you!” The self-proclaimed colonel drew his pistol, reversed it, and used the butt to pound on the door. “‘Open up!’ I said.”
Zebbie has good temper and calm judgment. Both are likely to slip if anyone abuses Gay Deceiver.
He said softly, “Colonel, your craft on the ground ahead – is there anyone in it?”
“Eh? Of course not. It’s a two-seater, as anyone can see. My private scoutabout. Never mind that. Keep quiet and open up.”
Zebbie again switched off his microphone. “Gay Deceiver, at command ‘Execute’ burn one tenth of a second at point of aim, intensity four.”
“Gotcha, Boss.”
“Colonel, how can you take four prisoners in a two-seater?”
“Simple. You and I will ride in your vehicle. The other members of your party will be hostage for your good behavior and will ride where assigned. You won’t see which craft lest you get foolish ideas. My pilot will fly my craft.”
“Execute.”
The grounded ornithopter began to burn fiercely – but the colonel did not see it. We saw it – but he was looking at Zebbie. Zebbie said, “Colonel, please stand clear of the door so that I can open it.”
“Oh. Very well.”
“Colonel! Look!” The younger officer, in stepping back, caught sight of the fire – and I have rarely heard such anguish.
Or, an instant later in the colonel’s face, such astonishment switching to rage. He attempted to shoot Zebbie – with his hand still gripping the barrel of his pistol. In a moment he realized what he was doing and flipped it to catch it by the grip.
I never saw whether or not he made the catch; Cap’n Zebbie commanded, “Gay Bounce!” and the scene blacked out while the colonel’s hand was open for the catch.
Zebbie was saying, “Jake, I lost my temper. I should not have done it; it ruined our last chance to deal with those Russians. But I hope it taught the ruddy snarf not to go around hammering dents into other people’s cars.”
“Captain, you did not ruin our ‘last chance’; we never had one. You ran into classic Russian xenophobia. The Commies didn’t invent that attitude; it goes back at least a thousand years. Read your history.” Jacob added, “I’m not sorry you burned his kite. I wish he had to walk home. Regrettably one of his craft will pick him up.”
“Jake, if I could afford to – in juice, in time – I would go back and keep him from being picked up. Harry them, not let them land. I won’t. Hmm – Shall we fall a bit farther and see what they are doing? Before we get on with our interrupted schedule?”
“Uh… Captain, may I have a Bonine pill?”
I squealed, “Me, too!”
“Deety, take care of ’em. I’ll put her in dive and we’ll look.”
“Captain, why not use the B, U, G, program?”
“Deety, somebody might be on that spot. Wups! I’m biting air.” Cap’n Zebbie leaned us over, placed Barsoom – I mean “Mars” – Mars-10 or whatever-dead ahead. “Should spot flappy birds in few minutes. Jake, how about binoculars?”
Zebbie didn’t want them himself while piloting. We passed them around and I spotted an ornithopter, then two more, and passed the glasses to Deety.
“Zebadiah, there is no one where we were parked.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yessir. The colonel’s scoutabout is stifl burning; there are people near it, nowhere else. That’s why I’m certain there is no one where we were. B, U, G, O, U, T is safe.”
Zebbie was slow to answer. “How about it, folks? It would be an unnecessary risk. Just one squawk and I’ll skip it.”
I kept quiet and hoped the others would, too. I don’t worry; I’m going to live as long as Atropos permits – meanwhile I intend to enjoy every minute. Zebbie waited, then said, “Here we go. Gay – Bug Out!”

Chapter XX

  • right theory, wrong universe.

Zeb:
Deety is going to force me to look like a hero because I don’t have the guts to let her down. I thought my copilot would veto going back to the scene of the crime; Jake is level-headed about safety precautions. I didn’t count on Sharpie; she’s unpredictable. But I thought Jake would object.
He didn’t. I waited until I was certain that no one was going to get me off the spot… then waited some more… then said sadly, “Here we go,” and told Gay to “BUG OUT!”
I expected to be a mushroom cloud. Instead we were parked where we had been and the colonel’s craft was burning briskly. (Someday I am going to run that experiment: a transition to attempt to cause two masses to occupy the same space. But I won’t be part of the experiment. The Bug-Out program scared me, and I liked the Take-Us-Home program a lot better after we made it two klicks H-above-G instead of parked. Could the Bug-Out program be modified so that Gay sneaked up on her target, checked it by radar, before accepting it? Take it up with Deety, Zeb – stick to what you know!)
The Russians appeared to be slow to notice our return. One ornithopter had grounded not far from the fire; there were several bystanders. I could not see whether or not my erstwhile arresting officer, Colonel Somethingsky, was in the group. I assumed that he was.
Then I was sure: A figure broke loose and headed toward us, waving a pistol. I said briskly, “Shipmates, is there any reason to hang around?”
I waited a short beat. “Hearing no objection – Gay Bounce!”
That black sky looked good. I wondered how Bumpsky was going to explain to the Grand Duke. Brass Hats are notoriously reluctant to believe unlikely stories.
“Did I bounce too quickly? Have you all seen what you wanted to see?”
Only Deety answered. “I was checking that program. I think I see a way to avoid two masses conflicting.”
“Keep talking.”
“Gay could sneak up on the target, inspect it by radar, accept it and ground, or refuse it and bounce – with no loss of time and with the same execute code. That spot could be knee-deep in Russians and Gay would simply whoosh us to where we are now.”
(I said to leave it to Deety. You heard me.) “Good idea. Do it. Can’t have too many fail-safes.”
“I’ll reprogram when we stop.”
“Correction. I want that fail-safe programmed now. I might need your revised program any moment.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“‘Captain darling,’ if you please. If you must call me ‘Captain.’ Then review all preprograms and debug them, if necessary, with analogous fail-safes. And any new ones in the future. Now – Just put her into glide, headed west, and transit three minima?”
“Or more. Or less. I thought that a spot check every thirty kilometers would be about right for a rapid survey.”
“What altitude will we wind up? Assuming I simply aim her at the horizon and transit tangent to the curve.”
“Oh. What altitude do you want, Captain – Captain darling? A tangent does little in three minima, just a touch over a hundred meters. Is ten kilometers about right?”
“Ten klicks is fine. I could aim at the horizon, make transition, then at once give the B, O, U, N, C, E order.”
“So you could, Zebadiah, but if you will use the horizon as reference and aim eighteen and a half degrees above it – Will your gunsight depress that far?”
“No, but I’ll tell Gay. No problem.”
“Three minima on that upward slant will place you ten klicks H-above-G and a couple of klicks short of three minima on the curve.”
“Plus my present altitude.”
“No, no! Visualize the triangle, Zebadiah. It makes no real difference whether you do this from ten klicks H-above-G, or parked on the ground. Do you want exact figures?”
“You visualize triangles, Deety; that’s your department. I’ve got air bite now; I’m going to head west; I want to see where those ornithopters came from. Meantime work out that new fail-safe.” Did it really make no difference whether I started from ten thousand meters or right on deck? Didn’t I have to add in – No, of course not … but one way was sine and the other way was tan. But which one? Hell, it didn’t matter; Deety was right. She always is, on figures – but someday I’m going to work it carefully, on paper, with diagrams and tables. “Copilot.”
“Captain.”
“L axis, transit, three minima.”
“Transition, L axis, thirty kilometers – set!”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m not at home but you may record a message.”
“Change attitude to climb eighteen point five degrees and report.”
“Roger Wilco. Climbing. Ten. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. Eighteen. Mark!”
“Execute!”
We were somewhere else with black sky. “Gay, vertical dive. Execute.”
“No trouble, Clyde; enjoy the ride.”
“Zebadiah, may I talk with Gay while you look over the terrain? To reprogram that fail-safe.”
“Sure, go ahead. Jake, want to scan with binox while I eyeball it? I’ll warn before transition.”
“Zebadiah, I could give her a scouting program, automatic. Skip the vernliers, skip the climb order; just an ‘execute’ code word. Place her on course… or I could include course.”
“I’ll head her manually; the rest is swell – after that fail-safe. What’s the code word?”
“‘Scout’?”
“Good. Include the ‘execute’ idea in the code word. Deety, I’ve decided that I love you for your brain. Not those irrelevant physical attributes.”
“Zebadiah, once I’ve had a bath you may change your mind. I’ve had a sudden attack of brain fever. You had better program her yourself.”
“Mutiny again. I retract and apologize. You smell yummy and should marinate another week. It’s not your cortex or your character I love but your carcass – delectable! If it weren’t for these seat belts, it would be rape, rape, rape, all the way to the ground. Actually you’re sort o’ stupid-but what a chassis!”
“That’s better. Although I’m not stupid.”
“You married me. Res ipsa loquitur! Jake, are you spotting anything?”
“Dry hills, Captain. Might as well move on.”
“Zebadiah, will you place her in glide and hold a few minutes?”
“Sure. See something you want to check?”
“No, sir, But when we emerged here, we had seventy-three seconds to impact. We’ve used twenty-one seconds. I’d like a few moments to insert those preprograms.”
I overrode manually and started Gay into a stretched glide while I extended her wings. Then I let Deety and Gay talk to each other. Deety had both changes fully worked out; not once did Gay answer, “Null program.”
I was about to warn Deety that Gay was not a sailplane when she reported, “All done, Captain. For the ‘S’ program I added in an alarm for two klicks H-above-G.”
“Good idea. So now I head west again and give her that ‘S’ code word – no ‘Execute’?”
“Yessir. ‘Cept I’d like to try the revised B, U, G, O, U, T program. It has been less than four minutes since we left. Someone may be in that exact spot.”
“Deety, I share your curiosity. But it’s like testing a parachute the hard way. Can’t we save it until we need it? Then, if there is a glitch, we’ll be dead so fast we’ll hardly notice it.”
Deety said nothing. I waited, then said, “Comment, please.”
“No comment, Captain.” Deety’s answer was toneless. “Hmm – Science Officer… comment, please.”
“I have no comment to offer, Captain.” (A slight chill?)
“Copilot, I require your advice.”
“Uh, if the Captain please. Am I privileged to ask for written orders?”
“Well, I’ll be dipped in – Gay Bounce! Is there such a thing as a ‘space lawyer’? Like ‘sea lawyer’? Jake, in general, anyone, save in the face of the enemy, may demand written orders… if he’ll risk his career to ‘perpetuate evidence for the court-martial he knows will follow. Did it myself once and saved my neck and cost my temporary boss fifty numbers – and I wound up senior to him and he resigned.
“But a second-in-command is in a special position; it is his duty to advise his C.O., even if the C.O. doesn’t ask for advice. So I don’t see how you can demand written orders on a point already one of your duties. But I won’t make an issue of it. I’ll direct the Astrogator to log your request, then I can dictate my reply into the log. Then I am going to ground this go-buggy and turn command over to you. Maybe you’ll have more luck chairing this debating society than I have had. I wish you luck – you’ll need it!”
“But, Captain, I did not ask for written orders.”
“Eh?” I thought back. He hadn’t, quite. “It sounded as if you were about to.”
“I was stalling. I must advise you to follow the prudent course. Unofficially, I prefer to risk the test. But I should not have stalled. I’m sorry that my intransigence caused you to consider relinquishing command.”
“I didn’t just consider it; I have. Resignation effective the first time we ground. You’ve bought it, Jake.”
“Captain -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“You are correct; the test I suggested is useless, and could be fatal. I should not have asked for it. I’m sorry… sir.”
“Me, too! I felt you were being too strict with Deety. But you weren’t; you were taking care of us, as you always do, Zebbie. Captain Zebbie. Of course you shouldn’t make a risky test we don’t need.”
I said, “Anyone anything to add?” No one spoke up, so I added, “I’m heading west,” and did so. “Gay Deceiver – Bug Out!”
Black sky above us; that “dead sea bottom” far below… I remarked, “Looks as if a Russian, or one of their flappy craft, is in our parking spot. Deety, your revised program worked perfectly.”
“But, Zebadiah – why did you risk it?” She sounded terribly distressed.
“Because all of you wanted to, despite what you said later. Because it’s my last chance to make such a decision.” I added, “Jake, I’m going to tilt her over. Grab the binox and see if you can identify where we were parked. If that fire is smoking, you can use it for reference.”
“But, Captain, I’m not taking command. I won’t accept it.”
“Pipe down and carry out your orders! It’s this damned yack-yack and endless argument that’s giving me ulcers. If you won’t accept command, then it’s up for grabs. But not me! Oh, I’ll pilot as the new C.O. orders. But I won’t command. Deety, how long did Gay pause to make that radar check? At what height?”
“H-above-G was half a klick. Duration I don’t know but I can retrieve it. Darling – Captain! You’re not really going to quit commanding us?”
“Deety, I don’t make threats. Pipe down and retrieve that duration. Jake, what do you see?”
“I’ve located the fire. Several ornithopters are on the ground. My guess places one of them about where we were parked. Captain, I advise not dropping lower.”
“Advice noted. Deety, how about that duration?” I didn’t know how to ask for it myself, not having written the program.
Deety retrieved it smoothly: 0.071 seconds – call it a fifteenth of a second. Radar is not instantaneous; Gay had to stop and sweep that spot long enough for a “picture” to form in her gizzards, to tell her whether or not she could park there. A fifteenth of a second is loads of time for the human eye. I hoped that Colonel Frimpsky had been watching when Gay popped up and blinked out.
“Five klicks H-above-G, Captain.”
“Thanks, Jake.” The board showed dive rate – straight down! – of over seven hundred kilometers per hour, and increasing so fast that the units figure was an unreadable blur, and the tens place next to it was blinking one higher almost by the second.
Most carefully I eased her out of dive, and gently, slowly opened her wings part way for more lift as she slowed, while making a wide clockwise sweep to the east – slowed her dive, that is, not her speed through the air. When I had completed that sweep, and straightened out headed for that column of smoke on course west, I was making over eight hundred kilometers per hour in unpowered glide and still had almost a klick H-above-G I could turn into greater speed.
Not that I needed it – I had satisfied myself by eye of what I had been certain of by theory: an ornithopter is slow.
Jake said worriedly, “May I ask the Captain his plans?”
“I’m going to give Colonel Pistolsky something to remember us by! Gay Deceiver.”
“Still aboard, Boss.”
I kept my eye on the flappy birds still in the air while I let Gay fly herself. Those silly contraptions could not catch us but there was always a chance that a pilot might dodge the wrong way.
Most of them seemed anxious to be elsewhere: they were lumbering aside right and left. I looked at the smoke – dead ahead – and saw what I had not noticed before: an ornithopter beyond the smoke.
Jake gasped but said nothing. We were on collision course closing at about 900 kms/hr, most of it ours. Suicide pilot? Idiot? Panicked and frozen?
I let him get within one klick of us, which brought us almost to the smoke and near the deck, about 200 meters H-above-G-and I yelped, “Scout!”
Yes, Deety is a careful programmer; the sky was black, we were ten klicks H-above-G, and so far as I could tell, the same barren hills under us that we had left five minutes earlier – and I was feeling cocky. My sole regret was that I would not hear Colonel Snarfsky try to explain to the Grand Duke the “ghost” craft now used by “British spies.”
Did Russian nobility practice “honorable hara-kiri”? Perhaps the loaded-pistol symbol? You know that one: The officer in disgrace returns to his quarters and finds that someone has thoughtfully loaded his pistol and placed it on his desk… thereby saving the regiment the scandal of a court.
I didn’t want the bliffy dead but busted to buck private. With time to reflect on politeness and international protocol while he cleaned stables.
I checked our heading, found that we were still pointed west. “Gay Deceiver, Scout!”
Black sky again, the same depressing landscape – “Copilot, is it worthwhile to tilt down for a better look? That either takes juice – not much but some – or it takes time to drop far enough to bite air and do it with elevons. We can’t afford to waste either time or juice.”
“Captain, I don’t think this area is worth scouting.”
“Careful of that participle; better say ‘exploring.'”
“Captain, may I say something?”
“Deety, if you are speaking as Astrogator, you not only may but must.”
“I could reprogram to put us lower if I knew what altitude was just high enough to let you use elevons. Conserve both time and juice, I mean.”
“It seems to be about eight klicks H-above-G, usually. Hard to say since we don’t have a sea-level.”
“Shall I change angle to arrive at eight klicks H-above-G?”
“How long does it take us to fall two klicks when we arrive?”
She barely hesitated. “Thirty-two and a half seconds.”
“Only half a minute? Seems longer.”
“Three-two point six seconds, Captain, if this planet has the same surface gravity as Mars in our own universe – three-seven-six centimeters per second squared. I’ve been using it and haven’t run into discrepancies. But I don’t see how this planet holds so much atmosphere when Mars – our Mars – has so little.”
“This universe may not have the same laws as ours. Ask your father. He’s in charge of universes.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I revise the program?”
“Deety, never monkey with a system that is working well enough – First Corollary of Murphy’s Law. If it is an area as unattractive as this, we’ll simply get out. If it has possibilities, half a minute isn’t too long to wait, and the additional height will give us a better idea of the whole area. Gay Deceiver, Scout!”
We all gasped. Thirty kilometers and those barren hills were gone; the ground was green and fairly level – and a river was in sight. Or a canal.
“Oh, boy! Copilot, don’t let me waste juice – be firm with me. Deety, count seconds. Everybody eyeball his sector, report anything interesting.”
Deety started chanting “… thirteen… . fourteen… . fifteen – ” and each second felt like ten. I took my hands off the controls to keep from temptation. That was either a canal or a stream that had been straightened, revetted, and maintained for years, maybe eons. Professor Lowell had been right – right theory, wrong universe.
“Deety, how far is the horizon?”
” – seventeen – about two hundred fifty klicks – twenty -“
I placed my hands gently on the controls. “Hon, that’s the first time you’ve ever used the word ‘about’ with reference to a number.”
” – twenty-four – insufficient data! – twenty-six -“
“You can stop counting; I felt a quiver.” I put a soft nose-down pressure on the elevons and decided to leave her wings spread; we might want to stretch this one. “Insufficient data?”
“Zebadiah, it was changing steadily and you had me counting seconds. Horizon distance at ten klicks height above ground should be within one percent of two hundred and seventy kilometers. That assumes that this planet is a perfect sphere and that it is exactly like Mars in our universe – neither is true. It ignores refraction effects, tricky even at home – and unknown to me here. I treated it as geometry, length of tangent for an angle of four degrees thirty-seven minutes.”
“Four and half degrees? Where in the world did you get that figure?”
“Oh! Sorry, dear, I skipped about six steps. On Earth one nautical mile is one minute of arc – check?”
“Yes. Subject to minor reservations. With a sextant, or in dead reckoning, or on a chart, a mile is a minute, a minute is a mile. Makes it simple. Otherwise we would be saying a minute is one thousand eight hundred fifty-three meters and the arithmetic would get hairy.”
“One-eight-five-three point one-eight-seven-seven-oh-five plus,” she corrected me. “Very hairy. Best not convert to MKS until the last step. But, Zebadiah, there is a simpler relation here. One minute of arc equals one kilometer, near enough not to matter. So I treated H-above-G, ten klicks, as a versine, applied the haversine rule and got four degrees thirty-seven minutes or two hundred seventy-seven kilometers to the theoretical horizon. You see?”
“I see everything but how you hide haversine tables in a jump suit. Me, I hide ’em in Gay… and make her do the work.” Yes, I could nose her over now – easy does it, boy.
“Well, I didn’t, exactly. I calculated it, but I did it the easy way: Naperian logarithms and angles in radians, then converted back to degrees to show the relationship to kilometers on the ground.”
“That’s ‘the easy way’?”
“It is for me, sir!”
“If you’re quivering your chin, stop it. I told you it was your luscious body, not your brain. Most idiots-savants are homely and can’t do anything but their one trick. But you’re an adequate cook, as well.”
That got me a stony silence. I kept easing her nose down. “Time for binox, Jake.”
“Aye aye, sir. Captain, I am required to advise you. With that last remark to the Astrogator you risked your life.”
“Are you implying that Deety is an inadequate cook? Why, Jake!”
Hilda interrupted. “She’s a gourmet cook!”
“I know she is, Sharpie… but I don’t like to say it where Gay can hear – Gay can’t cook. Nor has she Deety’s other talent which ’tis death to hide. Jake, that’s a settlement below.”
“Of sorts. A one-church village.”
“Do you see ornithopters? Anything that could give us trouble?”
“Depends. Are you interested in church architecture?”
“Jake, this is no time for a cultural chat.”
“I’m required to advise you, sir, This church has towers, something like minarets topped off with onion-shaped structures.”
“Russian Orthodox!”
Hilda said that. I said nothing. I eased Gay’s nose up to level flight, lined her up with what I thought was downstream, and snapped, “Gay, Scout!”
The canal was still in sight, almost under us and stretching over the horizon. I was almost lined up with it. Gay, Scout!
“Anybody see that settlement that was almost ahead before this last transition? Report.”
“Captain Zebbie, it’s much closer now but on this side.”
“I see. Or don’t. Jake isn’t transparent.”
“Captain, the city – quite large – is about a forty-five-degree slant down to starboard, not in sight from your seat.”
“If forty-five degrees is a close guess, a minimum transition on that bearing should place us over the city.”
“Captain, I advise against it,” Jake told me.
“Reasons, please.”
“This is a large city that might be well defended. Their ornithopters look odd and ineffective but we must assume they have spaceships as good or better than ours or the Tsar could not have a colony here. This causes me to suspect that they may have smart missiles. Or weapons utterly strange. I would rather check for onion towers from a distance. And not stay long in one place – I think we’ve been here too long. I’m jumpy.”
“I’m not” – my sixth sense was not jabbing me – “but set verniers for a minimum transition along L axis, then execute at will. No need to be a slow fat target.”
“One minimum, L axis – set!”
Suddenly my guardian angel goosed me. “Execute!”
I noticed the transition principally because Gay was now live under my hand – air bite. Perhaps she had not been quite level. I turned her nose down to gather maneuvering speed unpowered, then did a skew turn – and yelped, “Gay Bounce!” having seen all that I wanted to see: an expanding cloud. Atomic? I think not. Lethal? You test it; I’m satisfied.
I told Gay to bounce three more times, placing us a bit less than fifty klicks above ground. Then I spent a trifle of power to nose her over. “Jake, use the binox to see how far this valley runs, whether it is all cultivated, whether it has more settlements. We are not going to get close enough to look for onion spires; that last shot was unfriendly. Rude. Impetuous. Or am I prejudiced? Science Officer? Le mot juste, s’il vous plait.”
“Nye kultoorni.”
“I remember that one! Makes Russians turn green. What does it mean? How did you happen to know it, Sharpie?”
“Means what it sounds like: ‘uncultured.’ I didn’t just ‘happen,’ Cap’n Zebbie; I know Russian.”
I was flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Sharpie, if you handled the negotiations, we might not have had trouble.”
“Zebbie, if you’ll believe that, you’ll believe anything. He was calling you a spy and insulting you while the palaver was still in French. I thought it might be advantageous if they thought none of us knew Russian. They might spill something.”
“Did they?”
“No. The colonel was coaching his pilot in how to be arrogant. Then you told them to halt, in French, and no more Russian was spoken save for meaningless side remarks. Zebbie, when they tried to shoot us down just now, would they have refrained had they known that I had studied Russian?”
“Mmm – Sharpie, I should know better than to argue with you. I’m going to vote for you for captain.”
“Oh, No!”
“Oh, Yes. Copilot, I’m going to assume that everything this side of the hills and involved with this watercourse – courses – twin canals – is New Russia and that honorary Englishmen – us! – aren’t safe here. So I’m going to look for the British colony. It may turn out that they won’t like us, either. But the British are strong on protocol; we’ll have a chance to speak our piece. They may hang us but they’ll give us a trial, with wigs and robes and rules of evidence and counsel who will fight for us.” I hesitated. “One hitch. Colonel Snotsky said there was no such country as the United States of America and I had the impression that he believed it.”
Sharpie said, “He did believe it, Cap’n Zebbie. I caught some side chatter. I think we must assume that, in this universe, there was no American Revolution.”
“So I concluded. Should we all be from the East Coast? I have a hunch that the West Coast may be part Russian, part Spanish – but not British. Where are we from? Baltimore, maybe? Philadelphia? Suggestions?”
Sharpie said, “I have a suggestion, Cap’n Zebbie.”
“Science Officer, I like your suggestions.”
“You won’t like this one. When all else fails, tell the truth.”

Chapter XXI

  • three seconds is a long time –

Deety:
Zebadiah is convinced that I can program anything. Usually I can, given a large and flexible computer – but my husband expects me to manage it with Gay Deceiver and Gay is not big. She started life as an autopilot and is one, mostly.
But Gay is sweet-tempered and we both want to please him.
While he and my father were looking over the area that we thought of as “Russian Valley” or “New Russia,” he asked me to work up a program to locate the British colony in minimum time, if it were in daylight. If not, then we would sleep near the sunrise line, and find it on the new daylight side.
I thought of bouncing out about a thousand kilometers and searching for probable areas by color. Then I realized that I didn’t know that much about this planet. “Dead sea bottoms” from space looked like farm land.
At last I recalled something Zebadiah had suggested yesterday – no, today! less than two hours ago. (So much had happened that my sense of time played tricks. It was still accurate – but I had to think instead of just knowing.)
Random numbers – Gay had plenty of them. Random numbers are to a computer what free will is to a human being.
I defined a locus for Gay: nothing east of where we were, nothing in “Russian Valley,” nothing on the dark side, nothing north of 45°, nothing south of 45° south. Yesterday I could not have told her the latter; but Mars has a good spin, one a gyrocompass can read. While we slept, Gay had noted that her gyrocompass did not have its axis parallel to that of this strange planet and had precessed it until it did.
Inside that locus I told Gay to take a Drunkard’s Walk, any jumps that suited her, a three-second pause at each vertex, and, if one of us yelled “Bingo!” display latitude, longitude, and Greenwich, and log all three, so we could find it again.
Oh, yes – she was to pause that three seconds exactly one minimum H-above-G at each vertex.
I told her to run the program for one hour … but that any of us could yell “Stop!” and then say “Continue” and that would be time-out, not part of the hour. But I warned my shipmates that yelling “Stop!” not only slowed things but also gave Russians (or British or anybody) a chance to shoot at us. I emphasized that three seconds is a long time (most people don’t know it).
One hour –
Three seconds for each check –
Twelve hundred random spot checks – This is not a “space-filling” curve. But it should locate where the British were most thickly settled. If one hour did not do it, ten hours certainly would.
Without Gay, without her ability to do a Drunkard’s Walk, we could have searched that planet for a lifetime, and never found either colony. It took the entire human race (of our universe) thirty centuries to search Terra… and many spots were missing until they could be photographed from space.
My husband said, “Let’s get this straight.” He bounced us four minima. “These subprograms – Gay, are you listening?”
“Of course. Are you?”
“Gay, go to sleep.”
“Roger and out, Boss.”
“Deety, I want to make sure of these subprograms but couldn’t use code words while she was awake. I -“
“Excuse me, Zebadiah, but you can. She will ignore code words for subprograms except while the general program is running. The code for the general program is unusual and requires the execution command, so it can’t be started by accident. You can wake Gay. We need her on some points.”
“You’re a smart girl, Deety.”
“I’ll bet you tell that to all adequate cooks, Boss.”
“Ouch!”
“Captain, it is not difficult to program a computer to supervise cooking machines. The software sold under the trademark ‘Cordon Bicu’ is reputed to be excellent. Before you wake Gay, would you answer a hypothetical question concerning computers and cooking?”
“Captain!”
“Copilot?”
“I advise against permitting the Astrogator to discuss side issues – such as cooking – while we have this problem facing us.”
“Thank you, Copilot. Astrogator, what was your hypothetical question?”
Pop had been careful not to interfere between Zebadiah and me, But his advice from copilot to captain was intended for my ears – he was telling me to shut up, and I suddenly heard Jane saying, “Deety, anytime a wife thinks she has won an argument, she has lost it.”
I’m not Jane, I’m Deety. I get my temper from my father. I’m not as quick to flare up as he is, but I do have his tendency to nurse a grievance. Zebadiah is sometimes a tease and knows how to get my goat.
But Pop was telling me: “Drop it, Deety!”
Maybe Zebadiah was right – too much argument, too much discussion, too much “sewing circle & debating society.” We were all intensely interested as we were all in the same peril… but how much tougher is it to be captain rather than one of the crew? Twice? Ten times?
I didn’t know, Was my husband cracking under the pressure? “Getting ulcers”?
Was I adding to his burden?
I didn’t have to stop to think this through; it was preprogrammed below the conscious level; Pop pushed the “execute” button and the answers spilled out. I answered my husband at once,
“What hypocritical question, sir?”
“You said, ‘hypothetical.’ Something about computers and cooking.”
“Captain, my mind has gone blank. Perhaps we had better get on with the job before I forget how it works.”
“Deety, you wouldn’t fib to your pool’ old broken-down husband?”
“Sir, when my husband is poor and old and broken-down, I will not fib to him.”
“Hmm – If I hadn’t already promised my support to Hilda, I would vote for you for captain.”
Aunt Hilda cut in: “Zebbie, I release you! I’m not a candidate.”
“No, Sharpie, once having promised political support an honorable man never welches. So it’s all right for Gay to listen in?”
“Certainly, sir. For display I must have her. Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety.”
“Display dayside, globe.” At once Gay’s largest screen showed the western hemisphere of Earth, our Earth in our universe – Terra. Early afternoon at Snug Harbor? Yes, the clock in my head said so and GMT on the instrument board read 20:23:07. Good heavens, it had been only twenty hours since my husband and my father had killed the fake “ranger.” How can a lifetime be crowded into less than a day? Despite the clock in my head it seemed years since I had walked down to our pool, a touch tiddly and hanging onto my bridegroom for support.
“Display meridians parallels. Subtract geographical features,” Gay did so. “From program coded ‘A Tramp Abroad’ display locus.”
Gay used orthographic projection, so the 45th parallels were straight lines. Since I had told her to display dayside, these two bright lines ran to the left edge of the display, that being the sunrise line. But the right edge of the locus was an irregular line running southwest. “Add display Russian Valley.”
To the right of the locus and touching it, Gay displayed as solid brightness a very long and quite wide blotch. “Subtract Russian Valley.” The area we had sketchily explored disappeared.
“Deety,” my husband asked, “how is Gay doing this? Her perms have no reference points for Mars – not even Mars of our own universe.”
“Oh. Gay, display ‘Touchdown.'”
“Null program.”
“Mmm, yes, that’s right; the Sun has just set where we were parked. Zebadiah, shall I have her rotate the globe enough to show it? All she would show would be a bright spot almost on the equator. I have defined the spot where we grounded as zero meridian – Greenwich for Mars. This Mars.”
“And zero parallel? An arbitrary equator?”
“Oh, no, no! While we slept Gay adjusted her gyrocompass to match this planet. Which gave her true north and latitude. She already knows the radius and curvature of Mars – I started to tell her and found she had retrieved it from her perms. Aerospace Almanac?”
“I suppose so. But we discussed Mars’ diameter last night while Gay was awake. Both you and Hilda knew it; Jake and I did not.”
As I remembered it, Aunt Hilda spoke up – then Pop kept quiet. If Pop wanted to sit back and be proud of Aunt Hilda’s encyclopedic memory that was all right with me. If my husband has a flaw, it is that he has trouble believing that females have brains… probably because he is so intensely interested in the other end. I went on with my lecture:
“Once I start Gay, she will say and record nothing unless ordered. She will make random transitions inside that locus until someone yells ‘Bingo!’ She won’t slow down even then. She will place a bright point on the map at that latitude and longitude, record both latitude and longitude, and the exact time. She will display the Bingo time, too, for one second. If you want to retrieve that Bingo, you had better jot down that time – to the second. Because she’ll be doing twenty jumps each minute. Don’t worry about the hour, just the minute and the second. Oh, you could still retrieve it if you had the minute right, as I can ask her to run through all Bingoes in a given minute. Can’t be more than twenty and your Bingo might be the only one.
“When we’ve done one hour of this, that map could, at most, have twelve hundred dots on it – but may have only a few – or none. If they are clustered, I’ll reduce the locus and we’ll run it again. If not, we can sleep and eat and do it for the other day side, the one twelve hours away. Either way, Gay will find the British – and we’ll be safe.”
“I hope you’re right. Ever heard of the Opium Wars, Deety?”
“Yes, Captain. Sir, every nation is capable of atrocities, including our own. But the British have a tradition of decent behavior no matter what blemishes there are.”
“Sorry. Why a one-hour program?”
“We may have to shorten it. A decision every three seconds for sixty minutes may be too tiring. If we start showing a marked hot spot sooner than that, we can shorten the first run and reduce the locus. We’ll have to try it and see. But I feel certain that a one-hour run, a short rest, then another one-hour run, will locate the British if they are now on the day side.”
“Deety, what do you define as ‘Bingo’?”
“Anything that suggests human settlement. Buildings. Roads. Cultivated fields. Walls, fences, dams, aircraft, vehicles – But it is not ‘Bingo’just because it looks interesting. Although it might be ‘Stop!”
“What’s the difference?”
“‘Stop’ does not tell Gay to record or to display. For that you must add ‘Bingo.’ ‘Stop’ is for anything you want to look at more than three seconds. Maybe it looks promising and a few seconds more will let you decide. But please, everyone! There should not be more than a dozen calls for ‘Stop!’ in the hour. Any more questions?”
We started. Hilda gave the first Bingo. I saw it, too – farm buildings. Aunt Hilda is faster than I. I almost broke my own injunction; I had to bite down on “Stop!” The temptation to take a longer look was almost overpowering.
All of us made mistakes – but none serious. Hilda racked up the most Bingoes and Zebadiah the fewest – but I’m fairly certain that my husband was “cheating” by waiting to give Pop or me first crack at it. (He would not be competing with Aunt Hilda; port-forward and starboard-after seats have little overlapping coverage.)
I thought it would be tedious; instead it was exciting – but dreadfully tiring. Slowly, less than one a minute, bright dots appeared on the display. I saw with disappointment that most Bingoes were clustered adjacent to the irregular margin marking Russian territory. It seemed probable that these marked Russian territory, so very probable that it hardly seemed worthwhile to check for onion spires.
Once my husband called “Stop” and then “Bingo” at a point north and far west, at least fifteen hundred kilometers from the nearest Bingo light. I noted the time – Greenwich 21:16:51 – then tried to figure out why Zebadiah had stopped us. It was pretty country, green hills and lightly wooded and I spotted a wild stream, not a canal. But I saw no buildings or anything suggesting settlement.
Zebadiah wrote something on his knee pad, then said, “Continue.” I was itching to ask why he had stopped, but when a decision must be made every three seconds there is no time to chat.
When the hour was nearly up, a single Bingo light in the far west that had been shining since the first five minutes was joined by another when Hilda scored another Bingo and two minutes later Pop said “Bingo!” and we had an equilateral triangle twenty kilometers on a side. I noted the time most carefully – then told myself not to be disappointed if inspection showed onion towers; we still had a hemisphere to go.
I decided to believe in that British colony the way one has to believe hard in fairies to save Tinker Bell’s life. If there were no British colony, we might have to risk Earth-without-a-J. Gay Deceiver was a lovely car but as a spaceship she had shortcomings. No plumbing. Air for about four hours and no way to recycle. No plumbing. Limited food storage. No plumbing. No comfortable way to sleep in her. No plumbing.
But she had talents no other spaceship had. Her shortcomings (according to my father and husband) could be corrected at any modern machine shop. But in the meantime we did not have even an outhouse behind the barn.
At last Gay stopped, continued to display, and announced, “One hour of ‘A Tramp Abroad’ completed. Instructions, please.”
“Gay, Bounce,” said Zebadiah. “Deety, I don’t think we’ve nailed down the piece The Sun Never Sets On. But this dense cluster here to the right – Too close to the Little Father’s little children. Eh?”
“Yes. Zebadiah, I should tell Gay to trim the locus on the east to eliminate the clustered lights, and now we can add almost nine hundred kilometers on the west, to the present sunrise line. Gay can rotate the display to show the added area. I suspect that one more hour will fill in the picture sufficiently.”
“Maybe even less. You were right; three seconds is not only a long time; it is excessively long. Isn’t two seconds enough? Can you change that without starting from scratch?”
“Yes to both, Captain.”
“Good. You can add thirty degrees on the west instead of fifteen. Because we are going to kill an hour – stretch our legs, eat a snack… and I for one want to find a bush. How do I tell Gay to return to a particular Bingo? Or will that mess up your program?”
“Not a bit. Tell her to return to Bingo such-and-such, stating the time.”
I was unsurprised when he said, “Gay, return to Bingo Greenwich twenty-one sixteen fifty-one.”
It was indeed a pretty stream. Zebadiah said happily, “That beats burning juice. Who sees a clearing close to that creek, big enough for Gay? Hover and squat, I mean; I don’t dare make a glide landing, dead stick – the old girl is loaded.”
“Zebbie, I’m sober as you are!”
“Don’t boast about it, Sharpie. I think I see a spot. Close your eyes; I’m going to.”
I almost wish I had.
Zebadiah came in on a long glide, everything set for maximum lift – but no power. I kept waiting for that vibration that meant that Gay was alive and roaring… and waited… and waited –
He said, “Gay – ” and I thought that he was going to tell her to turn herself on. No. We actually dropped below the level of that bank.
Then he suddenly switched on power by hand but in reverse – flipped us up on that bank; we stalled, and dropped perhaps a meter – we just barely missed that bank.
I didn’t say anything. Aunt Hilda was whispering, “Hail Mary Mother of God Om Mani Padme Hum There is No God but God and Mahomet is His Prophet – ” then some language I did not know but it sounded very sincere.
Pop said, “Son, do you always cut it that fine?”
“I saw a man do it that way when he had to; I’ve always wondered if I could. But what you didn’t know was – Gay, are you listening?”
“Sure thing, Boss. You alerted me. Where’s the riot?”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Then why am I pushing this baby carriage?”
“Gay, go to sleep.”
“Sleepy time. Roger and out, Boss.”
“Jake, what you didn’t know was that I had my cheeks puffed to say B, O, U, N, C, E, explosively. Your gadget has made Gay’s reflexes so fast that I knew I could come within a split second of disaster and she would get us out. I wasn’t cutting didoes. Look at that meter. Seventy-four percent of capacity. I don’t know how many landings I’m going to have to make on that much juice.”
“Captain, it was brilliant. Even though it almost scared it out of me.”
“Wrong honorific, Captain. I’m the pilot going off duty. We’re landed; my resignation is effective; you’re holding the sack.”
“Zeb, I told you that I would not be captain.”
“You can’t help it; you are. The second-in-command takes command when the captain dies, or goes over the hill – or quits. Jake, you can cut your throat, or desert, or go on the binnacle list, or take other actions – but you can’t say you are not captain, when you are – Captain!”
“If you can resign, I can resign!”
“Obviously. To the Astrogator, she being next in line of command.”
“Deety, I resign! Captain Deety, I mean.”
“Pop, you can’t do this to me! I’ll – I’ll – ” I shut up because I didn’t know what to do. Then I did. “I resign… Captain Hilda.”
“What? Why, that’s silly, Deety. A medical officer is not in line of command. But if ‘medical officer’ is a joke and ‘science officer,’ too, then I’m a passenger and still not in line of command.”
My husband said, “Sharpie, you have the qualifications the rest of us have. You can drive a duo -“
“Suddenly I’ve forgotten how.”
” – but that’s not necessary. Mature judgment and the support of your crew are the only requirements, as we are millions of miles and several universes from licenses and such. You have my support; I think you have it from the rest. Jake?”
“Me? Of course!”
“Deety?”
“Captain Hilda knows she has my support,” I agreed. “I was first to call her ‘Captain.'”
Aunt Hilda said, “Deety, I’ve just resigned.”
“Oh, no, you haven’t anybody to resign to!” I’m afraid I was shrill.
“I resign to the Great Spirit Manitou. Or to you, Zebbie, and it comes around in a circle and you are captain again… as you should be.”
“Oh, no, Sharpie. I’ve stood my watch; it’s somebody else’s turn. Now that you have resigned, we have no organization. If you think you’ve stuck me with it, think again. You have simply picked an unusual way to homestead on this spot. In the meantime, while nobody is in charge, I hope that you all are getting both ears and a belly full of what got me disgusted. Yack yack yack, argue, fuss, and jabber – a cross between a Hyde Park open forum and a high school debating society.”
Aunt Hilda said, in sober surprise, “Why, Zebbie, you almost sound vindictive.”
“Mrs. Burroughs, it is possible that you have hit upon the right word. I have taken a lot of guff… and quite a bit of it has been from you.”
I haven’t seen Aunt Hilda look so distressed since Mama Jane died. “I am very sorry, Zebbie. I had not realized that my conduct had displeased you so. I did not intend it so, ever. I am aware – constantly! – that you have saved our – my – life five distinct times… as well as continuously by your leadership. I’m as grateful as my nature permits – a giant amount, even though you consider me a shallow person. But one can’t show deepest gratitude every instant, just as one cannot remain in orgasm continuously; some emotions are too strong to stay always at peak.”
She sighed, and tears rolled down her face. “Zebbie, will you let me try again? I’ll quit being a Smart Aleck. It will be a hard habit to break; I’ve been one for years – my defense mechanism. But I will break it.”
“Don’t be so tragic, Hilda,” Zebadiah said gently. “You know I love you… despite your little ways.”
“Oh, I know you do! – you big ugly giant. Will you come back to us? Be our captain again?”
“Hilda, I’ve never left. I’ll go right on doing the things I know how to do or can learn. And as I’m told. But I won’t be captain.”
“Oh, dear!”
“It’s not tragic. We simply elect a new C.O.”
My father picked this moment to get hairy. “Zeb, you’re being pretty damned stiff-necked and self-righteous with Hilda. I don’t think she has misbehaved.”
“Jake, you are in no position to judge. First, because she’s your bride. Second, because you haven’t been sitting in the worry seat; I have. And you have supplied some of the worst guff yourself.”
“I was not aware of it… Captain.”
“You’re doing it now… by calling me ‘Captain’ when I’m not. But do you recall a couple of hours ago when I asked my second-in-command for advice – and got some back chat about ‘written orders’?”
“Mmm… I was out of line. Yes, sir.”
“Do you want other examples?”
“No. No, I stipulate that there are others. I understand your point, sir.” Pop gave a wry smile. “Well, I’m glad Deety hasn’t given you trouble.”
“On the contrary, she has given me the most.”
I had been upset – iI had never really believed that Zebadiah would resign. But now I was shocked and bewildered and hurt. “Zebadiah, what have I done?”
“The same sort of nonsense as the other two… but harder for me because I’m married to you.”
“But – But what?”
“I’ll tell you in private.”
“It’s all right for Pop and Aunt Hilda to hear.”
“Not with me. We can share our joys with others but difficulties between us we settle in private.”
My nose was stuffy and I was blinking back tears. “But I must know.”
“Dejah Thoris, you can list the incidents if you choose to be honest with yourself. You have perfect memory and it all took place in the last twenty-four hours.”
He turned his face away from me. “One thing I must urge before we choose a captain. I let myself be wheedled and bullied into surrendering authority on the ground. That was a bad mistake. A sea captain is still captain when his ship is anchored. Whoever becomes captain should profit by my mistake and not relinquish any authority merely because Gay is grounded. She can relax the rules according to the situation. But the captain must decide. The situation can be more dangerous on the ground than in air or in space. As it was today when the Russians showed up. Simply grounding must not be: ‘School’s out! Now we can play!'”
“I’m sorry, Zebbie.”
“Hilda, I was more at fault than you. I wanted to be free of responsibility. I let myself be talked into it, then my brain went on vacation. Take that ‘practice hike.’ I don’t recall who suggested it -“
“I did,” said my father.
“Maybe you did, Jake; but we all climbed on the bandwagon. We were about to run off like a bunch of Scouts with no Scoutmaster. If we had started as quickly as we had expected to, where would we be now? In a Russian jail? Or dead? Oh, I’m not giving myself high marks; one reason I’ve resigned is that I haven’t handled it well. Planning to leave Gay Deceiver and everything we own unguarded while we made walkabout – good God! If I had felt the weight of command I would never have considered it.”
Zebadiah made a sour face, then looked at my father. “Jake, you’re eldest. Why don’t you take the gavel while we pick a new C.O.? I so move.”
“Second!”
“Question!”
“White ballot!”
“What gavel? I’ll bet there isn’t a gavel on this planet.” In a moment Father quit stalling. We all voted, using a page from Zebadiah’s notebook torn in four. They were folded and handed to me and I was required to declare the vote. So I did:

Zeb
Zebadiah
Zebbie
Sharpie

Zebadiah reached back, got the ballots from me, handed back the one that meant “Aunt Hilda,” took the other three and tore them into small pieces.
“Apparently you did not understand me. I’ve stood my watch; someone else must take it – or we’ll park on this bank until we die of old age. Sharpie seems to have an overwhelming lead – is she elected? Or do we ballot again?”
We balloted again:

Sharpie
Jacob
Jacob
Hilda

“A tie,” Father said. “Shall we invite Gay to vote?”
“Shut up and deal the cards.”

Sharpie
Deety
Deety
Hilda

“Hey!” I protested. “Who switched?” (I certainly didn’t vote for me.)

Sharpie
Hilda
Zebbie
Hilda

“One spoiled ballot,” said my husband. “A non-candidate. Will you confirm that, Mr. Chairman?”
“Yes,” Pop agreed. “My dear … Captain Hilda. You are elected without a dissenting vote.”
Aunt Hilda looked as if she might cry again. “You’re a bunch of stinkers!”
“So we are,” agreed my husband, “But we are your stinkers, Captain Hilda.” That got him a wan smile. “Guess maybe. Well, I’ll try.”
“We’ll all try,” said Pop.
“And we’ll all help,” said my husband.
“Sure we will!” I said, and meant it.
Pop said, “If you will excuse me? I’ve been anxious to find a handy bush since before this started.” He started to get out.
“Just a moment!”
“Eh? Yes, my dear? Captain.”
“No one is to seek out a bush without an armed guard. Not more – and not less – than two people are to leave the car’s vicinity at one time. Jacob, if your need is urgent, you must ask Zebbie to hurry – I want the guard to carry both rifle and pistol.”
I think it worked out that Pop got the use of a bush last – and must have been about to burst his bladder. Later I overheard Pop say, “Son, you’ve read Aesop’s Fables?”
“Certainly.”
“Does anything remind you of King Log and King Stork?”

Chapter XXII

“‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.'”

Hilda:
I could tell from the first ballot that Zebbie was determined to make me take a turn as captain. Once I realized that, I decided to be captain – let them get sick of me and anxious to have Zebbie back.
Then suddenly I was captain – and it’s different. I did not ever again think of trying to make them sick of me; I just started to worry. And try.
First my husband wanted to find a bush for the obvious reason – and I suddenly realized that a banth might get him. Not a Barsoomian banth but whatever this planet held in dangerous carnivores.
So I ordered armed guards. With rules about not getting separated. It was a nuisance but I was firm… and knew at last what a crushing load there had been on Zebbie.
But one thing I could improve: Arrange for us to sleep inside the car.
The space back of the bulkhead behind the rear seats was not organized. We had about six hours till sundown (having gained on the Sun in going west), so I had everything in that space pulled out.
Space enough for Zebbie and Deety, on his sleeping bag opened out, blankets over them. Jacob and I? The piloting chairs we moved forward all the set screws would allow, laid them back almost fh~t and padded the cracks with pillows, and, to support our legs, the cushions from the rear seats were placed on boxes we would otherwise discard once I had the car organized. It wasn’t the best bed but low gravity and my cuddlesome husband made it a most attractive one.
Baths – In the stream and cold! Same rules as for bushes: armed guards. Soap thoroughly on the bank, get in and rinse fast, bounce out and towel till you glowed. Primitive? Luxurious!
This did not go smoothly. Take the “handy bush” problem. I did not have to be told that a latrine should be downstream or that our shovel should be carried every time without fail – rules for a clean camp are as old as the Old Testment.
But my first order called for no more than two and no less than two to leave the car at any time, and one must be armed – the other rifle and pistol must guard Gay.
I blurted out that order when the truth landed on me like a load of bricks that I, the runt who had never grown up, was now responsible for the lives of four people. At the time my orders seemed not only logical but necessary and feasible: Jacob would guard me, Zebbie would guard Deety, our men would guard each other.
There was a flaw. I did not realize that my edict required: a) one rifleman always to be at the car; b) both men to be away from the car from time to time.
Since this is not possible I amended it: When the men had to answer calls of nature, we women would lock ourselves in. I didn’t know that this planet had anything more dangerous than Alice’s Bread-and-Butter Fly. But that was the point: I didn’t know and until I did, I must assume that something as dangerous as a tiger lurked behind every bush.
Heavens! the bush might be carnivorous.
I was learning, with breath-snatching speed, something that most people never learn: A commanding officer’s “unlimited” authority isn’t freedom; it’s a straitjacket. She can’t do as she pleases; she never can – because every minute, awake and asleep, she must protect those under her command.
She can’t take any avoidable risk herself; her life does not belong to her; it belongs to her command.
When the captaincy was thrust on me, I decided that we would stay where we were until Gay Deceiver was reorganized so that all four of us could sleep comfortably and safely – no swollen ankles.
Sharpie hadn’t thought of this; Captain Hilda Burroughs thought of it at once. Captain Zebbie had thought of it when we first grounded, then had let himself be overruled.
I knew that I could rearrange the car to let us all sleep behind locked doors. But it would take time, sweat, and muscles, and I had just proclaimed an order that would take one or both sets of big muscles off the job for… how many times a day? Four people? Such needs can’t be hurried. I had a horrid suspicion that having someone standing over you with a rifle, even your nearest and dearest, might cause a healthy reflex to fail.
What to do?
Cancel the order?
No!
Cancel if a better scheme turned up. But don’t cancel without finding something better. This was a pretty spot, but there still might be that “banth.” Or bandersnatch. Or boojum. Especially a boojum. What if Zebbie should wander off that distance dictated by modesty and/or relaxation of nerves… and “softly and silently vanish away”?
And it was Zebbie I was having trouble with – Zebbie, who wasn’t going to give the new captain any back talk whatsoever. “Cap’n Hilda honey, I don’t need a chaperon, honest. I’ll carry my rifle and guard myself. No problem. Safety off and a cartridge under the firing pin. Promise.”
“Zebbie, I am not asking you, I am telling you.”
“But I don’t like to leave you girls unguarded!”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Ma’am. Captain.”
“I am not a girl. I am eleven years your senior.”
“I simply meant -“
“Pipe down!”
The poor dear’s ears turned red but he shut up. I said, “Astrogator!”
“Huh? Yes, Captain Auntie.”
“Can you use a rifle?”
“Oh, sure, Pop made me learn. But I don’t like a rifle; I like my shotgun.”
“Take the Chief Pilot’s rifle and guard the camp -“
“Look, I can do it better with my shotgun.”
“Pipe down and carry out your orders.”
Deety looked startled, trotted over to Zebbie, who surrendered his rifle without comment, face frozen.
“Copilot,” I said to my husband, “arm yourself with rifle and pistol, go with the Chief Pilot, guard him while he does what he has to do.”
Zebbie swallowed. “Sharpie – I mean ‘Captain Sharpie.’ It won’t be necessary. The golden moment has passed. All this talk.”
“Chief Pilot, please refrain from using my nickname while I am your commanding officer. Copilot, carry out your orders. Remain with the Chief Pilot and guard him continuously as long as necessary to accomplish the purpose of the trip.” (If Zebbie meant “constipation” – an emotional to-do can have that effect – I would act later in my capacity as “medical officer” – and it would not take four husky orderlies to make Zebbie hold still. The authority of a commanding officer almost never requires force. Odd but true – I wondered how I knew that.)
Once our men were out of earshot, I said, “Deety, could I learn to shoot that rifle?”
“I’m not sure I’m speaking to you. You humiliated my husband… when we all owe him so much.”
“Astrogator!”
Deety’s eyes got wide. “Good God – it’s gone to your head!”
“Astrogator.”
“Uh… yes, Captain.”
“You will refrain from personal remarks to me or about me during my tenure as commanding officer. Acknowledge that order, then log it.”
Deety’s face assumed the expression that means that she has shut out the world. “Aye aye, Captain. Gay Deceiver!”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Log mode. The Captain has ordered the Astrogator to refrain from personal remarks to her or about her during her tenure as commanding officer. I acknowledge receipt of order and will comply. Log date, time, and Bingo code. I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“Back to sleep, Gay.”
“Roger and out.”
Deety turned to me, face and voice normal again. “Captain, I can teach you to shoot in such a way that you won’t get a sore shoulder or be knocked down. But to become a good shot with a rifle takes a long time. My shotgun doesn’t kick as hard… and you won’t need skill.”
“I thought a shotgun was more difficult.”
“Depends. A shotgun is usually for surprise targets in the air. That takes skill. But for a stationary target – within range – it’s about like a garden hose. The shot spreads in a cone. So easy that it’s not sporting.”
“‘Not sporting’ suits me. Will you show me how? What kind of target do we need?”
“It ought to be a large sheet of paper to show how the shot spreads. But, Captain, you know what will happen if I fire a gun?”
“What?”
“We will have two men back here at a dead run – one of them trying to dress as he runs. I don’t think he’ll be pleased.”
“Meaning I shouldn’t get Zebbie angry twice in ten minutes.”
“It might be your husband. Stands to reason that they’ll both take care of needs before returning. If I fire a shot, I’d better have a dead body to show for it, or one or the other will blow his top. Or both.”
“Both! Thanks, Deety – I didn’t think it through.”
“But also, the Captain will recall that she ordered me to guard camp. I can’t teach shooting at the same time.”
(Sharpie, can’t you do anything right?) “No, of course you can’t! Deety, I’m off to a bad start. All of you annoyed at me and one, maybe two, really angry.”
“Does the Captain expect me to comment?”
“Deety, can’t you call me ‘Aunt Hilda’?” I wasn’t crying – I’ve trained myself not to. But I needed to. “Yes, I want your comment.”
“Captain Aunt Hilda, I need to call you by your title to keep myself reminded that you are captain. Since you ordered me to refrain from personal remarks to you or about you, I needed a second order before I could comment.”
“As bad as that? Don’t spare me but make it quick.”
“The Captain hasn’t done badly.”
“I haven’t? Deety, don’t fib to Hilda; you never used to.”
“And I’m not going to now. Captain, I think you are off to a good start.”
“But you said it had gone to my head!”
“I was wrong. I realized how wrong when I was logging your order to me. What I said was worse than anything I said to Zebadiah while he was captain – he required me to review in my mind all the things I’ve said… and at least twice he should have given me a fat lip” – Deety smiled grimly – “‘cept that Zebadiah couldn’t bring himself to strike a woman even if she weren’t pregnant. Captain – Captain Aunt Hilda honey – Zebadiah didn’t crack down on us when he should have. He turned over to you a gang of rugged individualists, not one with any concept of discipline. I certainly had none. But I do now.”
“I’m not sure that I do,” I said miserably.
“It means obeying orders you don’t like and strongly disagree with – with no back talk. ‘Into the jaws of death rode the six hundred.’ Zebadiah would not do that to us… but he did let us annoy him into testing my new Bug-Out program. He had told me that the test was a useless risk; I should have agreed because it was useless. Instead I gave him a snooty ‘No comment,’ and you were as bad and Pop was worse. Mmm… I don’t think Zebadiah has had much experience as a commanding officer.”
“Why so, Deety? He is a captain.”
“That doesn’t mean that he has ever been a commanding officer. He has soloed quite a lot, in fighters. He has logged control time in larger craft or he wouldn’t hold a command pilot rating. But has he ever actually commanded? Nothing he has said to me indicated it… but he did tell me that before the last war a major was often captain of an air-and-space craft but now it almost always took a lieutenant colonel while majors wound up as copilots. He was explaining why he liked one-man fighters so well. Aunt Hilda – Captain – I think commanding was as new to Zebadiah as it is to you. Like sex, or having a baby, you can’t understand it till you’ve tried it.” She suddenly grinned. “So don’t hold Zebadiah’s mistakes against him.”
“What mistakes? He’s saved our lives again and again. I don’t blame him – now – for wanting a rest from commanding. Deety, it’s the hardest work possible even if you don’t lift a finger. I never suspected it. I don’t expect to sleep a wink tonight.”
“We’ll guard you!”
“No.”
“Yes, we will!”
“Pipe down.”
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
“What mistakes did Zebbie make?”
“Well… he didn’t crack down. You wasted no time in letting us know who is boss. You didn’t let us argue; you slapped us down at once. I hate to say this but I think you have more talent for command than Zebadiah has.”
“Deety, that’s silly!”
“Is it? Napoleon wasn’t tall.”
“So I have a Napoleonic complex. Humph!”
“Captain, I’m going to ignore that because, under that order you made me log, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“Well… I know how not to get a Napoleonic complex. Deety, you’re my second-in-command.”
“But Pop is second-in-command.”
“Wrong tense. ‘Was’ – he is no longer. As astrogator you may have inherited it anyhow; you can ask Zebbie – but in private; my decision is not subject to debate. Simply acknowledge it.”
“I – Aye aye, Captain.”
“You are now required to advise me whenever you think that I am about to make a serious mistake. You are also required to advise me on request.”
“My advice isn’t worth much. Look how I goofed a few minutes ago.”
“That was before you were appointed second-in-command. Deety, actually holding an office makes a big difference.”
Deety blinked and looked solemn, then said soberly, “Yes, I think it does. Yes, it does. I feel it, I do! Weird.”
“Wait till you’re captain. Eight times as weird.”
“Never. Pop wouldn’t go for it, Zebadiah wouldn’t, I won’t – that’s three votes.”
“I said No right up to the point where I could not avoid it. Don’t worry about it now. I’ll boss and you’ll advise me.”
“In that case, Captain, I advise you to reconsider letting us guard you. After we eat and start scouting again, I advise that, even if we find the British quickly, instead of making contact, we should find a spot as deserted as this at the sunrise line and get a long day’s sleep. We crew can get eight hours – I’ll take the middle watch; the men can get eight hours solid each… and the Captain can get anything up to twelve.”
“Advice noted. It’s good advice. But that’s not the program; we’re going to sleep here.” I told Deety what I had in mind. “When the car is restowed, we’ll eat. If there is daylight left, we’ll bathe before we eat. Otherwise in the morning.”
“I’d rather hurry through eating and get a bath… since you tell me I’m going to be able to sleep with my husband. When I’m frightened I stink worse… and I’ve been much more scared than I’ve tried to let on.”
“Into cold water after eating? Deety, you know better.”
“Oh. I’ll skip eating, if necessary, to bathe.”
“Astrogator, we’ll do it my way.”
“Yes, Captain. But I stink, I do.”
“We’ll all stink by the time we restow this car and may wind up eating sandwiches in the dark because everything that we don’t throw away is going to be inside with us and Gay locked and not a light showing by sundown.” I cocked my head. “Hear something, Deety?”

Our men came back looking cheerful, with Zebbie carrying Jacob’s rifle and wearing Jacob’s pistol. Zebbie gave me a big grin. “Cap’n, there wasn’t a durn thing wrong with me that Carter’s Little Liver Pills couldn’t have fixed. Now I’m right.”
“Good.”
“But just barely,” agreed my husband. “Hilda – Captain Hilda my beloved – your complex schedule almost caused me to have a childish accident.”
“I think that unnecessary discussion wasted more time than did my schedule. As may be, Jacob, I would rather have to clean up a ‘childish accident’ than have to bury you.”
“But -“
“Drop the matter!”
“Pop, you had better believe it!” sang out Deety.
Jacob looked startled (and hurt, and I felt the hurt). Zebbie looked sharply at me, no longer grinning. He said nothing, went to Deety, reached for his rifle. “I’ll take that, hon.”
Deety held it away from him. “The Captain has not relieved me.”
“Oh. Okay, we’ll do it by the book.” Zebbie looked at me. “Captain, I thoroughly approve of your doctrine of a continuous guard; I was too slack. It was my intention to relieve the watch. I volunteer to stand guard while you three eat -“
” – then I’ll guard while Zeb eats,” added Jacob. “We already worked it out. When do we eat? I could eat an ostrich with the feathers left on.” He added, “Hilda my love, you’re captain… but you’re still cook, aren’t you? Or is Deety the cook?”
(Decisions! How does the captain of a big ship cope?) “I’ve made changes. Deety remains astrogator but is now second-in-command and my executive officer. In my absence she commands. When I’m present, Deety’s orders are my orders; she will be giving them to implement what I want done. Neither she nor I will cook. Uh, medical officer – ” (Damn it, Sharpie, all those hours in the emergency room make you the only candidate. Or does it? Mmm – ) “Zebbie, does ‘command pilot’ include paramedical training?”
“Yes. Pretty sketchy. What to do to keep the bloke alive until the surgeon sees him.”
“You’re medical officer. I am assistant medical officer when you need me – if I don’t have something else that must be done.”
“Captain, may I put in a word?”
“Please do, Chief Pilot.”
“Sometimes you have to let the bloke die because there is something else that has to be done.” Zebbie looked bleak. “Saw it happen. Does no good to worry ahead of time or grieve about it afterwards. You do what you must.”
“So I am learning, Zebbie. Cook – Gentlemen, I’ve never eaten your cooking. You must assess yourselves. Which one of you is ‘adequate’ -“
“Ouch.”
“Your wording, Zebbie. – and which one is inadequate?”
They backed and filled and deferred to each other, so I put a stop to it. “You will alternate as first and second cook until evidence shows that one is chief cook and the other assistant. Jacob, today you are first cook -“
“Good! I’ll get busy at once!”
“No, Jacob.” I explained what we were going to do. “While you two get everything out of the car, Deety will teach me the rudiments of shotgun. Then I will take over guard duty and she can help unload. But keep your rifles loaded and handy, ’cause if I shoot, I’ll need help in a hurry. Then, when we restow, I’ll do it because I’m smallest and can stand up, mostly, behind the bulkhead. While Zebbie stands guard, and Deety and Jacob pass things in to me.”
Jacob wasn’t smiling – and I suddenly recognized his expression. I once had a dog who (theoretically) was never fed at the table. He would sit near my knee and look at me with that same expression. Why, my poor darling was hungry! Gut-rumble hungry. I had such a galloping case of nerves from becoming captain that I had no appetite.
“Deety, in the pantry back at Snug Harbor I noticed a carton of Milky Way bars. Did that get packed?”
“Certainly did! Those are Pop’s – his vice and eventual downfall.”
“Really? I don’t recall seeing him eat one.”
My husband said, “I haven’t been eating them lately. All things considered, my dear – my dear Captain – I prefer you to candy bars.”
“Why, thank you, Jacob! Will you share those candy bars? We understand that they are your personal property.”
“They are not my personal property; they belong to all of us. Share and share alike.”
“Yup,” agreed Zebbie. “A perfect communism. ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.’ With the usual communist dictator on top.”
“Zebbie, I’ve been called everything from a black reactionary to a promiscuous old whore – but never before a communist dictator. Very well, you may address me as ‘Comrade Captain.’ When we come across those candy bars, everybody grab one for quick energy – unless somebody remembers where they were packed?”
“Gay knows!” said Deety, and backed toward the car’s open door while still keeping her eyes swinging the arc away from the river-perfect sentry and looking cute at it. “Gay Deceiver!”
“Hi, Deety! Getting any?”
“Inventory. Food supplies. Candy. Milky Way bars. Report location.”
“Frame twenty. Starboard. Closed storage seven-Ess-high. Bottom shelf.”

Five hours later everything was back inside except a heap of wrapping, packaging, and such – yet the increase in space was far greater than that pile. This was because storage did not have to be logical. Just tell Gay. A left shoe could fill an odd space in with the swords while the right shoe from the same pair was a space filler in a tool storage far to the rear – yet the only inconvenience lay in having to go to two places to get them.
I did the stowing; Deety stayed in the cabin, received items handed from outside, described the item to Gay, then described to Gay where the item was stowed, as I reported it. Gay was under instruction to hear only Deety’s voice – and what Deety told Gay was so logical that no one need remember it. Like this: “Gay Deceiver.”
“Boss, when will you learn to say ‘Please’?”
“Clothing. Zeb. Shoes. Field boots.”
“Right boot. Abaft bulkhead. Starboard. Frame forty. Under deckplate. Outboard compartment. Left boot. Abaft bulkhead. Portside. Frame sixty. Under deckplate, middle compartment. Warning: Both boots filled with rifle ammo padded with socks.”
You see? If you got categories in the wrong order, Gay would restring them. Give her the basic category and the identification, leaving out the other steps, and Gay would search the “tree” (Deety’s words) and get the “twig” you identified. You could even fail to give category and she would search until she found it.
But hardest was to build up the decking of the rear compartment about twenty centimeters with chattels or stores that would not crush, fasten it down to keep it from floating in free fall, and make it smooth enough that it would not be unbearably lumpy as a bed – while making some effort neither to build into this platform nor to store in compartments under it things needed frequently or quickly.
I had to lower my standards. It is impossible to store so many things in such limited space and have all readily at hand.
I studied things outside, admitted that I could not do it, then asked for advice. Zebbie solved it: “Captain, do a dry run.”
“Uh… go on, Zebbie.”
“Take my sleeping bag inside, open it out. It is too wide for the space, especially at the rear. So keep it as far forward as you can and still miss Jake’s twister and the bulkhead door. Mark the amount you have to lap it. Mark on the deck the foot of the opened-out bag. You’ll find space abaft that, frustum of a cone, sort of. Drag the sleeping bag outside, mark the tuck-in, build your platform on it. Then fill that rear space and build a bulkhead. Better get Jake; he’s a born mechanic.”
“Zebbie, would you prefer to build this bed yourself?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? I’m not speaking as captain; I’m inquiring as your old friend Sharpie.”
“Because I’m twice as big as you, which makes that space half as big for me. Tell you what, Cap’n Sharpie – excuse me! – Captain Hilda – do the measuring. Meanwhile we’ll pick out plunder that might be bricks in that platform. Then drag the sleeping bag outside. If you’ll let Jake relieve me, Deety and I can piece together the platform in jig time.”
It changed “impossible” to “possible.” The cubbyhole was filled, contents held in place with opened-out cartons tied with wire to hold-downs – “padeyes” Jacob called them. The platform was built, chinked with this and that, covered with more flattened-out cartons, and topped off with sleeping bag and blankets.
It was still light. Deety assured me that there was one hour and forty-three minutes till sundown. “Time enough if we hurry. Jacob, first bath. Deety, guard him. Both come back so Jacob can start dinner – then Zebbie and Deety go down – goodness, this sounds like the farmer and the rowboat with the fox and the geese – and bathe, taking turns guarding. Both come back; Deety relieves me; Zebbie takes me down to bathe while he guards. But please hurry; I want a bath, too. Forty minutes before sundown bathing stops and we eat – at sundown we are inside, dirty dishes and all, locked in till sunrise. If that does me out of a bath, we still hold to it. Jacob, how far is this ‘easy way’ down? I mean, ‘How many minutes?'”
“Maybe five. Hilda my love, if you weren’t insisting on always-two-together there would be no hurry. All go down together; I hurry through my bath, grab my rifle and trot back. The rest needn’t hurry. You’ve got us going down and up, down and up, four times – forty minutes. Which squeezes four baths into twenty minutes, five minutes to undress, soap, squat down and rinse off, towel dry, and dress. Hardly worth the trip.”
“Jacob, who guards you while you’re getting supper? No. I can bathe in the morning.” (Damn! I wanted that bath. I’m used to a shower in the morning, a tub at night, a bidet at any excuse. Decadent – that’s me.)
“Beloved, this place is safe. While we were out earlier, Zeb and I scouted for sign. None. That’s when we found this way down to the creek. It would be a natural watering place. No sign. I don’t think there are any large fauna here.”
I was wavering when Deety spoke up. “Pop, that’s three down-and-ups, not four, as Zebadiah and I get baths on one. But, Captain Hilda, if we all go down and come back together, there can’t be danger. Put that stuff back inside and lock up, of course.” She pointed at Jacob’s preparations. While Jacob had been handing stuff to Deety, he had set aside a hot plate, cooking and eating utensils, a tarpaulin, comestibles for supper and breakfast, and had passed word for me please to store food so that it could be reached easily.
Jacob said hastily, “Deety, I’ve got it planned for minimum therbligs. Dried apricots soaking in that pan, soup mix in that one. There’s no level deck space left inside.”
Deety started to say, “But, Pop, if we – ” when I cut in with, “Quiet, please” – not shouted.
They kept quiet – “Captain Bligh” was being listened to. “Gay Deceiver will not be left unguarded. My orders will not be discussed further. One modification: Supper is cut from forty minutes to twenty-five. Astrogator adjust schedule accordingly. Sound a blast on the siren five minutes before suppertime. We lock up on the dot. I placed the honey bucket just beyond the swing of the bulkhead door as the car will not be unlocked for any reason until sunrise. Questions?”
“Yes, Captain. Where are the towels?”

An hour later I was squatting in the stream, rinsing off and hurrying – covered with goose bumps. As I stepped out, Zebbie put down his rifle and had a big, fluffy towel, long as I am tall, waiting to wrap me. I should have required him to behave as a guard should.
But I told myself that he was still wearing his revolver and, anyhow, he has this sixth sense about danger – lying in my teeth. Nothing makes a woman feel more cherished than to have a man wrap her in a big towel the instant she’s out of the water. I lack character, that’s all. Every woman has her price, and a big, fluffy towel at the right time comes close to being mine.
Zebbie was rubbing firmly, getting me not only dry but warm. “Feels good, Captain?”
“‘Captain Hilda’ never came down the bank, Zebbie. Feels swell!”
“Remember the first time I gave you a rubdown?”
“Sure do! Dressing room at my pool.”
“Yup. I tried to lay you. I’ve never been turned down so smoothly.”
“You tried to lay me, Zebbie? Truly?” I looked up at him, my best innocent look.
“Sharpie darling, you lie as easily as I do. A man does this” – and he did – “even with a towel, a woman is certain what he means. But you refused to notice it, turned me down, without hurting my pride.”
“I’m refusing to notice it now and find it just as difficult as I did that afternoon. Stop it, please!” He did. “Thanks, dear. You got me all shaky. Zebbie, do you think Deety thinks I rigged this to get you alone? I would not willingly upset her.”
“On the contrary. She gave me a hunting license concerning you – you, not females in general – ten days back. In writing.”
“Really?”
“In writing so that she could limit it. I am required not to run any risk of hurting Jake.”
“You haven’t tried to use that license.”
“I took it as a compliment to you and to me, kissed Deety and thanked her. You settled this four years ago. But I’ve sometimes wondered why. I’m young, healthy, take care of my teeth, and keep my nails clean – mostly – and you seemed to like me. What made me ineligible? Not complaining, dear, just asking.”
I tried to explain the difference between a male friend and a bedmate – the scarcity of the first, the boring plethora of applicants for the other.
He listened, then shook his head. “Masochism.”
“Hasn’t it worked out better this way? I do love you, Zebbie.”
“I know you do, Sharpie.” Zebbie turned me around and looked down into my eyes. “And I love you and you know that, too” – and he kissed me.
That kiss went on and neither of us seemed inclined to stop. My towel slipped to the ground. I noticed because it felt better to be closer and ever so much nicer to have his hands on me. Zebbie hadn’t given me a sexy kiss since the day I hadinvited a pass and then ignored it.
I began to wonder why I had decided to ignore it. Then I was wondering how much time we had left in our schedule. Then I knew the exact time… for that infernal, earsplitting siren sounded. God watches over Hilda Mae and that’s why I keep Him on my payroll. But sometimes He is rough about it.
We let go. I put on Deety’s Keds, slid my borrowed dress over my head, hung the towel over my arm – elapsed time: nine seconds. Zebbie was again carrying his rifle at the ready (is that correct? – both hands, I mean).
“Captain, shall we go?”
“Yes, Chief Pilot. Zebbie, when did I become ‘captain’ again? Just from putting on clothes? You’ve seen this old hide before.”
“Skin has nothing to do with it, Captain. Quoting Deety quoting the Japanese: ‘Nakedness is often seen but never noticed.’ Except that sometimes I do notice, hot diggity dog and other comments. You have superior skin, Captain. You went back to being Captain when I picked up my rifle. But I was never off duty. Did you notice, when I dried you, that I picked you up and swung you around, so that I faced the bank? I kept alert even while I was nuzzling you… and you make fine nuzzle, Captain Step-Mother-in-Law Hilda.”
“So do you, Zebbie. I’m still Sharpie till we get to your car.” We reached the top of the bank. “Ten seconds to catch my breath. Zebbie -“
“Yes, Sharpie?”
“Four years ago – I’m sorry I turned away your pass.”
He patted my bottom. “So am I, dear. But it has worked out quite well. And” – he grinned that irresistible, ugly grin – “who knows? – we aren’t dead yet.”
When we arrived, Jacob was slurping soup. “You’re late,” he stated. “So we waited.”
“So I see.”
“Don’t listen to Pop, Captain Auntie; you are two minutes seventeen seconds ahead of time. Are you sure you stayed in long enough to get clean?”
“I stayed in long enough to get freezing cold. Aren’t you chilly?” Deety had worn skin most of the day and so had I; we had been doing sweaty work. But she had been dressed when I last saw her. “Jacob, is there no soup for Zebbie and me?”
“A smidgen. You get this pan as soon as I’m through – now! – and that means one less dish to wash.”
“And Zebadiah gets mine – also now – and I took that jump suit off because it’s dirty and I’m clean. I still haven’t figured out how to do a laundry. Nothing for a tub, no way to heat water. What’s that other way? Pound them on a rock the way it shows in National Geographic? I don’t believe it!”
We were in bed by sundown, Gay’s doors locked – pitch dark in minutes. According to Deety and Gay sunrise was ten hours and forty-three minutes away. “Deety, please tell Gay to wake us at sunrise.”
“Aye aye, Captain Auntie.”
“Zebbie, you told us that the air in the car was good for about four hours.”
“In space; The scoops are open now.”
“But do you get air back there? Should the bulkhead door be open?”
“Oh. Top scoop serves this space. The cabin is ventilated by the chin scoop. Scoops stay open unless internal pressure closes them.”
“Can anything get in through them? Snakes or such?”
“Hilda my dear, you worry too much.”
“My very own darling Copilot, will you please pipe down while I’m speaking to the Chief Pilot? There are many things about this car that I do not know – yet I am responsible.”
Zebbie answered, “Each scoop has a grid inside and a fine screen at the inner end; nothing can get in. Have to clean ’em occasionally. Remind me, Deety.”
“I’ll tell Gay.” She did – and almost at once there was a crash of metal. I sat up abruptly. “What’s that?”
“Hilda, I am afraid that I have kicked over the supper dishes.” My husband added, “Zeb, how do I find the cabin light?”
“No, no! Jacob, don’t try to find it. No light at all until sunrise. Don’t fret about dishes. But what happened? I thought they were under the instrument board.”
“I couldn’t quite reach with this bed made up. But the carton that supports my feet sticks out beyond the seat cushion on it. So I stacked them there.”
“No harm done. We can expect bobbles as we shake down.”
“I suppose so.”
“We can cope. Jacob, that was an excellent dinner.”
Deety called out, “Good night, chatterboxes! We want to sleep.” She closed the bulkhead door, dogged it.

Chapter XXIII

“The farce is over.”

Jake:
For me, the best soporific is to hold Hilda in my arms. I slept ten hours.
I might have slept longer had I not been blasted by a bugle call: Reveille.
I thought I was back in basic, tried to rouse out fast – banged my head. That slowed me; I reoriented, saw my lovely bride beside me, yawning prettily – realized that we were on Mars.
Mars! Not even our own Mars but another universe.
That hateful tune started to repeat, louder.
I banged on the bulkhead. “How do you shut this thing off?”
Shortly I saw dogs of the bulkhead door turning, then the door swung – as the call went into its third time around still louder. Zeb showed, blinking.
“Do you have a problem?”
I couldn’t hear but I could piece out what he meant.
“HOW DO YOU SHUT OFF THIS RACKET?”
“No problem.” (I think that’s what he said.) “Good morning, Gay.”
The bugle faded into the distance. “Good morning, Boss.”
“I’m awake.”
“Ah, but will you stay awake?”
“I won’t go back to bed. Promise.”
“I’ve dealt with your sort before, me bucko. If you aren’t out of here before my landlady wakes up, I’ll lose this room. Then another hassle with the cops. It’s not worth it… you cheapskate!”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“So smart I’m looking for another job.”
“Back to sleep, Gay. Over.”
“Roger and out, Boss” – and blessed silence.
I said to my daughter, “Deety, how could you do this to us?”
Her husband answered. “Deety didn’t, Jake. She was told to place a call for sunrise. But didn’t know what a morning call means to Gay.”
I grumped, and opened the starboard door. Hilda’s rearrangements had given me the best rest I had had in days. But two double beds in a sports car left no room on arising to do anything but get out.
So I slid out the door, groped for the step, paused to ask Hilda for shoes and coverall – caught sight of something and said quietly, “Hilda. My rifle. Quickly!”
My little treasure is always reliable in emergency; her clowning is simply persona. (A most pleasant one; the worst aspect of the jest of making her “captain” was that she lost her smile – I hoped that Zeb would soon resume command. We had needed the lesson – but no need to go on.)
I digress – I asked for my rifle; she whispered, “Roger,” and had it in my hand at once with the quiet report: “Locked, one in the chamber. Wait – I’m getting Zeb.”
That made sense. By staying on the step in the corner formed by door and car, my rear was safe and I need cover only a small sector. I prefer a bolt action – correction: I have a bolt-action rifle I inherited from my father’s eldest brother, who had “liberated” it on leaving the Marine Corps.
I unlocked it, opened the bolt slightly, saw that a cartridge was in the chamber, closed the bolt, left the piece unlocked.
Zeb said at my ear, softly, “What’s the excitement?”
“Over there.” I pulled my head out of the way, saw Hilda and Deety almost on top of Zeb – Hilda with Deety’s shotgun, Deety with her husband’s police special.
Zeb said, “Pixies. They may still be around; let’s check. Cover me from here?”
“No, Zeb. You to the right, me to the left, we check the port side, meet back at the dump. Make it fast.”
“Say the word.” Zeb said over his shoulder, “You girls stay in the car. Jake?”
“Now!” We came bursting out like greyhounds, guns at high port. The reason for my disquiet was simple: The dump of wrappings and cartons was no longer a heap. Something had spread it over many meters, and the litter was not nearly enough to account for the pile. Wind? Zeb had left the wings extended; the slightest wind would wake him, warn him of change in weather. The car had not rocked in the night; ergo, no wind. Ergo, nocturnal visitors. Nor were they small.
I rounded the car to the left, seeing nothing until I spotted Zeb – waved at him, started back around to join him at the dump.
He arrived before I did. “I told you girls to stay in the car!” He was quite angry, and the cause, both of them, were also at the dump.
My darling answered, “Chief Pilot.”
Zeb said, “Huh? Sharpie, there’s no time for that; there’s something dangerous around! You girls get inside before I -“
“Pipe DOWN!”
One would not believe that so small a body could produce such a blast. It caught Zeb mouth open and jammed his words down his throat.
Hilda did not give him opportunity to answer. She continued, forcefully: “Chief Pilot, there are no ‘girls’ here; there are four adult humans. One of them is my second-in-command and executive officer. My executive officer; I am in command.” Hilda looked at my daughter. “Astrogator, did you tell anyone to remain in the car?”
“No, Captain.” Deety was wearing her “Name, rank, and serial number” face.
“Nor did I.” Hilda looked at Zeb. “There is no need to discuss it.” She stirred litter with a toe. “I had hoped that we could find salvage. But three fourths of it has been eaten. By large animals from those tooth marks. I would have trouble visualizing a large animal that eats cellulose but is nevertheless carnivorous – save that I know one. So we will get as much done as possible while keeping a tight guard. I have the program planned but I’m open to advice.”
“Hilda!” I let my tone get a bit sharp.
My wife looked around with features as impassive as those of my daughter. “Copilot, are you addressing me officially or socially?”
“Uh… as your husband! I must put my foot down! Hilda, you don’t realize the situation. We’ll lift as soon as possible – and Zeb will be in command. The farce is over.”
I hated to speak to my beloved that way but sometimes one must. I braced myself for a blast.
None came. Hilda turned to Zeb and said quietly, “Chief Pilot, was my election a farce?”
“No, Captain.”
“Astrogator, did you think of it as farce?”
“Me? Heavens, no, Captain Auntie!”
Hilda looked at me. “Jacob, from the balloting you voted for me at least once, possibly three times. Were you joking?”
I could not remember how I had felt when it dawned on me that Zeb really did intend to resign – panic, I think, that I was about to be stuck with the job. That was now irrelevant as I knew that I was not more than one micron from again being a bachelor… so I resorted to Higher Truth.
“No, no, my darling – my darling Captain! I was dead serious!”
“Did you find some malfeasance?”
“What? No! I – I made a mistake. Jumped to conclusions. I assumed that we would be leaving at once… and that Zeb would command once we lifted. After all, it’s his car.”
Hilda gave me the briefest smile. “There is something to that last argument. Zebbie, did you intend – “
“Wait a half! Cap’n, that car belongs to all of us just like Jake’s Milky Way bars; we pooled resources.”
“So I have heard you all say. Since I had nothing to pool but a fur cape, I took it with a grain of salt. Zebbie, do you intend to resume command when we lift?”
“Captain, the only way you can quit is by resigning… whereupon Deety would be captain.”
“No, sirree!” (My daughter is not often that shrill.)
“Then Jake would wind up holding the sack. Captain, I’ll pilot when ordered, chop wood and carry water between times. But I didn’t sign up to boss a madhouse. I think you’re finding out what I mean.”
“I think so, too, Zebbie. You thought there was an emergency and started giving orders. I would not want that to happen in a real emergency -“
“It won’t! Captain.”
“And I find to my chagrin that my husband considers me to be a play captain. I think I must ask for a vote of confidence. Will you please find something to use as white and black balls?”
“Captain Auntie!”
“Yes, dear?”
“I am required to advise you. A commanding officer commands; she doesn’t ask for votes. You can resign – or – die – or lose to a mutiny and get hanged from your own yardarm. But if you take a vote, you’re not a captain; you’re a politician.”
“Deety’s right, Captain,” Zeb told my wife. “Had a case-law case in R.O.T.C. Naval vessel. Department told the skipper to pick one of two ports for ho1idays. He let his crew vote on it. Word got back to Washington and he was relieved at sea by his second-in-command and never again ordered to sea. C.O.’s don’t ask; they tell ’em. However, if it matters to you, I’m sorry I goofed, and you do enjoy my confidence.”
“Mine, too!”
“And mine, Hilda my dear Captain!” (In truth I wanted Zeb and only Zeb to command when the car was off the ground. But I made myself a solemn vow never again to say or do anything that might cause Hilda to suspect it. We would crash and die together rather than let her suspect that I thought her other than the ideal commanding officer.)
Hilda said, “The incident is closed. Who can’t wait? Speak up.”
I hesitated – my bladder is not used to bedtime right after dinner. When no one else spoke, I said, “Perhaps I had better be first; I have breakfast to prepare.”
“Dear, you are not First Cook today; Zebbie is. Deety, grab a rifle and take your father to his ‘handy bush’ – and do make it handy; that giant termite might be lurking. Then hand Jacob the rifle and it’s your turn. Don’t dally.”

It was a busy day. Water tanks had to be topped off. Zeb and I used two collapsible buckets, taking turns (that hill got steeper every trip, even at 0.38 gee), while Deety guarded us. Endless trips –
That afternoon I was a ladies’ tailor. Hilda had something for Deety to do.
Zeb had a job to complete. The space behind the bulkhead has padeyes every 30 cms or so. No one wants the center of gravity to shift when one is in the air. Zeb’s arrangements were Samson cord in many lengths with snap hooks. Zeb told Hilda he wanted to secure the bed aft for air or space, and to store items used in rigging the forward bed so that they would be secure but available – and where were his Samson ties? – Gay didn’t know. He had to explain to Hilda what they looked like – whereupon Hilda said, “Oh! Thingammies! Gay Deceiver. Inventory. Incidentals. Small. Thingammies.” Zeb spent the afternoon making certain that the “bed” could not slide, then built a net of Samson cord to hold the items for turning seats into a bed, then, finding that he had Samson ties left, Zeb removed the wires with which I had secured the aftermost storage, and replaced them with ties. When he was through, he relieved me as guard, and I wound up as seamstress.
Our wives had decided that one of Deety’s jump suits should be altered for Hilda until we reached some place where clothes could be purchased. Hilda had vetoed Earth-without-a-J. “Jacob, as captain I look at things from another perspective. It is better to be a lively frump than a stylish corpse. Wups! You pinned Sharpie.”
“Thorry,” I said, around a mouthful of pins. Hilda was wearing the suit inside out; I was pinning excess material. Once this caused it to fit, lines held by pins would be tacked, pins removed, tacked lines sewed in short stitches (by hand; Deety’s sewing machine was ashes in another universe), and excess cloth trimmed away.
Such was theory.
I tackled reducing the waist line by pinning darts on both sides. Then I folded up the trousers so that the crease came at the instep – but had to pin them up 17 cms!
Seventeen centimeters! I had taken in the waist first, knowing that doing so would, in effect, shorten the trousers. It did – one centimeter.
The appearance was as if I were trying to fit her with a chimpanzee suit for a masquerade. Lift it at the shoulders? I tried, almost cutting off circulation. Still a horrid case of droopy drawers –
Take a tuck all the way around the waist? That suit closed with one zipper. Have you ever tried to take a tuck in a zipper?
I stepped back and looked at my creative artistry.
Ghastly.
“Hilda my love, Deety was better at this by the age of ten. Shall I fetch her?”
“No, no!”
“Yes, yes. If at first you don’t succeed, find the mistake. I’m the mistake. You need Deety.”
“No, Jacob. It would be better for me to get along without clothes than to interrupt the work I have assigned to the Astrogator. With you at the verniers and Zebbie at the controls, Gay can do almost anything and quickly. Yes?”
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way. But I understand you.”
“If she’s been preprogrammed, she can do it even faster?”
“Certainly. Why the quiz, dear?”
“How much faster?”
“Without preprogramming, it takes a few seconds to acknowledge and set it, about as long to check what I’ve done, then I report ‘Set!’ Zeb says ‘Execute!’ I punch the button. Five to fifteen seconds. With a preprogram – is it debugged in all ways, no conflicts, no ambiguities, no sounds easy to confuse?”
“Darling, that is why I won’t let Deety be disturbed. Yes.”
“So. Maximum time would be with Gay asleep. Wake her, she acknowledges, you state the preprogram in the exact words in her memory, then say ‘Execute!’ Call it three seconds. Minimum – That would be an emergency preprogram with ‘Execute’ included in the code word. My dear, we saw minimum time yesterday. When that Russian tried to shoot Zeb.”
“Jacob, that is what caused me to put Deety to work. I saw his pistol in the air. His fingers were curled to catch it. Then we were in the sky. How long?”
“I saw him start to reverse his weapon, and bent over my verniers to bounce us by switch… then stopped. Not needed. Mmm – A tenth of a second? A fifth?”
“Whichever, it is the fastest we can manage. While you dears were carrying water, I was preparing a list of preprograms. Some are to save juice or time or to carry out something we do frequently; those require ‘Execute!’ Some are intended to save our lives and don’t require ‘Execute.’ Like ‘Bounce’ and ‘Bug Out’ and ‘Take us home!’ But more. Jacob, I did not tell Deety how to phrase these; that’s her specialty. I wrote out what I thought we ought to be able to do and told her to add any she wished.”
“Did you consult Zeb?”
“Copilot, the Captain did not consult the Chief Pilot.”
“Whew! I beg your pardon – Captain.”
“Only if I get a kiss – mind the pins! Deety will post a copy on the instrument board. After you and Zebbie read them, I want your advice and his.”

I gave up on that jump suit. I took out eighty-five or a thousand pins. Hilda was covered with sweat so I invited her to order me to take her down to bathe. She hesitated.
I said, “Does the Captain have duties of which I am unaware?”
“No. But everyone else is working, Jacob.”
“Captain, Rank Hath Its Privileges. You are on duty twenty-four hours a day – twenty-four and a half here – “
“Twenty-four hours, thirty-nine minutes, thirty-five seconds – local day, not sidereal.”
“Did you measure it? Or remember what some professor said?”
“Neither, Jacob. It’s the figure Gay uses. I suppose she got it from the Aerospace Almanac.”
“Are you going to believe an almanac? Or your husband?”
“Excuse me, Jacob, while I tell Gay the correct figure.”
“Hand back my leg, beloved. Captain, since you are on duty all the time, you are entitled to bathe, rest, or relax, at any time.”
“Well… two seconds while I grab a towel – and tell Zebbie that I will start dinner while he is down bathing.”
“Captain, I am number-two cook today. You said so.”
“You will guard, Jacob, which you do better than I. While the Carters are guarding each other.”
Hilda came trotting back with a towel. I said, “Cap’n, I’ve figured out clothes for you.”
“Goody. Yes, dear?” We headed for the path down.
“Were my Hawaiian shirts packed?” I had her fall in behind me.
“Inventory. Clothing. Jacob. Shirts. Aloha.”
“Do you recall a blue one with white flowers?”
“Yes.”
“I take ‘medium’ but can get into a ‘small’ and Andrade’s didn’t have this in ‘medium.’ But this one is so small I haven’t been wearing it. Hilda, you’ll like it – and it will be easy to cut down.” (A steep pitch – no place to lose your footing while carrying a gun.)
“I won’t cut it down. Jacob, your shirt is my first maternity smock.”
“A happy thought! Did Deety fetch sailor pants? White.”
“I recall white duck slacks.” Hilda kicked off her Keds, stepped into the water.
“That’s the pair. She wore them one summer while maturing. The following summer they were too tight. She was always about to alter them but never did.”
“Jacob, if Deety likes those pants so well that she saved them and fetched them along, I won’t ask her to give them to me.”
“I will ask her. Hilda, you worry about the wrong things. We pooled resources. I chucked in my candy bars, Zeb chucked in his car, Deety chucks in her sailor pants.”
“And what did I chuck in? Nothing!”
“Your mink cape. If you offered it to Deety in exchange for a pair of old white -“
“It’s a deal!”
“It is like hell, Mistress Mine. That cape is valuta. Only days ago each of us was wealthy. Now we are unpersons who can’t go home. What happens to our bank accounts I do not know but it seems certain that we will never realize anything from them, or from stocks, bonds, and other securities. Any paper money we have is worthless. As you know, I have bullion and gold coins and Jake has, also; we each like money that clinks and we don’t trust governments. Gay must be juiced from time to time; that calls for valuta. Such as gold. Such as mink coats. Come out of there before you freeze! I would rub you dry but that giant termite worries me.”
“Last night Zebbie rubbed me dry.”
(Why do women have this compulsion to confess? It is not a typical male vice.) “He did? I should speak to him.”
“Jacob, you are angry.”
“Only somewhat, as yesterday we didn’t know about the giant termite, and Zeb and I considered your guard rules silly. Nevertheless Zeb neglected his duty.”
“I meant ‘angry with me’!”
“For what? Did you force it on him?”
“No. He offered it – towel open and ready, just as you do. I went straight into it, let him wrap me and rub me down.”
“Feel good?”
“Golly, yes! I’m a bad girl, Jacob – but I loved it.”
“Don’t give yourself airs, my darling; you are not a bad girl. Yesterday was not the first time Zeb has rubbed you dry.”
“Well… no.” (They have to confess, they have to be shrived.)
“Do you any harm, then or now?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure it didn’t. Listen, beloved – you are twenty-nine going on forty-two. You’ve had three term contracts and now have a traditional marriage. In college you were a scandal to the jaybirds. Zeb has been your chum for years. Both of you horny as goats. My darling, I assumed what is called ‘the worst’ and is often the best.”
“But, Jacob, we didn’t, we didn’t! And we haven’t!”
“So? People who pass up temptations have only themselves to blame. Just one thing, my only love, if you and Zeb ever pick up the matter, try not to look guilty.”
“But we aren’t going to, ever!”
“Should it come to pass, warn Zeb not to hurt Deety. She loves him deeply. Not surprising as Zeb is a lovable man. Get your shoes on, dearest one, and we’ll let someone else have the community bathtub.”
“Jacob? You still think we have. Zebbie and I.”
“Hilda, I married you convinced that Zeb was, at that time and for some years, your lover. Or one of them. Today you have convinced me that the matter is unproven… assuming that one or both of you have rocks in your head. But I can’t see that it makes a tinker’s dam either way. Jane taught me that the only important rule is not to hurt people… which very often – Jane’s words! – consists in not talking unnecessarily.”
“Jane told me that, too. Jacob? Will you kiss me?”
“Madame – what did you say your name was? – that is the toll I charge before a client starts up this bank.”
As we climbed, I asked Hilda, “Darling, what is the animal that eats cellulose but is carnivorous?”
“Oh. Two. H. sapiens and Rattus.”
“Men? Cellulose?”
“Sawdust is often processed as food. Have you ever eaten in a fast food joint?”

My daughter had done a wonderful job on preprograms; we all were eager to learn them. We placed guards, Zeb and me, at the doors, while Deety took Zeb’s seat and talked, and Hilda sat in mine.
“Captain Auntie had two ideas,” Deety told us. “To optimize emergency escapes and to work out ways to use as near to no juice as possible. The latter involves figuring ways to ground us in strange places without the skill Zebadiah has in dead-stick grounding.”
“I don’t depend on skill,” put in my son-in-law. “I won’t risk a dead-stick grounding other than on a hard-surfaced strip. You’ve seen me avoid it twice – by power-on just before grounding. Yesterday I cut it a bit fine.”
I shuddered.
My daughter continued, “We have this new program. Set it, by voice, for bearing and as many minima as you please. Our Smart Girl goes there and attempts to ground. She uses radar twice, once in range-finder mode, second time in precautionary mode as in ‘Bug Out.’ If her target is not clear, she does a Drunkard’s Walk in locus ten klicks radius, sampling spots two per second. When she finds a good spot, she grounds. Unless we don’t like it and order her to try again.
“Study that and you will see that you can cruise all over this or any planet, land anywhere, and not use juice.
“Escape programs – We must be most careful in saying G, A, Y. Refer to her as ‘smart girl’ or ‘the car’ or anything not starting with that syllable. That syllable will now wake her. If it is followed by her last name, she goes into ‘awaiting orders’ mode. But if G, A, Y, alone is followed by any of eight code words, she executes that escape instantly. I have tried to select monosyllables that ordinarily do not follow her first name. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Dictionary. G, A, Y. Read.”
“Gayety, gayfeather, Gayle, Gaylord, Gay-Pay-Oo, gaywings -“

Chapter XXIV

Captains aren’t supposed to cry.

Hilda:
I ordered an early dinner by starting it when Zebbie and Deety went down to bathe. I had ready a public reason but my motive was personal: I didn’t want a pillow talk with Jacob.
Annoyed at him? At me! I had had a perfect chance to keep my lip zipped – and muffed it! Was I boasting? Or confessing? Or trying to hurt Jacob? (Oh, no! – can the id be that idiotic!)
Don’t rationalize it, Sharpie! Had not your husband been kind, tolerant, and far more sophisticated than you ever dreamed, you would be in trouble.
When dinner was over, Zebbie said lazily, “I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”
I said, “I prefer that they be done tonight, please.”
Zebbie sat up and looked at me. His thoughts were coming through so strongly that I was getting them as words. I never allow myself to be close with a person whose thoughts I can’t sense at all; I distrust a blank wall. But now I could “hear” such names as “Queeg” and “Bligh” and “Vanderdecken” and “Ahab” – and suddenly Captain Ahab was harpooning the White Whale and I was the whale!
Zebbie bounced to his feet with a grin that made me uneasy. “Sure thing, Cap’n! Deety, grab a rifle and hold it on me to make sure I get ’em clean.”
I cut in quickly, “I’m sorry, Chief Pilot, but I need the Astrogator. Jacob is your assistant.”
When they were gone, Deety said, “Will my shotgun do? I don’t think the cardboard eater comes out in daylight.”
“Bring the guns inside; we’re going to close the doors.”
I waited until we were settled. “Deety, will you make me a copy of your new programs before our men come back?”
“If they take time to wash them properly. Men and dishes – you know.”
“I hope they stall -“
” – and get over their mad,” Deety finished.
“That, too. But I intend to write a sequential program and I want you to check me. After you make that copy.”

They did stay down – “man talk,” no doubt. Men need us but can just barely stand us; every now and then they have to discuss our faults. I think that is why they shut us out.
Deety made a copy while I wrote what I planned to do. Deety looked it over, corrected some wording. Looked it over again – and said nothing pointedly.
“Deety, can you handle your father’s lab camera?”
“Certainly.”
“Will you check its load and shoot when I ask for it?”
“Of course.”
“If I goof on an order, correct me at once.”
“You don’t intend to hand this to Zebadiah to carry out?”
“No. I prefer that you not mention that I prepared it ahead of time. Deety, the Chief Pilot assured me that any of us could command in aerospace. I am about to make a test run. The Chief Pilot is in a position to override. If he does, I shan’t fight it; I have said all along that he should be captain.”
We had time to dig out that shirt with the white flowers. Deety’s sailor pants were long; we turned up cuffs. The lacing at the back made them small enough in the waist. She gave me a blue belt to pull in the shirt, which I wore outside – then she added a blue hair ribbon.
“Captain Auntie, you look good. Better than I will in this jump suit I am reluctantly pulling on. Gosh, I’m glad Zebadiah isn’t square about skin!”
“He was when I adopted him. Fetched swim briefs the first time I invited him over to swim. But I was firm. There they come! Open the doors.”
They appeared to be over their mad. Zebbie looked at me and said, “How fancy! Are we going to church?” – and my husband added, “You look pretty, my dear.”
“Thank you, sir. All hands, prepare for space. Secure loose gear. Lock firearms. Anyone requiring a bush stop say so. Dress for space. Before manning car, take a turn around the car, searching for gear on the ground.”
“What is this?” demanded Zebbie.
“Prepare for space. Move!”
He hesitated a split second. “Aye aye, Captain.”

In two minutes and thirteen seconds (I checked Gay’s clock) I was squeezing past my husband into the starboard rear seat. I said, “In reporting, include status of firearms. Astrogator.”
“Belted down. Bulkhead door dogged. Shotgun loaded and locked. I slid it under the sleeping bag.”
“Fléchette gun?”
“Wups! In my purse. Loaded and locked. Purse clipped to my seat, outboard.”
“Copilot.”
“Belt fastened. Door locked, seal checked. Continua device ready. Rifle loaded and locked, secure under sleeping bag. I’m wearing my pistol loaded and locked.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Belt fastened, door locked, seal checked. Rifle loaded, locked, under sleeping bag. Wearing revolver, loaded and locked. No loose gear. Water tanks topped off. Load trimmed. Two reserve power packs, two zeroed. Juice zero point seven-two capacity. Wings spread full. Wheels down, unlocked to retract. All systems go. Ready.”
“Chief Pilot, after first maneuver, execute vertical dive fastest without power and without retracting wheels. Relock wheel-retracting gear. Leave wings spread max.”
“Wheel retractors locked. After first maneuver fastest, no-power vertical dive, wings full subsonic, wheels down.”
I glanced at Deety; she held up the camera and mouthed, “Ready.”
“Gay Home!”
In Arizona it was shortly before sunset, as Deety had predicted. My husband repressed a gasp. I snapped, “Copilot, report H-above-G.”
“Uh… two klicks minus, falling.” Zebbie had bite now; the horizon ahead tilted slowly up, then faster. As we leaned over, Deety stretched high, catlike, to shoot between our pilots. We steadied with Snug Harbor dead ahead – a crater! I felt a burst of anger, a wish to kill!
“Picture!”
“Gay B’gout!”
Instead of being stationary at “Touchdown” we were in free fall on the night side of some planet. I could see stars, with blackness below the “horizon” – if horizon it were. Deety said, “Looks like the Russians left something on our parking space.”
“Perhaps. Jacob, H-above-G, please.”
“Under ten klicks, decreasing slowly.”
“So far, so good. But we aren’t sure that we have the right planet and universe.”
“Captain, that’s Antares ahead.”
“Thanks, Zebbie. I assume that at least we are in one of the analogs, of our native universe. Deety, can you get from Gay the acceleration and check it against Mars-ten?”
“‘Bout four ways, Cap’n.”
“Go ahead.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Hi, Gay. H-above-G, closing rate running, solve first differential, report answer.”
Instantly Gay answered, “Three-seven-six centimeters per second squared.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
So it was either Mars-ten or an unreasonable facsimile. “Gay B’gout!”
We were stationary, with what we had come to feel as “proper weight.” Deety said, “Maybe an animal wandered across our spot. How about lights, Captain? This snapshot ought to be colors by now.”
“Not yet. Chief Pilot, when I alert the autopilot by G, A, Y, please switch on forward landing lights.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Gay -“
Blinding light – men in its path were blinded, not us. “Bounce! Kill the light, Zebbie. The Little Father left sentries in case we came back – and we did.”
“Captain Auntie, may I have cabin light now?”
“Please be patient, dear. I saw two men. Jacob?”
“Three men, dear… dear Captain. Russian soldiers in uniform. Weapons, but no details.”
“Deety?”
“Looked like bazookas.”
“Chief Pilot?”
“Bazookas. A good thing you were on the bounce with Bounce, Skipper. Gay can take a lot… but a bazooka would make her unhappy.” He added, “Speed saved me yesterday. Deety, let that be a lesson: Never lose your temper.”
“Look who’s talking!”
“I quit being C.O., didn’t I? Cap’n Sharpie doesn’t do foolish stunts. If I were skipper, we would chase ’em all over that sea bottom. Never be in one place long enough for them to aim and they would think there were thirty of us. If Colonel Snotsky is there – I think he’s afraid to go home -“
We were over Arizona. I snapped, “Gay Termite!” and were parked by our stream. Zebbie said, “What the devil? Who did that?”
“You did, Zebadiah,” Deety answered.
“Me? I did no such thing. I was -“
“Silence!” (That was I, Captain Bligh.)
I went on, “Gay Deceiver, go to sleep. Over.”
“Sleepy time, Hilda. Roger and out.”
“Chief Pilot, is there a way to shut off the autopilot so completely that she cannot possibly be activated by voice?”
“Oh, certainly.” Zebbie reached up, threw a switch.
“Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, your new escape programs are swell… but I missed how that happened. But first – Did anyone else see our giant termite?”
“Huh?” – “I did.” – “Where?”
I said, “I was looking out to starboard as we transited. The creature was feeding on packing debris – and took off uphill at high speed. Looked like a very big, fat, white dog with too many legs. Six, I think.”
“‘Six,'” agreed my husband. “Put me in mind of a polar bear. Hilda, I think it is carnivorous.”
“We are not going to find out. Deety, tell Zebbie – all of us – what happened.”
Deety shrugged. “Zebadiah said ‘bounce’ twice when he should not have, but Gay wasn’t triggered. Then he said ‘Gay can take a lot – ‘ and she was triggered. More chitchat and Zebadiah said ‘ – I think he’s afraid to go home – ‘ That did it. Our smart girl hears what she has been taught. She heard: ‘Gay Home’ and that is the short form that used to be: ‘Gay Deceiver Take Us Home.”
Zebbie shook his head. “A gun should never be that hair-trigger.”
“Chief Pilot, yesterday you used the first of these clipped programs to avoid a bullet in your face. First ‘Gay’ – then after more words – ‘bounce!’ It saved you.”
“But -“
“I’m not through. Astrogator, study the escape programs. Search for possibility of danger if triggered accidentally. Zebbie, escape programs can’t be compared to a hair trigger on a gun; they are to escape, not to kill.”
“Captain Auntie, I’ve spent all day making certain that programs can’t put us out of the frying pan into the fire. That’s why I killed ‘countermarch.’ The nearest thing to danger is the ‘Home’ program because our home planet is unfriendly.” Deety sounded sad. “I hate to cut our last link with home.”
“It needn’t be cut,” I said. “Just stretched. Put it back into long form and add ‘Execute.'”
Deety answered, “Captain, I will do as you say. But we might be a billion klicks from nowhere and hit by a meteor. If anyone can gasp, ‘GayHome,’ then we are two klicks over our cabin site in air, not vacuum. Even if we’ve passed out, Gay won’t crash us; she’s built not to. If I’m gasping my last, I don’t want to have to say, ‘Gay Deceiver, take us home. Execute.’ That’s ten syllables against two… with air whooshing out.”
I said, “That settles it. The ‘Gay Home’ program stands unless my successor changes it.”
“You’re not talking to me, Captain Sharpie darling – I mean, Captain Hilda – because I’m not your successor. But Deety convinced me. I will not admit that those vermin have run me permanently off my own planet. At least I can return to it to die.”
“Son, let’s not speak of dying. We are going to stay alive and raise kids and enjoy it.”
“That’s my Pop! Say, doesn’t anybody want to see this picture?”

We made it a rest stop, worrying more about giant termites than about bushes… and Jacob found a can opener. The can opener. I put a stop to an attempt to fix the blame. Advice to all explorers: Do not roam the universes without a spare can opener.
Then it was “Prepare for lift!” and a new program. “Chief Pilot, switch on autopilot. Gay Deceiver. Explore. True bearing two-six-five. Unit jump five minima. Use bingo stop continue. End program short of sunrise line. Ground. Acknowledge by paraphrase.”
“Explore west five degrees south fifty-klick units. Two-second check each jump. Ground myself no power Greenwich time oh-three-seventeen.”
“Deety, is that time right?”
“For that program.”
“Gay Deceiver. Program revision. Cancel grounding. From program coded ‘A Tramp Abroad’ display locus. Display Bingoes.”
She displayed Mars at once, but gibbous. I scrawled a note to Deety: “How do I rotate to show day side only?”
Dear Deety! She wrote her answer. Passed it over – I doubt that our men saw it: “Program revision. Display locus real-time day side.”
Gay accommodated. It took several steps to define new locus as sunset line (right edge – east) to sunrise line (left edge – west), and between 50°N and 50°S (some Russian area had been close to 45°S, so I widened the search)-then let the locus move with the terminators. (Gay can “see” in the dark but I can’t.) I told her to end “Explore” at Greenwich oh-three-seventeen and start “A Tramp Abroad,” continue until directed otherwise, and had Gay repeat back in her phrasing.
I touched Zebbie’s shoulder, pointed to the switch that cut out Gay’s ears, drew a finger across my throat. He nodded and shut her out. I said, “Questions, gentlemen? Deety?”
“I do, Captain,” said our Chief Pilot. “Do you plan on sleeping tonight?”
“Certainly, Zebbie. An ideal sleeping spot would be one far from the Russians but close to the present sunset line. Or did you want to work all night?”
“If you wish. I noticed that you gave Gay a program that could keep her going for days or weeks – and that you had reduced H-above-G to six klicks. Breathable air. By rotating duties, with one or two always stretched out aft, we can stay up a week, easily, and still give Jake’s ankles a break.”
“I can skip a night’s sleep,” said Deety. “Captain Auntie honey, with enough random samples and a defined locus, sampling soon approaches a grid a fly couldn’t get through. Do you want the formula?”
“Heavens, no! As long as it works.”
“It works. Let’s make a long run, get a big sampling. But I’d like to add something. Let’s parallel the display onto a sidelooker screen, and light every vertex – while the main display shows Bingoes. You’ll see how tight a screen you’re building.”
“Sharpie, don’t let her do it!” Zebbie added, “‘Scuse, please! Captain, the Astrogator is correct on software but I know more about this hardware. You can crowd a computer into a nervous breakdown. I have safeguards around Smart Girl; if I give her too much to do, she tells me to go to hell. But she likes Deety. Like a willing horse, she’ll try hard for Deety even when it’s too much.”
Deety said soberly, “Captain, I gave you bad advice.”
Her husband said, “Don’t be so humble, Deety. You’re smarter than I am and we all know it. But we are dependent on Smart Girl and can’t let her break down. Captain, I don’t know how much strain the time-space twister puts on her but she has unnecessary programs. At the Captain’s convenience, I would like to review everything in her perms and wipe those we can do without.”
“My very early convenience, sir. Is the schedule okay?”
“Oh, sure. Just don’t add that side display.”
“Thank you, Chief Pilot. Anyone else? Copilot?”
“My dear… my dear Captain, is there some reason to find a spot near the sunset line? If you intend to work all night?”
“Oh! But, Jacob, I do not plan to work all night. It is now about twenty hundred by our personal circadians, as established by when we got up. I think we can search for three to four hours. I hope that we can find a spot to sleep near the sunset line, scout it in daylight, let Gay land herself on it for her perms – then return to it in the dark when we get tired”
“I see, in part. My dear, unless I misunderstood you, you are heading west. But you said that you wanted to find us a place to sleep near the presert sunset line. East. Or did I misunderstood you?”
“It’s very simply explained, Jacob.”
“Yes, dear Captain?”
“I made a horrible mistake in navigation.”
“Oh.”
“Chief Pilot, did you spot it?”
“Yup. Yes, Captain.”
“Why didn’t you speak up?”
“Not my business, Ma’am. Nothing you planned to do was any danger.”
“Zebbie, I’m not sure whether to thank you for keeping quiet, or to complain because you did. Deety, you spotted the mistake, I am certain. You are supposed to advise me.”
“Captain, I’m supposed to speak up to stop a bad mistake. This was not. I wasn’t certain that it was a mistake until you told on yourself. But you spotted the mistake when Gay predicted the time to end the ‘Explore’ program, then you corrected it by telling her to shift to ‘A Tramp Abroad.’ So there was never a reason to advise you.”
I let out a sigh. “You’re covering for me and I love you all and I’m no good as captain. I’ve served as many hours as Zebbie and we are on the ground, so now it’s time to elect someone who can do it right. You, Zebbie.”
“Not me. Jake and Deety must each do a stint before I’d admit that it might be my turn.”
“Captain -“
“Deety, I’m not captain; I resigned!”
“No, Aunt Hilda, you didn’t actually do it. It is my duty to advise you when you seem about to make a bad mistake. You made a minor mistake and corrected it. In my business we call that ‘debugging’-and spend more time on it than we do on writing programs. Because everybody makes mistakes.”
Jane’s little girl managed to sound the way Jane used to. I resolved to listen – because all too often I hadn’t listened to Jane. “Captain Auntie, if you were resigning because of the way your crew treated you – as Zebadiah did – I wouldn’t say a word. But that’s not your reason. Or is it?”
“What? Oh, no! You’ve all helped – you’ve been angels. Uh, well, mostly.”
“‘Angels’ – hummph! I can’t use the correct words; I’d shock our men. Aunt Hilda, I gave you far worse lip than I ever gave Zebadiah. You slapped me down hard – and I’ve been your strongest supporter ever since. Zebadiah, what you did was worse -“
“I know.”
” – but you admitted that you were wrong. Nevertheless you’ve been chewing the bit. Demanding explanations. Zebadiah, the captain of a ship doesn’t have to explain why she gives an order. Or does she?”
“Of course not. Oh, a captain sometimes does explain. But she shouldn’t do it often or the crew will start thinking they are entitled to explanations. In a crunch this can kill you. Waste that split second.” Zebbie brooded. “Captain says ‘Frog,’ you hop. Couple of times I failed to hop. Captain, I’m sorry.”
“Zebbie, we get along all right.”
He reached back and patted my knee. “Pretty well in the past. Better from now on.”
My darling Jacob said worriedly, “I’m afraid I have been remiss, too.”
I was about to reassure him when Deety cut in: “‘Remiss’! Pop, you’re the worst of all! If I had been your wife, I would have tossed you back and rebaited my hook. ‘Farce’ is worse than mutinous; it’s insulting. Be glad Jane didn’t hear you!”
“I know, I know!”
I touched Deety’s arm and whispered, “That’s enough, dear.”
Zebbie said soberly, “Captain, as I analyze it, you made a mistake in sign. Every navigator makes mistakes – and has some routine by which to check his work. If you’re going to get upset because recheck shows that you wrote down ‘plus’ when the declination is ‘south,’ you’re going to have ulcers. You’re just under strain from being C.O. We’ve all made the strain worse. But we want to do better. I’d hate to have you resign over a minor error… when we caused your upset. I hope you’ll give us another chance.”
Captains aren’t supposed to cry. I blinked ’em back, got my voice under control, and said, “All hands! Still ready for lift? Report.”
“Aye, Captain!” – “Affirmative!” – “Yes, my dear Hilda.”
“Zebbie, switch on Gay’s ears.” He did.
“Execute!” – Termite Creek was gone and we were fifty klicks west and a touch south. Pretty and green but no Bingo. It would take us about seven minutes to overtake the Sun and approach sunrise line, plus any holds we made. Then I would go east to the sunset line in nothing flat (have Zebbie and Jacob do it); then bounce & glide, bounce & glide, while looking for a place to sleep in a spot suitable for Gay to try her new unpowered autogrounding program – in daylight with the hottest pilot in two worlds ready to override any error.
If Gay could do this, we would be almost independent of juice – and have a new “bug-out” sanctuary each time she landed herself. Power packs – Zebbie had a hand-cranked D.C. generator – but heavy work for husky men for endless hours. (40 hrs from zero to full charge; you see why Zebbie would rather buy fresh charges.)
We had been skipping along nearly three minutes, over four thousand klicks, before spotting a Bingo (by Zebbie). I called a “Hold” and added, “Where, Zebbie?”
He nosed us down. Farm buildings and cultivated fields – a happy contrast to the terrain – barren, green, flat, rugged – all lacking any sign of humans, in the stops we had made. “Astrogator, record time. Continue.”
Then over three minutes with no Bingoes – At elapsed time 6m4s Jacob called out, “Bingo! A town.”
“Hold! Onion towers?”
“I think not, dear. I see a flag – dare we go nearer?”
“Yes! But anyone use a scram at will. Jacob, may I have the binoculars, please?”
The Stars and Stripes are engraved on my heart, but in the next moments the Cross of Saint Andrew and the Cross of Saint George were added. It was an ensign with a blue field and some white shapes – three half moons in three sizes.
“Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m all ears, Hilda.”
“Move current program to standby.”
“Roger Wilco Done.”
“Gay Bounce. Zebbie, let’s sweep this area for a bigger settlement.”
Zebbie placed a locus around the town, radius five hundred klicks, and started “A Tramp Abroad” with vertex time cut to one second. Thirty-one minutes later we had a city. I guessed it at a hundred thousand plus.
“Captain,” Zebbie said, “may I suggest that we bounce and try to raise them by radio? This place is big enough for A.A. guns or missiles -“
“Gay Bounce!”
” – and we know that their Slavic neighbors have aircraft.”
“Is your guardian angel warning you?”
“Well… ’tain’t polite to ground without clearance; such rudeness can make one suddenly dead.”
“Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Are we out of reach of missiles?”
“Captain, British and Russians of this universe are ahead of us in spaceships or they wouldn’t be here. That requires us to assume that their missiles and lasers and X-weapons are better than ours.”
“What’s an ‘X-weapon’? And what do you advise?”
“I advise evasive tactics. An X-weapon is a ‘Nobody-Knows.'”
“Evasive tactics, your choice. I assume you won’t waste juice.”
“No juice. Jake, gallop in all directions. Up, down, and sideways. Don’t wait for ‘Execute’; jump as fast as you can. That’s it! Keep moving!”
“Captain Auntie, may I suggest an easier way?”
“Speak up, Deety.”
“Zebadiah, how big is that city? Kilometers.”
“That’s indefinite. Oh, call it eight klicks in diameter.”
“You’ve got that one-second ‘Tramp’ program on hold. Change locus. Center on that biggest building, make the radius six klicks. Then start program and Pop can rest.”
“Uh… Deety, I’m stupid. Six klicks radius, ten klicks is a minimum – A bit tight?”
“Meant to be. Shall I draw a picture?”
“Maybe you’d better.”
(Deety had defined an annulus two kilometers wide, outer radius six, inner radius four. We would “circle” the city six klicks above ground, random jumps, sixty per minute. I doubted that even robot weapons could find us, range us, hit us, in one second.)
Deety loosened her belt, slithered forward, and sketched. Suddenly Zebbie said, “Gotcha! Deety, you’re a smart girl.”
“‘Boss, I’ll bet you tell that to all the girls.'”
“Nope, just smart ones. Gay Deceiver!”
“Less noise, please.”
“Program revision. A Tramp Abroad. Locus a circle radius six klicks. Center defined by next Bingo. Acknowledge paraphrase.”
“Revised program A Tramp Abroad. Circle twelve klicks diameter center next real-time Bingo.”
“Jake, put us over that big building downtown. If necessary, make several tries but don’t hang around. Once I like the position I’ll say the magic word, then scram.”
“Aye aye, Chief.”
Jacob made a dozen jumps before Zebbie said, “Bingo Gay Bounce” and a light appeared on the display. He started the program and told Gay to increase scale; the light spread out into a circle with a lighted dot in the center. “Captain, watch this. I’ve told Gay that every stop is a Bingo. You may be surprised.”
“Thanks, Zebbie.” The circle was becoming freckled inside its perimeter. With no feeling of motion, the scene flicked every second. It was mid-morning; each scene was sharp. That big building would be dead ahead – blink your eye and you’re staring at fields – then again at the city but with that building off to starboard. It put me in mind of holovideo tape spliced to create confusion.
Zebbie had on his phones and was ignoring everything else. Jacob was watching the flickering scenery, as was I, as was Deety – when Jacob suddenly turned his head, said, “Deety-please-the-Bo – ” and clapped his hand over his mouth.
I said, “Two Bonines, Deety – quickly!”
Deety was reaching for them. “You, too, Auntie Cap’n?”
“It’s this flickering.” I gave one to Jacob, made certain that he saw me take one. I had not been motion-sick since I had been made Captain. But any time my husband must take one, I will keep him company.
Today I should have taken one as soon as I spotted that British flag; Bonine tranquilizes the nerves as well as the tummy… and soon I must act as – ambassador? Something of the sort; I intended to go straight to the top. Dealing with underlings is frustrating. In college I would not have lasted almost four years had it been up to the dean of women. But I always managed to take it over her head to the president; the top boss can bend the rules.
(But my senior year the president was female and as tough a bitch as I am. She listened to my best Clarence-Darrow defense, congratulated me, told me I should have studied law, then said, “Go pack. I want you off campus by noon.”)
Zebbie pushed the phone off his right ear. “Captain, I’ve got this loud enough to put on the horn. Want to talk to them?”
“No. I’ve never grounded outside the States. You know how, you do it. But, Chief Pilot -“
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“And Copilot and Astrogator. Stick to the truth at all times. But do not unnecessarily give information. Answer questions uninformatively – but truthfully. If pressed, tell them, ‘See the Captain.”
“My dear,” Jacob said worriedly, “I’ve been meaning to speak about this. Zeb has had diplomatic experience. Wouldn’t it be wise for us to place him in charge on the ground? Please understand, I’m not criticizing your performance as captain. But with his experience and in view of the fact that our principal purpose is to obtain certain things for his car -“
“Gay Bounce Gay Bounce Gay Bounce! Astrogator.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Place us in a parking orbit. Soonest.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am! Copilot, don’t touch the verniers. Chief Pilot, check that the car is level. Gay Deceiver.”
“On deck, Deety.”
“Program. L axis add speed vector three point six klicks per second. Paraphrase acknowledge.”
“Increase forward speed three and six tenths kilometers per second.”
“Chief Pilot?”
“Level.”
“Execute.” Deety glanced at the board. “Gay Deceiver, H-above-G will soon stop decreasing, then increase very slowly. In about fifty minutes it will maximize. Program. When H-above-G is maximum, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“If-when one hundred klicks H-above-G, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“If-when air drag exceeds zero, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Remain in piloting mode. Ignore voices including program code words until you are called by your full name. Acknowledge by reporting your full name.”
“‘Gay Deceiver,'” answered Gay Deceiver.
“Is that okay, Captain? Smart Girl can’t hear the short-form programs now, until she hears her full name first. Then you would still have to say ‘Gay’ to alert her, and ‘Home’ or whatever to scram. But there should be loads of time, as she’ll tell me if anything starts to go wrong. You heard her.”
“That’s fine, Astrogator.”
“I turned her ears off because there may be discussion in which you might not want to have to be careful to use code words… but still be able to put her ears back fast if you need them. Faster than the switch and besides the switch can be reached only from the left front seat.”
Deety had a touch of nervous chattering; I understood the reasons for each step. And I understood why she was chattering.
“Well done. Thank you. Remain at the conn. Chief Pilot, Copilot, the Second-in-Command has the conn. I am going aft and do not wish to be disturbed.” I lowered my voice, spoke directly to Deety. “You are free to call me. You only.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Deety acknowledged quietly. “I must remind you: air for four hours only.”
“If I fall asleep, call me in three hours.” I kissed her quickly, floated out of my chair and started to undog the bulkhead door – got nowhere; Deety had to help me. Deety flipped a light switch for me. She closed me in and dogged one dog.
I got a blanket out of the cradle, took off my clothes, tried to wrap myself in the blanket. It kept slithering away.
No seat belts – But the web straps used to make a bedroll of Zebbie’s sleeping bag were attached through loops and tucked under thingammies. Soon I had a belt across my waist and the blanket around me.
Being a runt, the only way I can fight is with words. But best for me is to walk away. Fight with Jacob? I was so angry I wanted to slap him! But I never slap anyone; a woman who takes advantage of her size and sex to slap a man is herself no gentleman. So I walked away – got out of there before I said something that would tear it – lose me my lovable, cuddly, thoughtful – and sometimes unbearable! – husband.
I wept in my pillow – no pillow and no Kleenex. After a while I slept.

Chapter XXV

” – leave bad enough alone!”

Deety:
After I helped Aunt Hilda with the bulkhead door, I got back into my seat- and said nothing. If I opened my mouth, I would say too much. I love Pop a heap, and respect him as a mathematician.
Pop is also one of the most selfish people I’ve ever known.
Doesn’t mean he’s tight with money; he isn’t. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t share his last crust of bread – he would. With a stranger.
But if he doesn’t want to do something, he won’t. When Jane died, I had to take over money management at once. At seventeen. Because Pop ignored it. It was all I could do to get him to sign his name. –
I was bucking for my doctorate. Pop seemed to think that I should cook, clean house, shop, keep financial records, manage our businesses, cope with taxes – and earn my doctorate simultaneously.
Once I let dishes stack to see how long it would take him to notice. About two weeks later he said, “Deety, aren’t you ever going to do the dishes?”
I answered, “No, sir.”
“Eh? Why not?”
“I don’t have time.”
He looked puzzled. “Jane didn’t seem to find keeping house difficult. Is something wrong, dear?”
“Pop, Mama wasn’t bucking for a doctorate against a committee of dunderheads. My research subject was approved two years ago… but I’ve got men judging me – four out of seven – who can’t tell Fortran from Serutan, hate computers, and have dark fears that computer scientists are going to take their jobs away from them. They make me do work over because they don’t understand it. And besides – Well, Mama Jane always had help, mine, and a housekeeper toward the end.”
Pop is okay. He hired a housekeeper who stuck with us till I got my Ph.D. He investigated, discovered that thehead of the department had put men on my committee who knew nothing about computers – not on purpose; the department head did not know computers. I wound up with an even tougher committee but they knew computers. Fair enough.
Pop means to be good to me and he adores Aunt Hilda and means to pamper her. Pop is one of those men who sincerely believe in Women’s Lib, always support it – but so deep down that they aren’t aware of it, their emotions tell them that women never get over being children.
A mistake easy to make with Aunt Hilda – There are twelve-year-old girls bigger than she is and with more curves.
For a horrid time, we three said nothing. Zebadiah watched his instruments; Pop stared straight ahead.
At last my husband gave my father the chewing out that Pop would never have taken from me, “Jake. Tell me how you do it.”
“Eh?”
“You’re a genius. You aren’t the absent-minded sort who needs a boy to lead him around. You can hammer a nail with the best of them and can use power tools without chopping your fingers. You’re good company and you managed to attract one of the three finest women I’ve ever known so much that she married you. Yet you have publicly insulted her twice in one day. Twice. Tell me: Do you have to study to be that stupid? Or is it a gift, like your genius for mathematics?”
Pop covered his face with his hands. Zebadiah shut up.
I could see Pop’s shoulders shake. Presently his sobbing stopped. He wiped his eyes, unfastened his seat belt. When I realized he was heading for the bulkhead door, I unstrapped fast and placed myself in his way. He said, “Please move out of my way, Deety.”
“Copilot, return to your seat.”
“But, Daughter, you can’t come between husband and wife!”
“Address me as ‘Astrogator.’ The Captain does not wish to be disturbed. Gay Deceiver!”
“Here, Deety!”
“Log mode. Copilot, I will not permit you to disobey the Captain’s orders. Return to your seat, strap down – and stay there!”
“Or would you rather be placed in it?” Zebadiah growled. “With your arms strapped under the belts, and the buckles where you can’t reach them.”
“Chief Pilot, do not intervene unless I call on you. Copilot, move!”
Pop turned in the air, almost kicking me in the face and unaware of it. He was speaking through sobs. “But I must apologize to Hilda! Can’t you understand that?” But he was getting back into his seat.
“Jake, you’ll be a worse damn’ fool if you do.”
“What? Zeb, you can’t mean that.”
“I do mean it. You apologized once today. Hypocrisy, as Sharpie realizes. Jake, your only chance of staying married is to shut up and soldier; your word is no longer worth a fiat dollar. But if you behave yourself for four or five years, she might forget it. Correction: forgive it. She’ll never forget it. Establish a long record of good behavior and she might allow you some minor faults. But don’t ever hint that she is not as competent as any man. Sure, she’d be picked last for a tug-o’-war team, and she has to stand on a stool to reach a high shelf – does that affect her brain? Hell’s bells, if size mattered, I would be the supergenius around here – not you. Or perhaps you think being able to grow a beard confers wisdom? Jake, leave bad enough alone! Mess with it, you’ll make it worse.”
Time for a diversion: Pop must not be given a chance to answer. If Pop started defending himself, he would wind up self-righteous. The ability of the male mind to rationalize its deeds – and misdeeds – cannot be measured.
(And some female minds. But we females have more wild animal in us; mostly we don’t feel any need to justify ourselves. We just do it, whatever it is, because we want to. Is there ever any other reason?)
“Gentlemen,” I added, close on Zebadiah’s last remark before Pop could attempt rebuttal, “speaking of beards, you each have a three-day growth. If we are about to ask sanctuary, shouldn’t we be neat? I’m going to comb my hair and dig the dirt out from under my nails, and – Glory be! – I’ve got one spandy-clean jump suit. In light green, Zebadiah; matches your pilot suits. Got a clean one, dear?”
“I believe so.”
“I know so; I packed it when Aunt Hilda and I rearranged inventory. Pop, your light green jump suit is clean. That one you are wearing has wrinkles in the wrinkles and a big soup spot. We three will look as if we were in uniform. Aunt Hilda won’t but the captain-and-owner of a yacht doesn’t dress like her crew.”
“‘Owner’?” said Pop.
“‘”Owner,”‘” Zebadiah said firmly. “We pooled our resources. Sharpie is captain; she’ll stand as owner for all of us. Simpler.”
“She cautioned us not to tell lies, Zeb.” (Pop sounded normal – his usual argumentative self.)
“No lie. But if she finds it necessary to lie for us, we back her up. Come on, Jake, let’s put on our squeakin’ shoes; the Captain might decide to land any orbit. How long are these orbits, Deety?”
“One hundred minutes, plus a bit. But Gay could ground us from the far side in five minutes if the Captain asked for it.”
“So let’s get shipshape and Bristol style. Deety, will you keep an eye on the board while Jake and I shave?”
Pop said, “I’m sorry but I can’t shave until the Captain joins us. My gear is aft.”
“Jake, use mine. Glove compartment. Remington okay?” My husband added, “You first; I want to read the news.”
“The ‘news’?”
“Smart Girl has been sampling all frequencies, AM and FM, twice a second. If there is pattern, she copies.”
“But Deet – The Astrogator switched off the autopilot’s ears.”
“Jake, you just flunked Physics One-Oh-One. Deety told S.G. to shut off audio. I had in mind the electromagnetic spectrum. You’ve heard of it?”
Pop chuckled. “Touché! That makes us even for the one you pulled while we were calibrating.”
(I heaved a sigh of relief. I had not been trying to save Pop’s marriage – that’s his problem. Even my own marriage was secondary; I was trying to save the team, and so was Zebadiah. We were two marriages and that is important – but most important we were a survival team and either we worked together smoothly or none would live through it.)
While Pop shaved and Zebadiah read the news, I cleaned my nails. If I clean them before each meal and again at bedtime, they are dirty only in between – dirt likes me. Mama Jane told me that centuries ago, while ouching my hair for school – not a criticism; a statement of fact.
The men swapped headset for shaver and I combed my hair and pinned it into place – no longer an “ouch” job as I keep it short, ringlets rather than curls. Men like it long – but caring for long hair is a career in itself, and I’ve been pushed for time since I was twelve.
Zebadiah stopped to feel his chin – so I deduced as the buzzing stopped. I asked, “What did Smart Girl have to say?”
“Not much. Le’me finish this. BBC Third Program mostly.”
“From London?” He had resumed shaving and couldn’t hear me.
Zebadiah finished shaving and passed his shaver to Pop, who stowed it, then took off the headset and handed it back. Zebadiah racked and secured it. I was about to ask for it, when I heard Aunt Hilda’s sweet voice:
“Hello, everyone! What did I miss?”
“Halley’s Comet.”
“Halley’s – Zebbie, you’re a tease. Jacob – Oh! You shaved! How very nice! Hold still, my darling; you’re going to be kissed, ready or not.”
A kiss in free fall is interesting to watch when one participant is safety-belted and the other half is floating free. Hilda held Pop’s cheeks, he had her head in his hands, and Aunt Hilda drifted like a flag in a breeze. She was dressed but barefooted; I was intrigued when she curled her toes, hard. Was Pop that good? – my cubical father, so I had thought until recently. Did Jane teach him? Or – Shut up, Deety, you’re a voyeuse with a nasty curiosity.
They broke and Hilda floated between the pilot seats, a hand on each, and looked at the board. My husband said – to her, not to me – “Don’t I get a kiss? It was my razor.”
Aunt Hilda hesitated. Pop said, “Kiss him, beloved, or he’ll sulk.” So she did. It occurs to me that Aunt Hilda may have taught Zebadiah and that Mama Jane and Aunt Hilda may have been trained by the same coach before Pop came along – if so, who was my Unknown Benefactor?
“Not a whole lot,” Zebadiah was saying. “Mostly tapes from BBC. Five minutes of news from Windsor City – which may be the city we bingoed – as exciting as local news from any town you’ve never been in. Chatter in Russian. The Smart Girl saved that for you.”
“I’ll listen to it. But I must learn something. I was tempery a while ago, but a nap fixed me up and now I am filled with sweetness and light. I must have a report from each of you. We all have had cumulative fatigue. It is now bedtime at Termite Terrace but about lunchtime in Windsor City if that is its name. We can go back to our stream or we can tackle the British. I am not taking a vote; I shall decide and I have a way to take care of anyone who is tired. But I insist on honest data. Deety?”
“Captain Auntie, sleep is never my problem.”
“Zebbie?”
“I was a zombie. Until you recharged me. Now I’m rarin’ to go!”
She mussed his hair. “Zebbie, quit teasing.”
“Captain, on an earlier occasion I told you the facts: My alert time exceeds twenty-four hours. Forty-eight if I must. If that kiss did not stimulate you as much as it did me, let’s try it again and find out what went wrong.”
Aunt Hilda turned away abruptly. “Jacob dear, how do you feel? With the time difference this may be equivalent to staying up all night, possibly under great tension.”
“Hilda my love, were we to return to our streamside, I would not sleep, knowing that this contact was coming. A night without sleep does not strain me.”
“Pop’s not exaggerating, Captain Auntie. I get my night-owl capacity from Pop.”
“Very well. But I have a method of taking care of anyone who may have exaggerated. I can leave one person aboard as guard.”
“Captain, this wagon does not need a guard.”
“Chief Pilot, I was offering sleep – under pretext of guarding. Car locked and sleep where I just napped – outsiders would not know. Anyone? Speak up.”
(I wouldn’t have missed it for a Persian kitten! Did Hilda expect anyone to stay behind? I don’t think so.)
“Very well. No firearms. Gentlemen, please hide your pistols and belts with the guns, aft. Zebbie, is there a way to lock that door in addition to dogging it?”
“Sure. Tell Gay. May I ask why? No one can break into the cabin without damaging the old girl so much that she won’t lift.”
“Conceded, Zebbie. But I will be bringing visitors into this space. If anyone is brash enough to ask to be shown beyond the bulkhead door, I shall tell him that is my private compartment.” Aunt Hilda grinned wickedly. “If he persists, I’ll freeze his ears. What’s the program for locking and unlocking it?”
“Very complicated. Tell her, ‘Lock the bulkhead door,’ or ‘Unlock the bulkhead door.’ Concealed solenoids. If the car is cold, the bolts drop back.”
“Goodness, you were thorough.”
“No, Ma’am. The Aussies were. But it turns out to be convenient for things we wouldn’t like to lose. Cap’n, I don’t trust banks any more than I trust governments, so I carry my safety deposit vault with me.”
“If you cut the trickle charge, it unlocks?” Pop asked.
“Jake, I knew you would spot that. An accumulator across the solenoids, floating. Shut down the car and the solenoids work for another month… unless you open a switch in an odd location. Anyone want to know where it is? – what you don’t know, you can’t tell.”
He got no takers. Instead I said, “Captain, is a fléchette gun a ‘firearm’?”
“Hmm – Will it fit into a zippered compartment in your purse?”
“It fits into a concealed zipper compartment.”
“Keep it with you. No swords, gentlemen, as well as no firearms; we are a civilian party. One thing we should carry: those miniature walky-talkies, Deety and I in our purses, you gentlemen in your pockets. If they are noticed, tell the truth: a means of keeping our party in touch.”
Aunt Hilda suddenly looked stern. “This next order should be in writing. Please understand that there are no exceptions, no special circumstances, no variations left to individual judgment. I require Roger-Wilcoes from each of you or we do not ground. This party does not separate. Not for thirty seconds. Not for ten seconds. Not at all.”
“Will the Captain entertain a question?”
“Certainly, Zebbie.”
“Washrooms. Restrooms. Bathrooms. If these British behave like their analogs, such facilities are segregated.”
“Zebbie, all I can say to that is that I will look for a way to cope. But we stay together until I – until I, the Captain – decide that it is safe to ease the rule. In the meantime – We should use that unpopular honey bucket before we ground… then, if necessary, return to the car, together, to use it later. That’s not subject to discussion. Once we are on the ground, you three, acting unanimously, can hold a bloodless mutiny over this order or any” – Aunt Hilda looked directly at her husband – “and I will let myself be kicked out without a word… out of office as captain, out of the car, out of the party. Remain here, on Mars-ten, with the British if they will have me. No more questions. No further discussion by me or among yourselves. Astrogator.”
“Roger Wilco!”
“Thank you. Please state it in the long form.”
“I understand the Captain’s order and will comply exactly with no mental reservations.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“I understand -“
“Short form. Deety defined it.”
“Roger Wilco, Captain!”
Aunt Hilda turned in the air toward Pop – and I held my breath, three endless seconds. “Jacob?”
“Roger Wilco, Captain.”
“Very well. We will ground as soon as we get clearance but will not ask for clearance until I’ve heard the news and translated that Russian.” Whereupon I told her that we all intended to put on our best bib and tucker; the time should come out about right – and could we be relieved one by one? As I intended to use that darned thunder mug – when you must, you must.
Aunt Hilda frowned slightly. “I do wish that I had a jump suit in my size. This outfit -“
“Aunt Hilda! Your crew is in uniform but you are wearing the latest Hollywood style. That model was created by Ferrara himself and he charged you more than you paid for that mink cape. You are the Captain and dress to please yourself. I tell you three times!”
Aunt Hilda smiled. “Should I acknowledge in paraphrase?”
“By all means.”
“Deety, I require my crew to wear uniforms. But I dress to suit myself, and when I saw what the world-famous couturier Mario Ferrara was doing to change the trend in women’s sports clothes, I sent for him and worked him silly until he got just what I wanted. Including repeated washings of the trousers to give them that not-quite-new look so favored by the smart set for yachting. When you come back will you fetch your little shoes – my Keds – and the hair ribbon you gave me? They are part of Signor Ferrara’s creation.”
“Aunt Hilda honey, you make it sound true!”
“It is true. You told me three times. I don’t even regret the thousand newdollar bonus I gave him. That man is a genius! Get along dear – git. Chief Pilot, you have the conn; I want the earphones.”
I was back in ten minutes with jump suits for self and Pop and clean pilot suit for my husband.
I sailed their clothes toward Pop and Zebadiah. Aunt Hilda was handing phones back to Zebadiah; his suit caught both of them. “Wups, sorry but not very. What do the Russians say?”
“We’re baddies,” said my husband.
“We are? The suit I took off is loose back aft. Wrap it around your pistol and belt and shove them under the sleeping bag – pretty please?”
“With sugar on it?”
“At today’s prices? Yes. Beat it. Cap’n, what sort of baddies?”
“Spies and agents-saboteurs and other things and indemnity is demanded in the name of the Tsar and the surrender of our persons, all twelve of us -“
“Twelve?”
“So they claim. – for trial before they hang us. Or else. The ‘or-else’ amounts to a threat of war.”
“Heavens! Are we going to ground?”
“Yes. The British comment was that a source close to the Governor reports that the Russians have made another of their periodic claims of territorial violation and espionage and the note was routinely rejected. I intend to be cautious. We won’t leave the car unless I am convinced that we will receive decent treatment.”

Shortly we were again doing one-second jumps in a circle around Windsor City. Had Pop not pulled another blunder in handling Aunt Hilda we would have been on the ground two hours ago. “Blunder,” rather than “insult” – but I’m not Hilda, I’m Deety. My ego is not easily bruised. Before I married, if a man patronized me and it mattered, I used to invite him to go skeet shooting. Even if he beat me (happened once), he never patronized me again.
If it’s an unsocial encounter – I’m big, I’m strong, I fight dirty. A male has to be bigger, stronger, and just as well trained or I can take him. Haven’t had to use the fléchette gun yet. But twice I’ve broken arms and once I kicked a mugger in the crotch and said he fainted.
Zebadiah was having trouble with traffic control. ” – request permission to ground. This is private yacht Gay Deceiver, U.S. registry, Chief Pilot Carter speaking. All we want is clearance to ground. You’re behaving like those youknow-what-I-mean Russians. I didn’t expect this from Englishmen.”
“Now, now! Where are you? You sound close by… but we can’t get a fix on you.”
“We are circling your city at a height above ground of five kilometers.”
“How much is that in feet? Or miles?”
I touched my husband’s shoulder. “Tell him sixteen thousand feet.”
“Sixteen thousand feet.”
“What bearing?”
“We’re circling.”
“Yes, but – See Imperial House at City Center? What bearing?”
“We are much too fast for you to take a bearing. While you speak one sentence, we’ve gone around twice.”
“Oh, tell that to the Jollies; old sailors will never believe it.”
Aunt Hilda tapped Zebadiah; he passed the microphone to her. Aunt Hilda said crisply, “This is Captain Burroughs, commanding. State your name, rating, and organization number.”
I heard a groan, then silence. Twenty-three seconds later another voice came on. “This is the officer of the watch, Leftenant Bean. Is there a spot of trouble?”
“No, Lieutenant, merely stupidity. My chief pilot has been trying for fifteen minutes for clearance to ground. Is this a closed port? We were not told so by your embassy on Earth. We were warned that the Russians discouraged visitors, and indeed, they tried to shoot us out of the sky. What is your full name and your regiment, Lieutenant; I intend to make a formal report when I return home,”
“Please, Madam! This is Leftenant Brian Bean, Devonshire Royal Fusiliers. May I ask to whom I am speaking?”
“Very well. I will speak slowly; please record. I am Captain Hilda Burroughs, commanding space yacht Gay Deceiver, out of Snug Harbor in the Americas.”
“Captain, let me get this clear. Are you commanding both a spaceship in orbit and a landing craft from your ship? Either way, please let me have the elements of your ship’s orbit for my log, and tell me the present position of your landing craft. Then I can assign you a berth to ground.”
“Do I have your word as a British officer and gentleman that you will not shoot us out of the sky as those Russian vandals attempted to do?”
“Madam – Captain – you have my word.”
“Gay Bounce. We are now approximately forty-nine thousand feet above your city.”
“But – We understood you to say ‘Sixteen thousand’?”
“That was five minutes ago; this craft is fast.” Aunt Hilda released the button. “Deety, get rid of the special ‘Tramp’ program.”
I told Gay to return “Tramp” to her perms and to wipe the temporary mods. “Done.”
Aunt Hilda pressed the mike button. “Do you see us now?” She released the button. “Deety, I want us over that big building – ‘Imperial House,’ probably – in one transition. Can you tell Zebbie and Jacob what it takes?”
I looked it over. We should be at the edge of the city – but were we? Get a range and triangulate? No time! Guess at the answer, double it and divide by two. Arc tan four tenths. “Pop, can you transit twenty-one degrees from vertical toward city hail?”
“Twenty-one degrees. Sixty-nine degrees of dive toward the big barn in the park, relative bearing broad on the port bow, approx – set! One unit transition, ten klicks – set!”
“I can see you now, I do believe,” came Mr. Bean’s voice. “Barely.”
“We’ll come lower.” Aunt Hilda chopped off the lieutenant. “Zebbie, put her into glide as soon as you execute. Deety, watch H-above-G and scram if necessary – don’t wait to be told. Zebbie, execute at will.”
“Jake, execute!” – and we were down so fast I got goose bumps… especially as Zebadiah then dived vertically to gain glide speed and that’s mushy, slow, slow, on Mars.
But soon Aunt Hilda was saying tranquilly, “We are over Imperial House. You see us?”
“Yes, yes! My word! Bloody!”
“Leftenant, watch your language!” Aunt Hilda winked at me and snickered silently.
“Madam, I apologize.”
“‘Captain,’ if you please,” she said, smiling while her voice dripped icicles.
“Captain, I apologize.”
“Accepted. Where am I to ground?”
“Ah, figured from Imperial House, there is a landing field due south of it twelve miles. I will tell them to expect you.”
Hilda let up on the button, said, “Gay Bounce” and racked the microphone. “How unfortunate that the lieutenant’s radio cut out before he could tell us how far away that field is. Or was it our radio?”
I said, “Captain, you know durn well both radios worked okay.”
“Mercy, I must be getting old. Was Smart Girl in recording mode?”
I said, “She always is, during maneuvers. She wipes it in a ten-hour cycle.”
“Then my bad hearing doesn’t matter. Please ask her to repeat the lieutenant’s last speech.” I did, and Gay did. “Deety, can you have her wipe it right after the word ‘it’?”
“Auntie, you ain’t goin’ to Heaven.” I had Gay wipe twelve-miles-I-will-tell-them-to-expect-you. “But you wouldn’t know anybody there.”
“Probably not, dear. Zebbie, how does one have Smart Girl ground herself without juice?”
“Deety had better go over it again. Unless – Jake, will you explain it?”
“It’s Deety’s caper. I could use another drill.”
“All right,” I agreed. “Switch off Gay’s ears, Zebadiah. Gay can make any transition exactly if she knows precisely where her target is. Even a jump of less than one minimum. I found that out the day we got here when we were testing remote control. The rest came from perfecting the ‘Bug-Out’ routine by having her pause and sweep the target and if it’s obstructed, she bounces. Aunt Hilda, if you intend to ground, we had better not be much under five klicks or we’ll have to bounce and start over.”
“I’ve got air bite, Captain. I’ll stretch it.”
“Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, you do it. Let us all learn.”
“Okay. I need both pilots. You haven’t said where to ground.”
“Wasn’t that clear? Due south of Imperial House. I think it is a parade ground. Nothing on it but a flagpole on the north side. Put her down in front of the building but miss that flagpole.”
“It would take override to hit that flagpole. Zebadiah, gunsight the spot you want to park on. I’ll talk to Gay. Then put her in level flight in the orientation you want, and give ‘Execute.’ Pop, Gay should pause at exactly one-half klick, to see that her parking spot is clear and to recheck distance. That stop won’t be long – a fraction of a second – but, if she fails to make it, try to bounce. Probably you can’t; if I missed in debugging, maybe we’ll all be radioactive. Been nice knowing you all. Okay, switch on her ears.” My husband did so.
“Gay Deceiver.”
“Hello, Deety. I’ve missed you.”
“Unpowered autogrounding mode.”
“Gonna ground by myself without a drop of juice! Where?”
“New target. Code word: ‘Parade Ground.’ Point of aim and range-finder method.”
“Show him to me. I can lick him!”
I touched my husband’s shoulder. “Let her know.”
“On target, Gay. Steady on target.”
“Range three-seven-two-nine, three-seven-naughty-nought, three-five-nine-nine – got him, Deety!”
Zebadiah leveled us out, headed us north. “Execute!”
We were parked facing the big front steps. That flagpole was ten meters from Gay’s nose.
Pop said, “Deety, I could see the check stop but it was too short for me to act. But your programs always work.”
“Until the day one blows up. Aunt Hilda, what do we do now?”
“We wait.”

Chapter XXVI

The Keys to the City

Jake:
I do not believe that I am wrong in insisting that Zeb should lead us. I am forced to conclude that being right has little to do with holding a woman’s affections. I never intend to hurt Hilda’s feelings. I now plan to make a career of keeping my mouth shut.
But I do not think it was diplomatic to spat with that radio operator or proper to be – well, yes, rude – rude to his officer. As for grounding twelve miles, nineteen klicks, from where we were told to – is this the behavior of guests!
But we did ground where we should not have. I started to open the door to get out, then help Hilda to disembark, when I heard her say: “We wait.”
Hilda added, “Leave doors locked and belts fastened. Gay Deceiver, remain in maneuvering mode. Lock the bulkhead door.”
“Hot and rarin’ to go, Hilda. Bulkhead door locked.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“That makes two of us, Hilda.”
“Chief Pilot, in this mode does she record outside as well as inside?”
“She does if I switch on outside speakers and mikes, Captain.”
“Please do.”
“What volume, Captain? Outside, and inside.”
“I didn’t know they were separate. Straight-line gain?”
“Logarithmic, Ma’am. From a gnat’s whisper to a small earthquake.”
“I would like outside pickup to amplify enough that we won’t miss anything. What I send out should be a bit forceful.”
“Captain, I’ll give you a decibel advantage. You want it louder, squeeze my shoulder. I won’t turn it higher than seven – unless you want to use it as a weapon. But to talk privately inside I have to keep switching off, then on. As with the Russians – remember?”
“Oh, yes. All hands, I will speak for all of us. If anyone needs to speak to me, attract Zebbie’s attention – “
“Slap my shoulder.”
” – and he’ll give us privacy and confirm it with thumbs-up. Don’t ask for it unnecessarily.”
“Hilda, why these complex arrangements? Here comes someone now; it would be polite to go meet them. In any case, we can open the door to talk – these are not Russians.” I simply could not bear to watch my darling handle this delicate matter with such – well, rudeness!
Was I thanked? “Copilot, pipe down. All hands, we may go upstairs any instant; report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Ready, Captain.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Still ready. Outside audio hot.”
“Copilot.”
“I’m checking this door seal again. Earlier I started to open it. There! Ready for space. Hilda, I don’t think – “
“Correct! But the Chief Pilot did think, and gave me thumbs-up as soon as you started to talk. Pipe down! Chief Pilot, cut in our sender as soon as one of them speaks. Copilot, call me ‘Captain’ as the others do. Protocol applies; I’ll explain family relationships later, when appropriate.”
I resolved not to open my mouth for any reason, feeling quite disgruntled. Disgruntled? I found myself giving serious thought to whether or not Hilda’s temporary and inappropriate authority could do permanent harm to her personality.
But the top of my mind was observing the Lord High Executioner, approaching us flanked by two henchmen. He was wearing a uniform more suited to musical comedy than to the field. Fierce moustaches, sunburn-pink complexion, service ribbons, and a swagger cane completed the effect.
His henchmen were younger, not so fancy, fewer ribbons, and appeared to be sergeants. I could not read the officer’s shoulder straps. A crown, I thought, but was there a pip beside it?
He strode toward us and was ten meters from my door when Hilda said firmly, “That’s close enough. Please tell the Governor General that Captain Burroughs has grounded as directed and awaits his pleasure.”
He stopped briefly and bellowed, “You were not directed to land here! You’re supposed to be at the field! Customs, immigration, health inspection, visas, tourist cards, intelligence -“
I saw Hilda squeeze Zeb’s shoulder. “Quiet!” Her voice came more loudly from outside than from her despite Gay’s soundproofing. Zeb reduced gain as she continued, “My good man, send one of your ratings to the Governor General to deliver my message. While we wait, state your name, rank, and regiment; I shall make formal report of your behavior.”
“Preeeposterous!”
“Behavior ‘unbecoming an officer and a gentleman,'” Hilda said with gentle sweetness, “since you insist. While you won’t tell your name, like a naughty boy, others know it. The Paymaster. The Governor General. Others.” She squeezed Zeb’s shoulder. “Deliver my message!”
“I’m Colonel Brumby, Chief Constable of the Imperial Household, and not your messenger boy! Open up! I’m going to parade you before the Governor General – under arrest!”
Hilda said quietly to Zeb, “Seven” – allowed the Chief Constable to stride two more steps before saying, “STOP!”
My ears hurt.
All three stopped. The old fool braced himself and started again. Hilda must have poked Zeb; he answered with thumbs-up. “Back to normal volume but be ready with that earthquake.”
He nodded; she went on, “Leftenant Colonel, is it not? I don’t see that extra pip. Leftenant Colonel, I warn you for your own safety not to come closer.”
He did not answer, kept coming, took his cane from under his arm. His sergeants followed – slowly, at a respectful distance. Hilda let him reach my door – I could see a network of broken veins on his nose-and for the second time in two days someone started to pound on Gay’s door. He raised his cane –
“Stop that!”
I was deafened. The Chief Constable was missing. The sergeants were a long way back. They stopped running, turned and faced us. I looked down through my door’s port, saw a pair of legs and a swagger cane – inferred a torso.
I turned my head, saw that Zeb had his thumb up. “Captain,” he said, “I disobeyed you.”
“How, Zebbie?”
“I gave him an eight; I wasn’t sure his heart could take a ten. He looks like an old bottle-a-day man.”
“An eight may have been too much,” I commented. “He’s on the ground. Dead, maybe.”
“Oh, I hope not!”
“Unlikely, Captain,” Zeb told her. “Shall I tell his noncoms to come get him?”
“I’ll tell them, Zebbie. Normal level.” Hilda waited until he signalled, then called out, “Sergeants! Colonel Brumby needs help. There will be no more loud noises.”
The sergeants hesitated, then hurried. Shortly they were dragging him away. Presently he came to life, fought them off – sent one chasing back for his cane. The man caught my eye – and winked. I concluded that Brumby was not popular.
There was now a man standing on the entrance stairs. (Perhaps there had been people nearby earlier – but not after the noise started.) Imperial House had its ground floor with no doors on the front side. The first floor was the main floor and was reached by wide, sweeping stairs. The man near the top was small, dapper, dressed in mufti. As Brumby reached him, Brumby saluted, stopped, and they talked. Brumby’s ramrod stiffness spoke for itself.
Shortly the smaller man trotted down the long steps, moved quickly toward us, stopped about thirty meters away, and called out, “In the landing craft! Is it safe to come closer?”
“Certainly,” agreed Hilda.
“Thank you, Ma’am.” He approached, talking as he walked. “I dare say we should introduce ourselves. I’m Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, the Governor hereabouts. I take it you are Captain Burroughs?”
“That is correct, Excellency.”
“Thank you. Although I can’t tell, really, to whom I am speaking. Awkward, is it not, chatting via an announcing system? An open door would be pleasanter, don’t you think? More friendly.”
“You are right, Excellency. But the Russians gave us so unpleasant, so dangerous, a reception that I am nervous.”
“Those bounders. They have been making a bit of fuss over you, on the wireless. That was how I recognized your craft – smaller than they claimed but an accurate description – for a Russian. But surely you don’t think that we British wear our shirt tails out? You will receive decent treatment here.”
“That is pleasing to hear, Excellency. I was tempted to leave. That policeman chap is most unpleasant.”
“Sorry about that. Sheer mischance that he was first to greet you. Important as this colony is to the Empire, no doubt you have heard that being posted to it is not welcome to some. Not my own case, I asked for it. But some ranks and ratings. Now let’s have that door open, shall we? I dislike to insist but I am in charge here.”
Hilda looked thoughtful. “Governor General, I can either open the doors or leave. I prefer to stay. But the shocking treatment by the Russians followed by the totally unexpected behavior of your chief constable causes me to worry. I need a guarantee that our party will be permitted to remain together at all times, and a written safe-conduct for us, signed and sealed by you on behalf of H.I.M.”
“My dear Captain, a captain does not bargain with one who stands in place of and holds the authority of His Imperial Majesty. As a man, and you being a delightful lady, I would be happy to bargain with you endlessly just for the pleasure of your company. But I can’t.”
“I was not bargaining, Excellency; I was hoping for a boon. Since you will not grant it, I must leave at once.”
He shook his head. “I cannot permit you to leave as yet.”
“Gay Bounce. Zebbie, will you try to reach that nice Mr. Bean?”
Zeb had him shortly. “Leftenant Bean heah.”
“Captain Burroughs, Leftenant. Our radio chopped off while you were talking. No harm done; the important part got through. We grounded where you told us to, due south of Imperial House.”
“So that’s what happened? I must admit to feeling relieved.”
“Is your post of duty in Imperial House?”
“Yes, Ma’am. On it, rather. We have a small housing on the roof.”
“Good. I have a message for the Governor General. Will you record?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“This is Hilda Burroughs speaking, Master of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver out of Snug Harbor. I am sorry that I had to leave without saying good-bye. But your last statement forced me to take measures to protect my craft and crew.” My darling Hilda cut the mike. “Zebbie, when you have air, glide away from the city.” She continued, “In a small way my responsibilities parallel yours; I cannot bargain concerning the safety of my crew and my craft. I hope that you will reconsider, as I have no stomach for dealing with the Russians – even though they have more to offer us in exchange. I still ask for safe-conduct but now must ask for a still third item in such a document: that all four of us be allowed to leave at will. You have my name. My second-in-command is Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my chief pilot is Doctor Z. J. Carter, my copilot is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. You will have noticed surnames. Doctor Jacob is my husband; the other two are our daughter and her husband. I am Doctor Hilda Corners but I am much prouder of being Mrs. Jacob Burroughs – although at present I must use ‘Captain Hilda Burroughs’ since I am commanding. Sir, while dictating this I have made a decision. I will not make a second attempt to negotiate with Russians. We will wait thirty minutes in the warm hope of hearing from you… then return to Earth, report to our own government, send a detailed complaint to the Tsar of All the Russias, and make a formal report of our attempt here to His Imperial Majesty. Signed Respectfully yours, H. C. Burroughs, Commanding. Leftenant, what are the full names and titles of the Governor General?”
“Ah, His Excellency Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs, K.G., V.C., C.B.E., Governor General of the Imperial Realms Beyond the Sky.”
“Preface it formally, please, and I will wait until oh-nine-hundred hours Greenwich time or thirty-six minutes from now. Mark!”
“I will add the heading, Captain, and deliver it by hand.”
After Hilda signed off she said, “I’m going to try to sleep thirty of those thirty-six minutes. Can anyone think of a program that will let all of us nap? This contact is more tiring than I had expected. Jacob, Deety, Zeb – don’t all speak at once.”
“I can, my dear,” I answered.
“Yes, Jacob?”
“Gay Termite.”
To my mild surprise it was night at our creek bank. To my pleasure my first attempt to maneuver by voice was smoothly successful. My daughter’s ingenuity in constructing voiced programs had left me little to do. While I did not resent it (I’m proud of Deety), nevertheless while sitting as copilot, I sometimes wondered whether anyone remembered that it was my brainchild that moved this chariot. Ah, vanity!
To my greater pleasure Hilda clapped her hands and looked delighted. “Jacob! How clever of you! How stupid of me! All right, everyone off duty for a half hour ‘cept the rule about always two and always a rifle. Gay, alert us in thirty minutes. And please unlock the bulkhead door.”
“Aunt Hillbilly, are you going to sleep back there?”
“I had thought of stretching out and inviting Jacob to join me. But the space belongs to you and Zebbie; I was thoughtless.”
“We aren’t going to sleep. But we had better drag those rifles out of that sack or you won’t sleep. I want to empty the oubliette and stow that pesky plastic potty under the cushion of my seat. Durned if I’ll use it when I have the whole outdoors at hand.”
“Most certainly – but stay inside Gay’s lights – and do please remind me before we leave. Deety, I’ve so much on my mind that I forget housekeeping details.”
“Hillbilly, you’re doing swell. I’ll handle housekeeping; you worry about the big picture.”
Hilda cuddled up to me in the after compartment and my nerves began to relax. Would the Governor General relent? Where would we go next? We had a myriad universes to choose from, a myriad myriad planets – but only one was home and we didn’t dare go there. What about juice for Zeb’s car and a thousand other things? Perhaps we should risk Earth-without-a-J. What about the time bomb, ticking away in my darling’s belly?
Hilda sniffed into my shoulder. I patted her head. “Relax, dearest.”
“I can’t. Jacob, I don’t like this job. I snap at you, you argue with me, we both get upset. It’s not good for us – we never behaved this way at Snug Harbor.”
“Then give it up.”
“I’m going to. After I finish the job I started. Jacob, when we lift from this planet, you will be captain.”
“Oh, no! Zeb.” (Hilda my only love, you should turn it over to him now.)
“Zebbie won’t take it. It’s you or Deety, Jacob. If Deety is our next captain, you will back-seat drive even more than you have with me. No, Jacob, you must be captain before Deety is, so that you will understand what she is up against.”
I felt that I had been scolded enough. I started to tell Hilda when that pejorative epithet played back in my mind: ” – back-seat drive -“
I trust that I am honest with myself. I know that I am not very sociable and I expect to go on being so; a man capable of creative work has no time to spare for fools who would like to visit. But a “back-seat driver”?
Some facts: Jane learned to drive before I did – her father’s duo. Our first car, a roadable, coincided with her pregnancy; I got instruction so that I could drive for Jane. She resumed driving after Deety was born but when both of us were in the car, I always drove. She drove with me as passenger once or twice before the custom became established – but she never complained that I had been back-seat driving.
But Jane never complained.
Deety laid it on the line. I don’t know who taught Deety to drive but I recall that she was driving, on roads as well as in the air, when she was twelve or thirteen. She had no occasion to drive for me until Jane’s illness. There was a time after we lost Jane that Deety often drove for me. After a while we alternated. Then came a day when she was driving and I pointed out that her H-above-G was, oh, some figure less than a thousand meters, with a town ahead.
She said, “Thanks, Pop” – and grounded at that town, an unplanned stop. She switched off, got out, walked around and said, “Shove over, Pop. From now on, I’ll enjoy the scenery while you herd us through the sky.”
I didn’t shove over, so Deety got into the back seat. Deety gets her stubbornness from both parents. Jane’s was covered with marshmallow that concealed chrome steel; mine is covered with a coat of sullen anger if frustrated. But Deety’s stubbornness isn’t concealed. She has a sweet disposition but Torquemada could not force Deety to do that which she decided against.
For four hours we ignored each other. Then I turned around (intending to start an argument, I suppose – I was in the mood for one) – and Deety was asleep, curled up in the back seat.
I wrote a note, stuck it to the wind screen, left the keys, got quietly out, made sure all doors were locked, hired another car and drove home – by air; I was too angry to risk roading.
Instead of going straight home I went to the Commons to eat, and found Deety already eating. So I took my tray and joined her. She looked up, smiled, and greeted me: “Hello, Pop! How nice we ran into each other!” She opened her purse. “Here are your keys.”
I took them. “Where is our car?”
“Your car, Pop. Where you left it.”
“I left it?”
“You had the keys; you were in the front seat; you hold title. You left a passenger asleep in the back seat. Good thing she’s over eighteen, isn’t it?” She added, “There is an Opel duo I have my eye on. Tried it once; it’s in good shape.”
“We don’t need two cars!”
“A matter of taste. Yours. And mine.”
“We can’t afford two cars.”
“How would you know, Pop? I handle the money.”
She did not buy the Opel. But she never again drove when we both were in our car.
Three data are not a statistical universe. But it appears that the three women I have loved most all consider me to be a back-seat driver. Jane never said so… but I realize today that she agreed with Deety and Hilda.
I don’t consider myself to be a back-seat driver! I don’t yell “Look out!” or “Watch what you’re doing!” But four eyes are better than two: Should not a passenger offer, simply as data, something the driver may not have seen? Criticism? Constructive criticism only and most sparingly and only to close friends.
But I try to be self-honest; my opinion is not important in this. I must convince Hilda and Deety, by deeds, not words. Long habit is not changed by mere good resolution; I must keep the matter at the top of my mind.
There was banging at the bulkhead; I realized that I had been asleep. The door opened a crack. “Lift in five minutes.”
“Okay, Deety,” Hilda answered. “Nice nap, beloved?”
“Yes indeed. Did you?”
As we crawled out, Deety said, “Starboard door is open; Pop’s rifle is leaning against it, locked. Captain, you asked to be reminded. Shall I take the conn?”
“Yes, thank you.”
We lost no time as Deety used two preprograms: Bingo Windsor, plus Gay Bounce. Zeb had the communication watch officer almost at once. ” – very well. I will see if the Captain will take the message. No over. Hold.”
Zeb looked around, ostentatiously counted ten seconds, then pointed at Hilda.
“Captain Burroughs speaking. Leftenant Bean?”
“Yes, yes! Oh, my word, I’ve been trying to reach you the past twenty minutes.”
“It is still a few seconds short of the time I gave you.”
“Nevertheless I am enormously relieved to hear your voice, Captain. I have a message from the Governor General. Are you ready to record?”
Zeb nodded; Hilda answered Yes; the lieutenant continued: “‘From the Governor General to H. C. Burroughs, Master Gay Deceiver.’ Hurry home, the children are crying. We all miss you. The fatted calf is turning on the spit. That document is signed and sealed, including the additional clause. Signed: “Bertie”‘ – Captain, that is the Governor’s way of signing a message to an intimate friend. A signal honor, if I may say so.”
“Gracious of him. Please tell the Governor General that I am ready to ground and will do so as soon as you tell me that the spot in which we were parked – the exact spot – is free of any obstruction whatever.”
Bean was back in about three minutes saying that our spot was clear and would be kept so. Hilda nodded to Deety, who said, “Gay Parade Ground.”
I had a flash of buildings fairly close, then we were back in the sky. Hilda snapped, “Chief Pilot, get Leftenant Bean!”
Then – c”Mr. Bean! Our spot was not clear.”
“It is now, Captain; I have just come from the parapet. The Governor’s poodle got loose and ran out. The Governor chased him and brought him back. Could that have been it?”
“It decidedly was it. You may tell the Governor – privately – that never in battle has he been so close to death. Astrogator, take her down!”
“GayParadeGround!”
Bean must have heard the gasp, then cheers, while Hilda’s words were still echoing in his radio shack. We were exactly as before, save that the wide, showy steps to the King-Emperor’s residence on Mars were jammed with people: officers, soldiers, civil servants with that slightly dusty look, women with children, and a few dogs, all under restraint.
I didn’t spot the Right Honourable “Bertie” until he moved toward us. He was no longer in mufti but in what I could call “service dress” or “undress” – not a dress uniform – but dressy. Ribbons, piping, wound stripes, etc. – sword when appropriate. Since he was not wearing sword I interpreted our status as “honored guests” rather than “official visitors” – he was ready to jump either way.
He had his wife on his arm – another smart move, our captain being female. His aide (? – left shoulder “chicken guts” but possibly a unit decoration) was with him, too – no one else. The crowd stayed back.
Hilda said, “Chief Pilot – ” then pointed to the mikes, drew her finger across her throat. Zeb said, “Outside audio is cold, Cap’n.”
“Thank you, Gay, lock the bulkhead door, open your doors.”
I jumped down and handed Hilda out, offered her my arm, while Zeb was doing the same with Deety portside. We met, four abreast at Gay’s nose, continued moving forward a few paces and halted facing the Governor’s party as they halted. It looked rehearsed but we had not even discussed it. This placed our ladies between us, with my tiny darling standing tall, opposite the Governor.
The aide boomed, “His Excellency Governor General the Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs and Lady Herbert Evelyn James!”
The Governor grinned. “Dreadful,” he said quietly, “but worse with ruffles, flourishes, and the Viceroy’s March – I spared you that.” He raised his voice, did not shout but it projected – and saluted Hilda. “Captain Burroughs! We bid you welcome!”
Hilda bowed, returning the salute. “Excellency… Lady Herbert… thank you! We are happy to be here.”
Lady Herbert smiled at being included, and bobbed about two centimeters – a minimum curtsy, I suppose, but can’t swear to it, as she was swathed in one of those dreadful garden-party-formal things – big hat, long skirt, long gloves. Hilda answered with a smile and a minimum bow.
“Permit me to present my companions,” Hilda continued. “My family and also my crew. On my left my astrogator and second-in-command, our daughter Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, and on her left is her husband our son-in-law, my chief pilot, Doctor Zebadiah John Carter, Captain U.S. Aerospace Reserve.” Deety dropped a curtsy as her name was mentioned, a 6-cm job, with spine straight. Zeb acknowledged his name with a slight bow.
Hilda turned her head and shoulders toward me. “It gives me more pride than I can express,” she sang, her eyes and mouth smiling, her whole being speaking such serene happiness that it made me choke up, “to present our copilot, my husband Doctor Jacob Jeremiah Burroughs, Colonel of Ordnance A.U.S.”
The Governor stepped forward quickly and held out his hand. “Doctor, we are honored!” His handshake was firm.
I returned it in kind, saying in a nonprojecting voice, “Hilda should not have done that to me. Off campus, I’m ‘Mister’ to strangers and ‘Jake’ to my friends.”
“I’m Bertie, Jake,” he answered in his intimate voice, “other than on occasions when I can’t avoid that string of goods wagons. Or I’ll call you ‘Doctor.”
“You do and it’s fifty lines.” That made him laugh again.
“And I’m Betty, Jake,” Lady Herbert said, in closing in. “Captain Burroughs, may I call you ‘Hilda’?” (Was that a hiccup?)
“Call her ‘Doctor,'” I suggested. “She told on the rest of us. How many doctorates do you hold, dear? Seven? Or eight?”
“After the first one, it no longer matters. Of course I’m ‘Hilda,’ Betty. But, Bertie, we have yet to meet the Brigadier.”
I glanced at the tabs of the officer with the aiguillette and booming voice. Yes, A crown inboard and three pips – But when had Hilda learned British insignia? Many Americans can’t read their own. I am ceasing to be surprised at how many facts can be stuffed into so small a space.
“Sorry. Friends, this is Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones. Squeaky finds things I lose and remembers things I forget.”
“Ladies. Gentlemen. Charmed. Here is something you told me to remember, General.” The Brigadier handed a sealed envelope to his boss.
“Ah, yes!” Smythe-Carstairs handed it to my wife. “The Keys to the City, Ma’am. Phrased as you specified, each of you named, and that third factor included. Signed by me for the Sovereign and carrying the Imperial seal.”
“Your Excellency is most gracious,” Hilda said formally, and turned toward Deety. “Astrogator.”
“Aye, Captain.” Deety placed it in her purse.
Our host looked surprised. “Jake, doesn’t your wife have normal curiosity? She seems to have forgot my name, too.”
Hilda protested, “I haven’t forgotten your name, Bertie. It’s an official matter; I treated it formally. I shall read it when I have leisure to open that envelope without damaging the flap seal. To you this is one of thousands of papers; to me it is a once-in-a-lifetime souvenir. If I sound impressed, it’s because I am.”
Lady Herbert said, “Don’t flatter him, my deah.” (Yes, she had had a couple.) “You’ll turn his head, quite.” She added, “Bertie, you’re causing our guests to stand when we could be inside, sitting down.”
“You’re right, m’dear.” Bertie looked longingly at Zeb’s car.
Hilda played a trump. “Care to look inside, Bertie? Betty, you can sit down here; the captain’s chair is comfortable. Will you do me the honor? Someday I’ll tell my grandchildren that Lady Herbert sat in that very seat.”
“What a charming thought!”
Hilda tried to catch my eye but I was a jump ahead of her, handing Lady Herbert in, making certain that she didn’t miss the step, getting her turned around, making sure that she didn’t sit down on belts. “If we were about to lift,” I told her, while fastening the seat belt loosely (first, moving the buckle – she’s Hilda’s height but my thickness), “this safety belt would be fastened firmly.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!”
“Gangway, Pop! Another customer.” I got out of the way, and Deety installed Brigadier Hird-Jones in her seat. Deety said, “Pop, if you’ll put the Governor in your seat, Zebadiah will take his own and give his two-hour lecture on the care and feeding of spacecraft, while you and I and Hilda hang in the doorways and correct his errors.”
“I’m only up to chapter four,” Zeb said defensively. “Jake, make her quit picking on me.”
“You’re her husband; I’m merely her father. Bertie, I must ask one thing. Don’t touch anything. This car is not shut down; it is ready to go, instantly.”
“I’ll be careful, Jake. But we’re leaving the ladies standing. The Captain herself! This is not right.”
Deety said, “Bertie, I don’t want to sit down. This trip doesn’t give me nearly the exercise I need.”
“But I can’t permit Captain Hilda to stand. Sit here and I’ll stand.” (I appreciated his gallantry but I could see an impasse coming: two people, each aware of her/his prerogatives and they conflicted.)
Hilda avoided it by something she had discovered in working out how to rig a double bed in the control compartment. Although pilots have separate seats, the passenger’s seats are really one, built all the way across but separated by armrests… which could be removed with screwdriver and sweat.
I had eliminated sweat and screwdriver; a natural mechanic, such as Zeb, accumulates miscellaneous hardware. Those armrests could now be removed and clamped out of the way with butterfly nuts. Hilda started to do so; the Brigadier dismounted them once he saw what she was doing.
It was a snug fit, but Hird-Jones has trim hips and Hilda has the slimmest bottom in town (any town).
“An important feature,” said Zeb, “of this design is a voice-controlled autopilot -“

Chapter XXXVII

“Are you open to a bribe?”

Deety:
Zebadiah, for seventeen dull minutes, said nothing and said it very well. During that plethora of polysyllabic nullities, I was beginning to think that I would have to take Pop to a quiet spot and reason with him with a club – when Captain Auntie showed that she needed no help.
Pop had interrupted with: “Let me put it simply. What Zeb said is -“
“Copilot.” Cap’n Hilda did not speak loudly but Pop should know that when she says “Copilot,” she does not mean: “Jacob darling, this is your little wifey.” Pop is a slow learner. But he can learn. Just drop an anvil on him.
“Yes, Hilda?” Aunt Hilda let the seconds creep past, never took her eyes off Pop. I was embarrassed; Pop isn’t usually that slow – then the anvil hit. “Yes, Captain?”
“Please do not interrupt the Chief Pilot’s presentation.” Her tone was warm and sweet: I don’t think our guests realized that Pop had just been courtmartialed, convicted, keelhauled, and restored to duty – on probation. But I knew it, Zeb knew it – Pop knew it. “Aye aye, Captain!”
I concluded that Captain Auntie never intended to stand outside. She had told me to offer my seat to Squeaky and had added, “Why don’t you suggest to your father that he offer his to the Governor?” I don’t need an anvil.
It was a foregone conclusion that Bertie would object to ladies having to stand while he sat. But if he had not, I feel certain that the Hillbilly would have held up proceedings until she was seated where she could watch everyone but our visitors could not watch her.
How tall was Machiavelli?
As they were climbing out the Brigadier was telling me that he understood how she was controlled – but how did she flap her wings? – land I answered that technical questions were best put to the Captain – I was unsurprised to hear Cap’n Auntie say, “Certainly, Bertie… if you don’t mind being squeezed between Deety and me.”
“‘Mind’? I should pay for the privilege!”
“Certainly you should,” I agreed – the Hillbilly’s eyes widened but she let me talk. “What am I offered to scrunch over?” I slapped myself where I’m widest. “Squeaky is a snake’s hips – not me!”
“Are you open to a bribe?”
“How big a bribe?”
“A purse of gold and half the county? Or cream tarts at tea?”
“Oh, much more! A bath. A bath in a tub, with loads of hot water and lots of suds. The last time I bathed was in a stream and it was coooold!” I shivered for him.
The Governor appeared to think. “Squeaky, do we have a bathtub?”
Lady Herbert interrupted. “Bertie, I was thinking of the Princess Suite. My deah, since you are all one family, it popped into mind. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, two bathtubs. The drawing room is gloomy, rather.”
I answered, “Bertie, you didn’t talk fast enough; Betty gets the first ride.”
“Oh, no, no, no! I don’t fly even in our own flying carriage.”
“Hahrooomph!” Squeaky boomed. “Are you still open to a bribe?”
“You might try our captain; she’s as corruptible as I am.”
Aunt Hilda picked it up. “Now that I’ve heard that two bathtubs go with the suite, my cup runneth over. But my husband and my son-in-law have matters to discuss with the Governor’s technical staff. I don’t have to be bribed to offer a few joy rides, Brigadier – one passenger at a time and, as Deety implies, not too wide a passenger.” Aunt Hilda added, “Betty, I must confess my own weakness. Clothes. What I am wearing, for example. A Ferrara original. An exclusive – Mario himself created it for me. While it is intended for salt-water yachting, it is just as practical for space yachting – and I couldn’t resist it. Do you have nice shops here?”
Bertie answered for his wife. “Hilda, there are shops – but Windsor City is not London. However, Betty has a seamstress who is clever at copying styles from pictures in periodicals from home – old but new to us.” He added, “She’ll show you what we have. Now concerning this ride you so kindly offered me – does it suit you to give me an appointment?”
“Is right now soon enough?”

“Report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Ready!” I snapped, trying to sound efficient. “Belt tight.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Belt fastened. Portside door locked, seal checked. Juice zero point seven-one. Wings subsonic full. Wheels down and locked. Car trimmed assuming passenger at six-six kilos.”
“General, is that your mass?”
“Dear me! I think in pounds. The factor is -“
I interrupted. “I’ll take it in pounds here or pounds London.”
“I weigh myself each morning and I have had the scale recalibrated. Eh, with these boots, one hundred forty-five pounds I dare say.”
“Correct to three significant figures, Zebadiah.” (I did not mention that weight bearing on each wheel shows on the instrument board. Let Bertie think my husband a magician; he’s a wizard to me.)
“Thank you, Astrogator. Car is trimmed, Captain.”
“Copilot.”
“Belt fastened. Door seal checked. Continua device ready.”
“Passenger,” said Cap’n Auntie.
“Eh? What should a passenger report?”
“Principally that your belt is secure, but I saw to that myself.” (By using a web belt from our sleeping bag to link Hilda’s seat belt to mine.) “I must ask one question,” Aunt Hilda went on: “Are you subject to motion sickness? The Channel can be rough and so can the Straits of Dover. Did mal de mer ever hit you?”
“Oh, I’ll be right. Short flight and all that.”
“One Bonine, Deety. General, Admiral Lord Nelson was seasick all his life. My husband and I are susceptible; we took our pills earlier today. Deety and Zebbie are the horrid sort who eat greasy sandwiches during a typhoon and laugh at the dying -“
“I don’t laugh!” I protested.
“But these pills enable us to laugh right back. Is this not so, Jacob?”
“Bertie, they work; you’d be a fool not to take one.”
“I must add,” Captain Auntie said sweetly, “that if you refuse, we will not lift.”
Bertie took it. I told him, “Chew it and swallow it; don’t hide it in your cheek. Captain, I think that does it.”
“Except that we are crowded. General, would you be more comfortable if you put an arm around each of us?”
The General did not refuse. It occurs to me that “take him for a ride” has several meanings. Captain Auntie has more twists than a belly dancer.
“Routine has been broken. Confirm readiness, please.” We reported while I snuggled into a firm male arm, realized that it was a pleasant contrast after getting used to my lovely giant.
“Gay Bounce.”
Bertie gasped and tightened his arms around us. Aunt Hilda said quietly, “Astrogator, take the conn. Schedule as I discussed it. Don’t hesitate to vary it. All of us – you, too, General – may suggest variations. This is a joy ride; let’s enjoy it.”
But she had told me earlier: “If I don’t like a suggestion, I will suggest that we do it later – but time will run out. The General told Lady Herbert:
‘I can go down to the end of the town
‘And be back in time for tea!” – so we will fetch him back on time. Sixteen-fifteen local, four-fifteen pip emma. What’s Greenwich?”
I converted it (GMT 12:44) and told Captain Hillbilly that I would watch both board and the clock in my head but was ordered to place an alert with Gay. If Aunt Hilda were a man, she would wear both suspenders and belt. No, that’s wrong; for herself she’s go-for-broke; for other people she is supercautious.
We lifted at 15:30 local and took Bertie for a mixed ride – Aunt Hilda had told me that Pop was feeling left out. “Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Chief Pilot, place us over the big Russian city at about a thousand klicks.”
“Roger Wilco,” my husband affirmed. “Copilot, one jump or two?”
“One. Level? Keep ‘er so. Six thousand thirty klicks, true bearing two-seven-three, offset L axis negative oh-seven-four-set!” – and I shuddered; Pop had set to take us through the planet!
“Execute! Bertie, what is the name of that city?”
“Eh? Zeb, I am quite bewildered!” Pop and Gay and Zebadiah, working together, displayed features simultaneously on the planet in front of us and on the sillyscope on the board. Pop bounced Gay around in ways I didn’t know could be done. Zebadiah had Gay rotate the display so that the point on Mars-ten opposite us was always the center of the display with scale according to H-above-G.
I learned a lot. The Russians claim the whole planet but their occupied area closely matches what we had bingo-mapped. Bertie pointed out a bit more Tsarist area; Gay changed the displayed locus to Zebadiah’s interpretation of Bertie’s information. Windsor City was zero Meridan for the British; Gay measured the arc to “Touchdown,” adjusted her longitudes – and now could use any British Martian colonial map.
Bertie assured us that Russian Ack-Ack could not shoot higher than three miles (less than five klicks) and seemed astonished that a spaceship might be considered dangerous. His explanation of spaceships was less than clear – great flimsy things that sailed from orbits around Earth to orbits around Mars, taking months for each voyage.
I was watching the time. “Chief Pilot, we will sight-see with Bertie another day; I am taking the conn. Copilot.”
“Verniers zeroed and locked, Astrogator.”
“Thanks, Pop. Gay B’gout. Bertie, this is where we first grounded – where the Russians attacked us. That trash ahead is what is left of Colonel Morinosky’s private flyer. Zebadiah was forced to retaliate.”
Bertie looked puzzled. “But the Russians have no settlement near here. I know that bounder Morinosky; he came to see me under diplomatic immunity. I had to be content with the sort of nasty remarks permitted by protocol. But how did Zeb burn the flyer?”
“Beautifully. Gay Home. Chief Pilot, dive. Captain?”
“I have the conn,” Aunt Hilda acknowledged. “Bertie, that crater was our home three days ago. They tried to kill us, we fled for our lives.”
“Who!”
“Gay Home, Gay Bounce. Pilots, may we have Earth-without-a-J?”
“Set it, Jake.”
“Tau axis positive one quantum – set!”
“Copilot, execute at will. Chief Pilot, dive again, please. Jacob, please set Bertie’s home universe and hold. Bertie, that house is like Snug Harbor before it was bombed – but one universe away. Zebbie, level glide please… Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce! Jacob, you have that setting?”
“Tau positive ten quanta, set.”
“Execute at will. Bertie, what antiaircraft defense does London – your London – have?”
“What, what? London has no defense against attack from above. The Concord of Brussels. But Hilda – my dear Captain – you are telling me that we have been to a different universe!”
“Three universes, Bertie, and now we are back in your own. Better to show than to tell; it is a thing one believes only through experience. Gay Bounce. Zebbie, Jacob, see how quickly you can put us over London. Execute at will.”
“Roger Wilco. Jake, do you want Gay?”
“Well – great-circle true bearing and chord distance, maybe. Or I can simply take her high and head northeast. The scenic route.”
Aunt Hilda caught my eye. “Camera ready, Deety?”
“Yes. Three shots.” I added, “Four more cartons, but when they’re gone, they’re gone.”
“Use your judgment.”
Suddenly we were in free fall over Arizona, then over the British Isles, then we were air supported, then we were diving and Zebadiah was shouting: “Tower of London, next stop!”
I shot a beauty of the Tower and Zebadiah’s right ear. “General, is there something you would like to photograph here? Or elsewhere?”
He seemed almost too overcome to talk. He muttered, “There is a place about twenty miles north of here, a country estate. Is it possible?”
Aunt Hilda said, “Take the conn, Deety.”
“Got it, Captain. Gay Bounce. Pop, Zebadiah, give me three minima north. Execute at will.”
Then I was saying, “Any landmarks, Bertie?”
“Uh, not yet.”
“Pop, may we have the binoculars?”
Pop handed them aft; I gave them to Bertie. He adjusted them and searched while Zebadiah made a wide sweep, spending altitude stingily. Bertie said, “There!”
“Where?” I said. “And what?”
“A large house, to the right of our course. Ah, now dead ahead!”
I saw it – a “Stately Home of England.” Lawns you make with a flock of sheep and four centuries. “This it?” asked Zebadiah. “I’m steady on it by gunsight,”
“That’s it, sir! Deety, I would like a picture.”
“Do my best.”
“Alert,” said Gay. “Memo for General Smythe-Carstairs: ‘I can go down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea.'”
“Aunt Hilda, Bertie, I left some leeway. Picture! Zebadiah, take it as close as you dare, then bounce, but warn me. I want a closeup.”
“Now, Deety!” I hit it and Zebadiah bounced us.
Bertie let out a sigh. “My home. I never expected to see it again.”
“I knew it was your home,” Aunt Hilda said softly, “because you looked the way we feel when we see the crater where Snug Harbor used to be. But you will see it again, surely? How long is a tour of duty on Mars?”
“It’s a matter of health.” Bertie added, “Lady Her – Betty’s health.”
Pop turned his head. “Bertie, we can bounce and do it again. What’s a few minutes late for tea compared with seeing your old homestead?”
“Bertie’s not late yet, Pop. We can do even better. That lawn is smooth and the open part is about half the size of the p.g. at Imperial House. Bertie, we can ground.”
My husband added, “I could make a glide grounding. But Deety has worked out a better method.”
“No,” Bertie said brusquely. “Thanks, Deety. Thanks to all of you. Jake. Zeb. Captain Hilda. I’ll treasure this day. But enough is enough.” Tears were running down his cheeks, ignored.
Aunt Hilda took a Kleenex from her purse, dabbed away his tears. She put her left hand back of Bertie’s neck, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. She didn’t look to see if Pop was watching – he was – she just did it.
Pop said, “Deety, will you hand me the binox?”
“Sure, Pop. See something?”
“I’m going to see what I can of Merrie Old England, as I don’t expect to see it again, either. Family, we are not going back to Snug Harbor again; it’s not good for us. Meanwhile Zeb will drive and you two are to soothe our guest and make him feel better -“
“But remember to wipe off the lipstick.”
“Pipe down, Zeb. You aren’t observant; neither of our darlings is wearing any. Being late is not important; ‘The party can’t start till the Macgregor arrives.’ But once Bertie’s there, he’s on parade – and the Governor must not appear with eyes swollen and tear marks on his collar. We must return him in as good shape as we got him.”
Sometimes I love Pop more than most.
And my husband, too.
I used both hands but didn’t need to; Bertie wasn’t trying to get away. The second time he kissed Hilda, he supplied the hands. Therapy took three minutes and forty-one seconds, and I am certain that, by the end of two hundred twenty-one seconds, Bertie was no longer homesick, not grieving about might have-beens; his morale was tiptop. The last time he kissed me, he informed me without words that I should not be alone with him unless my intentions were serious.
I made mental note. And a second to ask Hilda if she had received the same warning. Then I struck out the second note. I was certain and equally certain that she would fib if it suited her.
But I look forward to the day the Hillbilly asks me to jigger for her. That will be my final promotion – no longer Jane’s little girl in Hilda’s eyes but Jane’s equal, trusted as utterly as she trusted Jane. And I will be rid of the last trace of the shameful jealousy I have for my beloved Mama Jane.
I checked myself in my purse mirror while I waited for them to break – checked both of them and decided that they had no milk on their chins. Bertie said, “Deety, could I possibly have one of those pictures as a remembrance of this perfect day?”
“Certainly. Gay Parade Ground. All three are yours;~we took them for you.” We were exactly on time.

Three hours later I was sitting teat deep in a wonderful tub of hot soapy water, a tub big enough to drown in but I wasn’t going to drown because the Hillbilly was sitting shoulder deep, facing me. We were reliving our day as well as getting beautiful for dinner. Well… sanitary.
Hilda said, “Deety, I tell you three times. Betty is suffering from an ailment made more endurable by Martian conditions.”
“Meaning that in point thirty-eight gee she doesn’t hit hard when she falls down. What was in that teapot no one else touched? Chanel Number Five?”
“Medicine. Prescribed for her nerves.”
“Got it. Official. She’s friendly as a puppy, she’s generous, she’s our hostess – I ought to know better. It’s a shame that she has this ailment but she’s fortunate in having a husband who loves her so dearly that he left home forever so that she can live in lower gravity. Bertie is quite a man.”
“There is nothing for him at home. His older brother has sons; title and estate can’t go to Bertie. He can’t go much higher in the army, and a governor general is senior to anybody; he embodies the Sovereign.”
“I thought that was limited to viceroys.”
“Squeaky put me straight on it. Bertie is viceroy in dealing with Russians. But – Did you notice the uniforms on the maids?”
“I noticed the cream tarts more. White aprons, white caps, simple print dresses, dark blue or black with Indian arrowheads.”
“The Broad Arrow, Deety.”
“Huh? No sabbe, pliz.”
“In this universe Australia belongs to the Dutch. Brace yourself, dear. This is a prison colony.”
Every so often the world wobbles and I have to wait for it to steady down. Somewhat later I said, “A colony could be better than a prison. I can’t see Bertie as a tyrant. Bertie is quite a man. When -“
Hilda reached out, grabbed a chain, flushed the W.C., then leaned toward me. That fixture was a noisy type that went on gurgling and gasping for a long time. “Remember what Zebbie told us when he crowded us into the other bath and turned on everything? One must assume that guest quarters in any government building anywhere are wired. Careful what you say, dear.”
“He also said that he had no reason to assume that it was the case here.”
“But Zebbie was the one who insisted on a conference in Gay… with Jacob being mulish and you yourself seeing no reason not to confer up here.” Aunt Hilda again pulled the chain. “Yes, Bertie is quite a man. Don’t leave me alone with him.”
“Or should I jigger instead?”
“Naughty Deety. My sweet, a bride should refrain at least twelve months out of respect for her husband and to prove that she can.”
“After that it’s okay?”
“Of course not! It’s immoral, disgraceful, and scandalous.” Suddenly she giggled, put arms around my neck, and whispered: “But if I ever need a jigger, Deety is the only person I would trust.”

That conference, immediately after tea, had caused a crisis, brought on by our husbands in concert – but out of tune. The tea had been fun – cream tarts and new men appeal to my basest instincts. A tea qua tea should be over in an hour. We had been there over an hour, which I ignored because I was having fun. Aunt Hilda broke the ring around me, said softly, “We’re leaving.” So we smiled and said good-bye, found our host, and thanked him.
“Our pleasure,” Bertie said. “Lady Herbert became indisposed and wishes to be forgiven but will see you at dinner. Hird-Jones tells me that black tie is no problem. Right?”
He added to let Squeaky know when we wanted help in moving; Hilda assured him that Squeaky had it in hand and the suite was beautiful!
As we left I asked, “Where is Zebadiah?”
“Waiting at the outer steps. He asked me for a conference. I don’t know why, but Zebbie would not unnecessarily interrupt a social event to ask for a closed conference.”
“Why didn’t we go to our suite? And where is Pop?”
“Zebbie specified the car – more private. Jacob is inside, talking with some men. He brushed off my telling him that we were going to the car now – said he would see us later. Deety, I can’t enforce orders as captain under those conditions.”
“Pop is hard to move when he gets into a discussion. I’ve yawned through some deadly ones. But how can we have a conference until he shows up?”
“I don’t know, dear. Here’s Zebbie.”
My husband pecked me on the nose and said, “Where’s Jake?”
Hilda answered, “He told me that he would be along later.” Zebadiah started to curse; Aunt Hilda cut him off. “Chief Pilot.”
“Uh – Yes, Captain.”
“Go find the Copilot, tell him that we lift in five minutes. Having told him that and no more, turn and leave at once. Don’t give him any opportunity to ask questions. Come straight to the car.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Come, Deety.” Hilda hurried to Gay Deceiver, went to her seat, started to belt, She glanced at me. “Astrogator, prepare for space.”
I started to ask why – but instead said, “Aye aye, Captain,” and quickly was belted. “Captain, may I inquire your plans?”
“Certainly, you’re second-in-command. And Astrogator; however, I will take the conn on lifting.”
“Then we really are lifting?”
“Yes. Five minutes after Zebbie returns. That gives Jacob five minutes to make up his mind. Then we lift. If Jacob is aboard, he’ll be with us.”
“Aunt Hilda, you would abandon my father on this planet?!”
“No, Deety. Jacob will probably never notice that the car has been away as it should not be gone more than a few minutes. If Jacob does not come with us, I will ask Zebbie to drop me on Earth-without-a-J. Range-finder and target method; I don’t want to use Zebbie’s precious juice.”
“Aunt Hilda, you sound desperate.”
“I am, dear.” She added, “Here comes Zebbie.”
Zebadiah climbed in. “Message delivered, Captain.”
“Thank you, Chief Pilot. Prepare for space.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Will you check the seal of the starboard door, please?”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Report readiness for space, Astrogator.”
“Belt tight, ready for space. Oh, Aunt Hilda!”
“Astrogator, pipe down. Chief Pilot.”
“Both doors locked, seals checked. Seat belt tight. Power packs, two zeroed, two in reserve. Juice oh-point-seven-one-minus. All systems go. Copilot missing. Ready for space.”
“Captain’s seat belt tight, ready for space. Gay Deceiver.”
“Howdy, Hilda!”
“Please display five-minute countdown. Paraphrase acknowledge.”
“Three hundred seconds backwards in lights.”
“Execute.”
Have you ever listened to three hundred seconds of silence? Neither have I – two hundred eighty-one when Pop pounded on the door.
Aunt Hilda said, “Gay Deceiver, open starboard door.”
Pop climbed in, indignant as an offended cat. “What the hell goes on?”
“Copilot, prepare for space.”
“What? Now, Hilda, that is going too far!”
“Copilot, either secure for space or get out and stand clear. Chief Pilot, see that my orders are carried out.”
“Aye aye, Captain! Copilot, you’ve got zero seconds to make up your mind.” My husband started to unstrap.
Pop looked at Zebadiah, looked at us. I was doing my frozen face to keep from crying and I think Aunt Hilda was, too.
Pop hastily fastened his belt. “You’re a pack of idiots – ” He was checking the door seal. ” – but I won’t be left behind.”
“Copilot, report.”
“Huh? Ready for space.”
Hilda said, “Gay Termite. Gay Deceiver, open your doors.”
“Well, for the love of -“
“Pipe down! Chief Pilot, I have no stomach for charging my husband with mutiny but that is what I have been faced with repeatedly. Will you grant me the boon of resuming command to drop me on Earth-without-a-J? I would rather not have to stay on Mars.”
“Hilda!”
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’ve tried. I’m not up to it. I’m not Jane.”
“No one expects you to be Jane! But ever since you became captain, you’ve been throwing your weight around. Like calling this stunt in the middle of a party. Insulting our host and hostess – “
“Hold it, Jake!”
“What? See here, Zeb, I’m talking to my wife! You keep -“
“I said ‘Hold it.’ Shut up or I’ll shut you up.”
“Don’t you threaten me!”
“That’s not a threat; that’s a warning.”
“Pop, you had better believe him! I’m not on your side.”
Pop took a deep breath. “What do you have to say for yourself, Carter?”
“Nothing, for myself. But you’ve got your data wrong six ways. One: Captain Hilda did not call this so-called ‘stunt.’ I did.”
“You did? What the devil caused you to do a thing like that?”
“Irrelevant. I convinced the Captain that the matter was urgent, so she gathered us in. All but you – -you told her not to bother you or words to that effect. But she gave you another chance – you didn’t deserve it; you had long since used up your quota. But she did. She sent me back to tell you we were lifting. It finally penetrated your skull that we might lift without you -“
“To this place!”
“If you had been twenty seconds later, we would have translated to another universe. But this nonsense about ‘Insulting our host and hostess – ‘ Your hostess left the tea long before you did; your host left immediately after Hilda and Deety, leaving his aide – the Brigadier – to close shop. But you are so damned self-centered you never noticed. Jake, don’t you lecture me on proper behavior as a guest. The first time I laid eyes on you, you were trying to star a fight in Sharpie’s ballroom -“
“Huh? But I was fully justi – “
“Dreck. No one is ever justified in starting a fight under a host’s roof. The very most that can be justified under extreme provocation is to tell the other party privately that you are ready to meet him at another time and place. Jake, I don’t enjoy teaching manners to my senior. But your parents neglected you, so I must. If I offend you – if you feel entitled to call me out, I will accommodate you at any other time and place.”
Aunt Hilda gasped. “Zebbie! No!” I gasped something like it. My husband patted our hands – together; Hilda was gripping mine. “Don’t worry, dears. I didn’t call Jake out and won’t. I don’t want to hurt Jake. He’s your husband… your father… my blood brother by spilled blood. But I had to chew him out; he’s now entitled to a crack at me. With words, with hands, with whatever. Sharpie, Deety, you can’t refuse Jake his rights. No matter what, he still has rights.”
Pop said, “Zeb, I am not going to call you out. If you think I am afraid of you, you’re welcome. If you think it’s because I know you love both Hilda and Deety, you would be closer. A fight between us would endanger their welfare. As you said, we are blood brothers.” Pop’s tone suddenly changed. “But doesn’t mean I like your behavior, you arrogant punk!”
Zebadiah grinned. “Nolo contendere, Pop.”
“So you admit it?”
“You know Latin better than that, Jake. Means I’m satisfied to let it lie. We can’t afford to quarrel.”
“Mmm – A point well taken. Stipulating that I did not come at once when summoned, and tabling, if you will, until later whether or not I had reason, may I now ask why I was summoned? The nature of this problem that caused you to call this conference?”
“Jake, the situation has changed so rapidly that the matter no longer has priority. You heard Sharpie’s plans.”
My husband looked into Aunt Hilda’s eyes. “Captain, I’ll be honored to drive you wherever you want to go. Drop you wherever you say. With your choice of equipment and wampum. But with a mail drop, I hope. Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Wait a half. You are captain, until you leave us. Orders, Captain? Earth-without-a-J? Or I’ll help you shop others – we might find a world of nudists.”
“Why that, Zebbie? I’m not jumpy about skin – but only among close friends.”
“Remember why Jake was certain that the Finnish mathematician was not a disguised vermin? Sauna. Disguise has limits.”
“Oh.” Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “I could get used to it. But I must get out of this tension. So drop me on the minus-J world. A mail drop, yes; I don’t ever want to lose you and Deety.”
“We find that safe place, we pick you up. Sharpie, we’ll be back someday anyhow. If the boogiemen don’t get us.”
“Hold it, Zeb. If you’re dropping Hilda, you’re dropping me.”
“That’s up to Captain Hilda.”
“Hilda, I will not permit -“
“Jake, quit acting the fool,” growled my husband. “She’s boss. With me to back her up.”
“And me!” I echoed.
“You seem to forget that the continua device is mine!”
“Gay Deceiver!”
“Yes, Boss? Who’s your fat friend?”
“‘Number of the Beast.’ Execute.”
“Done.”
“Try your verniers, Jake.”
Pop did something – I couldn’t see his hands. Then he said, “Why, you – So you think you’ve stopped me? Gay Deceiver!”
“Howdy, Jake.”
Zebadiah cut in: “Gay Deceiver override! Emergency Thirty-one execute. Gay can no longer hear you, Jake. Try it.”
“If you can do one, you can do the other. Zeb, I never thought you would be that sneaky.”
“Jake, if you had behaved yourself, you never would have known. Extreme individualists (all of us) don’t take kindly to discipline because they rarely understand its nature and function. But – even before that fake ranger showed up – we all had agreed to ‘lifeboat’ rules. We discussed them and you all claimed to understand them… and I was elected skipper. I nominated you – eldest, senior, inventor of the space-time twister – but you said it had to be me. A lifeboat officer must always be able to enforce his orders… in situations of great peril complicated by hysterical civilians. Or bullheaded ones who must otherwise be wheedled.”
It was time for a diversion; Pop doesn’t like to look foolish and I was still hoping to salvage this shambles. “Zebadiah, is my number fifty-nine?”
“Of course, but it takes my voice. Can you figure the cancel-and-reset?”
“For mnemonic reasons it should be one of three. Probably ninety-five.”
“On the button!”
“Although I would prefer eighty-nine.”
“Why?”
“Work on it. Zebadiah, why did you call this meeting?”
“With Sharpie leaving us the matter is academic. We won’t be coming back to Mars.”
“Oh, dear!”
“What’s the trouble, Sharpie? Captain.”
“I promised Squeaky a ride. Zebbie, could you keep my promise for me? Please? For old times’ sake?”
“Captain, once we lift to drop you on Minus-J, we won’t return. But the Captain still is captain and can give Squeaky that ride in the next thirty minutes if it suits her.”
“May I offer something in my own defense?” Pop put in.
“Of course, Jake. Sorry, Captain; you’re in charge. May the Copilot have the floor?”
“Jacob, even though I find it necessary to leave you… I love and respect you… and will always listen to you.”
“Thanks, darling. Thank you, Captain. I was in that huddle because Brigadier Hird-Jones always remembers. That huddle was the top physical scientists on Mars. A scruffy lot but they get the technical journals and read them, a few months late. I was talking with the top chemist -“
“Well, Jake? Make it march.”
“Zeb, not one knew an isotope from an antelope. You can’t buy juice here.”
“For that you disobeyed a direct order of the Captain? Sharpie, you should have him flogged around the Fleet before you surrender office -“
“Don’t loke, Zebbie.”
“Captain, I am not joking. Jake, that’s no news; I spotted it this afternoon. Sharpie? Deety? In England.”
“I missed it,” Aunt Hilda said. “I don’t know England well.”
“Deety?”
“Well… maybe,” I admitted.
“How?” demanded Pop.
“Little things. No roadables, just horse-drawn vehicles. No air traffic other than a few ornithopters. Coal-fired steam-powered trains of cars. Traffic on the Thames, what little there was, ‘minded me of pictures of Victorian England.”
“Daughter, why didn’t you mention this?”
“You saw it, Pop.”
“Those were my reasons,” Zebadiah agreed. “My hope of getting juiced here dropped to one-tenth of one percent. It is now zero.” Zebadiah sighed. “But that isn’t why I asked the Captain to call us together. Family, there are vermin here.”
The world wobbled again – and so did I.
Aunt Hilda was saying, “How did you learn this, Zebbie?”
“You gals had plenty of company and Jake had the local scientists, so Squeaky gave me his attention. Captain, you told us to stick to the truth -“
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Hilda, “but not to volunteer information.”
“I didn’t volunteer; I was debriefed. Squeaky asked me about the ride we gave his boss; I tried to be vague. Squeaky took a photo from his pocket. ‘The Governor tells me this was taken this afternoon.’ Deety, it was the pic you took of the Thames and the Tower.
“I shortly started giving him a full account rather than have it dragged out. The Governor had told him the works; Squeaky was comparing my version with Bertie’s, looking for holes in a yarn most easily explained by hypnosis, delirium tremens, insanity, or fancy lying. Since no two witnesses exhibit any of these in the same way they can be used as truth tests. Contrariwise, two witnesses who tell exactly the same story are lying. I assume that Bertie and I differed enough to be credible.”
I asked my husband, “Zebadiah, did you explain six-dimensional space to him?”
Zebadiah looked pained. “How could I, when I can’t explain it to me? Anyhow, he’s looking forward eagerly to the ride Captain Sharpie promised him.”
“Oh, dear! Zebbie, will you take a note to him?”
“Captain, we are not coming back after we drop you. I’ll be breaking a date with him, too. Either before or after whatever time suits you, he’s planning to give me – and anyone else who wants to go – a ride to see the vermin. ‘Black Hats.’ Fake rangers.”
(I do wish the world would not wobble!)
Pop said, “Zeb, spill it! Quit stalling.”
“Shut up and listen. Squeaky showed me a scrapbook. Dull as a scrapbook usually is until we came across a page of ‘Black Hats.’ Deety, you would have been proud of me -“
“I am proud of you,” I answered.
” – because I didn’t scream or faint, I showed no special interest. I just said, ‘God in Heaven, Squeaky, those are the horrors that chased us off Earth! You’ve got ’em here?'”
“‘No special interest.'”
“I didn’t climb the drapes. I merely said, ‘Or have you managed to exterminate them?’
“The discussion became confused, as they don’t kill them; they put them to work. Squeaky had to repress amusement at the notion that wogs could be dangerous. He glanced at his watch and said, ‘Come, I’ll show you. Ordinarily we don’t allow wogs in town. But this old fellow takes care of the Governor’s gardens and may not yet have been returned to the pens for the night.’ He led me to a balcony. Squeaky looked down and said, ‘Too late, I’m afraid. No, there it is – Hooly! Chop, chop!’ – and again I didn’t faint. Hooly ran toward us, with a gait I can’t describe, stopped abruptly, threw an open-palm salute and held it. ‘Private Hooly reports!’
“Squeaky let him stand there. ‘This wog,’ he told me, ‘is the most intelligent of the herd. It knows almost a hundred words. Can make simple sentences. As intelligent as a dog. And it can be trusted not to eat the flowers.’
“‘Herbivorous?’ says I, showing off my book-larnin’. ‘Oh, no,’ he tells me, ‘omnivorous. We hunt wild ones to provide the good wogs with a change in diet and, of course, when we slaughter overage wogs, that provides more ration.’
“That’s enough for one lesson, children. Pleasant dreams. Tomorrow the Brigadier will have a roadable big enough for all of us to take us out to meet the Martian natives aka wogs aka ‘Black Hats’ aka vermin – unless that interferes with the ride you aren’t going to give him, in which case he will swap the times around with the visit to the wogs we aren’t going to make. And that, Jake, is the reason I asked the Captain for a family conference. I already knew that artificial isotopes are far beyond this culture – not alone from the ride this afternoon but because I ask questions myself. Squeaky has a knowledge of chemistry about the pre-nuclear level and a detailed knowledge of explosives that one expects of a pro. But to Squeaky atoms are the smallest divisions of mass, and ‘heavy water’ is a meaningless phrase.
“So I knew we would be here just to get Sharpie some clothes and to recharge my packs – since they do have D.C. power. Then I found we had stumbled onto the home of the vermin – and at that point my back didn’t ache at the idea of cranking, and I didn’t think that the Captain was that much in a hurry to buy clothes. So I asked the Captain to call us together in Smart Girl. I did not want to put it off even a few minutes because we were scheduled to move into our suite after tea. To leave at once, before we moved in, would save awkward explanations. Jake, did I have reason to ask for emergency conference?”
“If you had told me -“
“Stop! The Captain told you.”
“But she didn’t explain -“
“Jake, you’re hopeless! Captains don’t have to explain. Furthermore she could not because I did not tell anyone until now. The Captain had confidence in my judgment.”
“You could have explained. When Hilda sent you back to get me. I would have come at once.”
“That makes the ninth time you’ve been wrong in twenty minutes -“
I blurted, “Tenth, Zebadiah. I counted.”
Pop gave me his “Et-tu,-Brute” look.
” – tenth without being right once. I could not have explained to you.”
“Merely because of a group of men?”
“Eleventh. I was not sent back to get you – twelfth. I was under orders to tell you that – quote! – ‘We lift in five minutes.’ Tell you that and no more, then turn and leave at once, without discussion. I carried out my orders.”
“You hoped that I would be left behind.”
“Thirteen.”
I butted in again. “Pop, quit making a fool of yourself! Zebadiah asked you an essential question – and you’ve dodged. Captain Auntie, could we have the doors closed? There might be one of them out there – and the guns are locked up.”
“Certainly, Deety. Gay Deceiver, close your doors.”
Pop said, “Deety, I was not aware that I had been dodging. I thought I was conducting a reasonable discussion.”
“Pop, you always think so. But you are reasonable only in mathematics. Zebadiah asked you whether or not, under the circumstances, did he have reason to ask for a conference? You haven’t answered it.”
“If Hilda had not told him not to -“
“Pop! Answer that question or I will never speak to you again in my life!”
My husband said, “Deety, Deety! Don’t make threats.”
“My husband, I never make threats, either. Pop knows it.”
Pop took a deep breath. “Zeb, under the circumstances you have described, you were justified in asking the Captain for an immediate private conference.”
I let out my breath. “Thanks, Pop.”
“I did it for myself, Deety. Hilda? Captain?”
“What is it, Jacob?”
“I should have gone with you at once when you first asked me to.”
“Thank you, Jacob. But I did not ‘ask’ you; I ordered you. True, it was phrased as a request… but orders of a commanding officer are customarily phrased as requests – a polite protocol. You explained this custom to me yourself. Although I already knew it.” Aunt Hilda turned to look at Zebadiah.
“Chief Pilot, the departure for Minus-J is postponed until late tomorrow. I will give you the time after I have consulted the Brigadier. I want to see one of those vermin, alive, photograph it stereo and cinema, and, if possible, dissect one. Since I intend to remain overnight, I hope to pick up clothes for MinusJ, too – but the reasons for delay are to learn more about vermin and to carry out my commitment to Brigadier Hird-Jones.”
Aunt Hilda paused, continued: “All hands, special orders. Do not remove anything from the car that you cannot afford to abandon. This car may lift on five minutes’ warning even in the middle of the night. You should keep close to me unless you have a guarantee from me of longer time. Tonight I will sleep in the car. If we lift in the night, I will send word to Princess Suite. Zebbie, I will retain the captaincy until we ground on Minus-J. Schedule: Dinner tonight is eight-thirty pip emma local time, about three hours hence. Black tie for gentlemen. Deety suggests that we wear what we wore our wedding night; she has our outfits packed together. The Brigadier will send someone to Princess Suite shortly after eight local to escort us to a reception. I will settle tomorrow’s schedule with him. Jacob, I will slip down to the car after the House is quiet. If someone sees me, I will be running down for a toothbrush. Questions?”
“Captain?” said Pop.
“Copilot.”
“Hilda, must you sleep in the car?”
“Jacob, ’twere best done quickly!”
“I’m begging you.”
“You want me to be your whore one last time? That’s not too much to ask… since you were willing to marry me knowing my thoroughly tarnished past. Yes, Jacob.”
“No, no, no! I want you to sleep in my arms – that’s all I ask.”
“Only that? We can discuss it after we go to bed. All hands, prepare for space. Report!”

I splashed the Hillbilly and giggled. “Cap’n Auntie chum, that flatters me more than anything else you could ever say. While I can’t imagine needing a jigger – if I did – or if I needed any sort of help and it took one who loves me no matter what, you know to whom I would turn. The one who loves me even when I’m bad. Who’s that?”
“Thank you, Deety. We love and trust each other.”
“Now tell me – Did you ever have any intention of sleeping tonight in the car?”
She pulled the chain again. Under that racket she said into my ear, “Deety doll, I never had any intention of sleeping tonight.”

Chapter XXVIII

“He’s too fat.”

Zeb:
Sharpie sat on the Governor’s right with my wife on his left, which gave Jake and me the privilege of sharing Lady Herbert, a loud shout away. The space was filled with mess jackets, dinner coats, and wives in their best. We each had one footman to insure that we did not starve; this platoon was bossed by a butler as impressive as the Pope, who was aided by a squad of noncom butlers. Female servants rushed in and out to serving tables. His Supremacy the Butler took it from there but used his hands only in offering splashes of wine to the Governor to taste and approve.
All were in livery – decorated with the Broad Arrow. The British colony consisted of a) wogs, b) transportees, c) discharged transportees, d) officers and enlisted men, e) civil servants, and f) spouses and dependents. I know even less about the Russian colony. Military and serfs, I think.
The ladies were in Victorian high-style dowdiness, which made Deety and Sharpie birds of paradise among crows. Jump suit and sailor pants had shocked people at tea. But at dinner – Deety wore the velvet wrap she had the night we eloped; Sharpie wore her sunset-shade mink cape; Jake and I unveiled them on the grand staircase leading down to the reception hall. Naw, we didn’t rehearse; we were mysterious strangers, guests of the Governor General and His Lady, so all eyes were upon us. Maids, hurrying up, met us there to take our ladies’ wraps.
I had questioned the propriety of house guests coming downstairs in wraps. Sharpie had answered, “Utterly correct, Zebbie – because I set the style. I did so this afternoon; I shall until we leave.” I shut up; Sharpie has infallible instinct for upstaging.
Have I mentioned how Sharpie and Deety were dressed at Sharpie’s party? They practically weren’t. I wish I had had that hall bugged to record the gasps when Jake and I uncovered our prizes.
These two had last been seen at tea, one in a jump suit, the other in an outfit that looked donated by the Salvation Army, with no makeup. We had been to our suite before tea only for a hasty wash.
But now – Sharpie did Deety’s hair; Deety did Sharpie’s; Sharpie styled both faces, including too much lipstick, which Deety doesn’t often wear. I asked Sharpie if she knew the history and significance of lipstick. She answered, “Certainly do, Zebbie. Don’t bother us.” She went on making Deety beautiful. Deety is beautiful but doesn’t know it because her features have that simple regularity favored by Praxiteles.
Having put too much lipstick on Deety, Sharpie removed some, then carried her makeup onto her breasts so that it disappeared under the dress. Which is pretty far because they saved material on that dress at the top in order to give it a full, floor-length skirt. You can’t quite see her nipples-in the flesh I mean; they generally show through her clothes, always when she’s happy – because Deety stands tall. Her mother had told her, “Deety, if a woman is tall, the answer is to look at least three centimeters taller than you are.”
Deety always believed her mother; she stands tall, sits straight; she never leans or slouches; she can get away with that dress by half a centimeter. I’m not sure of the material but the color is the shade of green that goes best with strawberry hair. That dress, her height, long legs, broad shoulders, a waist two sizes too small setting off breasts two sizes too big – the combo could get her a job as a show girl.
When Sharpie finished gilding Deety I couldn’t see that she had been made up at all… but knew durn well that she did not look the way she had before. Sharpie picked her jewelry, too – sparingly, as Deety had all her pretties with her, her own and those that had belonged to her mother. Sharpie based it on an emerald-and-pearl neckpiece, plus a matching pin and ring.
As for Sharpie, twice my darling’s age and half as big, restraint was not what she used. The central diamond of her necklace was smaller than the Star of Africa.
She wore other diamonds here and there.
Here is something I don’t understand. Sharpie is underprivileged in mammary glands. I know she was not wearing cheaters as I returned to get my tie tied just as Deety was about to lower it onto her. No bra, no underwear. But when that dress was fastened, Sharpie had tits – little ones but big enough for her size. Stuffing built into the dress? Nope. I went out of my way to check.
Is that why some couturiers get such high prices?
Still… the Captain looks best in her skin.
So we uncovered these confections and gave the British colony, male, female, and the others, something to talk about for months.
I can’t say the English ladies were pleased. Their men gravitated toward our darlings like iron filings toward a magnet. However, Betty, Lady Herbert, is sweet all through. She rushed toward us (a bow wave of juniors getting out of her way), stopped short, looked only at our ladies, and said with the delight of a child at Christmas: “Oh, how beautiful you are!” and clapped her hands.
Her voice projected against dead silence, then conversation resumed. Lady Herbert took them, an arm around each, and toured the hall (busting up a receiving line). Brigadier Hird-Jones rolled with the punch, gathered in Jake and me, made sure we met those who had not been at tea.
Shortly before dinner a colonel said to me, “Oh, I say, is it true that the tiny beauty is in command of your ship?”
“Quite true. Best commanding officer I’ve ever had.”
“Haw. Astounding. Fascinating. The taller girl, the strawberry blonde – introduced simply as ‘Mrs. Carter.’ She’s part of your ship’s company. Yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Astrogator and second-in-command. Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my wife.”
“Well! My congratulations, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“I say, Carter, would it be rude of me to ask why the ladies have the senior posts while you and Doctor Burroughs appear to be junior? Or am I intruding?”
“Not at all, Colonel. We each do what we do best. Mrs. Burroughs is not only best as commander; she is also best cook. While we take turns at cooking, I’ll happily volunteer as scullery maid if it will persuade the Captain to cook.”
“Amazing. Could you use a colonel of lancers about to retire? I’m a wonderful scullery maid.”

The dinner was excellent (Irish chef, transported for shooting his landlord) and Lady Herbert was delightful, even though she drank her dinner and her words became increasingly difficult to understand. But any answer would do as long as it was friendly. Jake displayed the charm he can when he bothers and kept her laughing.
One thing marred it. Lady Herbert started to slump and nursing sisters appeared and took her away. What is protocol for this?
I checked Hilda and the Governor; they didn’t seem to see it. I glanced at Hird-Jones; the Brigadier did not seem to see it – but Squeaky sees everything. Ergo: no member of the colony could “see” it.
Someone else gathered the ladies while the gentlemen remained for port and cigars. While we were standing as the ladies left, Hird-Jones leaned close: “Your captain has asked me to tell you that the Governor invites you to join them later in his study.”
I tasted the port, lit the cigar (I don’t smoke – fake it when polite) when the Brigadier caught my eye and said, “Now.” Bertie had left, leaving a stooge, a wit who had them all laughing – that colonel of lancers.
When Jake and I came in, Deety and Hilda were there, with a large man, tall as I am and heavier – Major General Moresby, chief of staff. Bertie stood while waving us to chairs. “Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We are settling tomorrow’s schedule and your captain prefers to have you present.”
The Governor reached behind him, moved out a globe of Mars. “Captain, I think I have marked the places we visited yesterday.”
“Deety, please check it,” Sharpie directed.
My darling looked it over. “The Russian settlements extended almost one hundred fifty kilometers farther east than this borderline shows – ninety-one English miles, seventy-nine nautical miles – call it two and a half degrees.”
“Impossible!” (The bulky Major General – )
Deety shrugged. “Might be a few miles more; all we took were spot checks.”
Jake said, “General Moresby, you had better believe it.”
Bertie stepped in with: “Is that the only discrepancy, Doctor Deety?”
“One more. But there is something I want to ask about. May I borrow a marking pen? Grease pencil?”
Bertie found one; she placed three bingoes in an equilateral triangle, well detached from both zones. “What are these, sir? This one is a village, the other two are large farms. But we did not determine nationality.”
Bertie looked at her marks. “Not ours. Moresby, how long ago did we reconnoitre that area?”
“There are no Russians there! She’s doing it by memory. She’s mistaken.”
I said, “Moresby, I’ll bet my wife’s marks are accurate within two kilometers. How high do you want to go? What is a pound worth here in gold?”
Bertie said, “Please, gentlemen – wagers another time. What was the other error, Astrogator Deety?”
“Our touchdown point. Where we tangled with the Russians. Your memory is off by many degrees. Should be here.”
“Moresby?”
“Governor, that is impossible. Either they did not land there or they had trouble with Russians somewhere else.”
Deety shrugged. “Governor, I have no interest in arguing. Our time of arrival at ‘Touchdown’ just after dawn day before yesterday was fourteen-oh-six in the afternoon Windsor City local time. Six past two pip emma. You saw the remains of that ornithopter today. What did shadows and height of the sun tell you as to local time there, and what does that tell you about longitude from here?” She added, “With one degree of longitude being four minutes of local time difference, you can treat one minute of arc as equal to one kilometer and measure it on this globe. The errors will be smaller than your own error in estimate of local time.”
“Astrogator, I’m not good at this sort of problem. But it was about eight-thirty in the morning where we saw the burned ornithopter.”
“That’s right, Governor. We’ll lay that out as kilometers and see how close it comes to my mark.”
Moresby objected, “But that globe is scaled in miles!”
Deety looked back at Bertie with a half smile, an expression that said wordlessly: (He’s your boy, Bertie. Not mine.)
Bertie said testily, “Moresby, have you never worked with a French ordnance map?”
I’m not as tolerant as Deety. “Multiply by one-point-six-oh-nine.”
“Thanks but we will assume that the Astrogator is correct. Moresby, reconnaissance will cover two areas. Captain, how many spot checks can be made per hour?”
“Just a moment!” Captain Sharpie interrupted. “Has this discussion been directed at the ride I promised Brigadier Hird-Jones?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. Wasn’t that clear?”
“No, I thought you were telling General Moresby what you saw today. Isn’t the Brigadier available? I want to settle the time with him.”
Moresby answered, “Madam, that has been changed. I’m taking his place.”
Sharpie looked at Moresby as if he were a side of beef she was about to condemn. “Governor, I do not recall offering this person a ride. Nor has the Brigadier told me that he is not going.”
“Moresby, didn’t you speak to Hird-Jones?”
“Certainly I did, sir. I dislike to tell you but he was not cooperative. I had to remind him that there was rank involved.”
I looked around for somewhere to hide. But Sharpie did not explode. She said sweetly, “Certainly there is, Major General Bores-me. My rank. I am commanding; you are not.” She turned to Bertie. “Governor, I may offer other rides after I keep my promise to the Brigadier. But not to this person. He’s too fat.”
“What! I weigh only seventeen stone – trim for a man with my height and big bones.” Moresby added, “Homeside weight, of course. Only ninety pounds here. Light on my feet. Madam, I resent that.”
“Too fat,” Sharpie repeated. “Bertie, you remember how tightly we were packed yesterday. But even if Bores-me did not have buttocks like sofa cushions, he’s much too fat between the ears. He can’t enter my yacht.”
“Very well, Captain. Moresby, please have Hird-Jones report to me at once.”
“But -“
“Dismissed.”
As the door closed, the Governor said, “Hilda, my humblest apologies. Moresby told me that it was all arranged… which meant to me that he had seen you and Squeaky and arranged the exchange. Moresby hasn’t been here long; I’m still learning his quirks. No excuse, Captain. But I offer it in extenuation.”
“Let’s forget it, Bertie. You used ‘reconnaissance’ where I would have said ‘joy ride.’ ‘Reconnaissance’ is a military term. Did you use it as such?”
“I did.”
“Gay Deceiver is a private yacht and I am a civilian master.” She looked at me. “Chief Pilot, will you advise me?”
“Captain, if we overfly territory for the purpose of reconnaissance, the act is espionage.”
“Governor, is this room secure?”
“Hilda – Captain, in what way?”
“Is it soundproof and are there microphone pickups?”
“It is soundproof when I close that second door. There is one microphone. I control it with a switch under the rug – right here.”
“Will you not only switch it off but disconnect it? So that it cannot be switched on by accident.”
“If that is your wish. I could be lying. Other microphones.”
“It’s accidental recording I want to avoid. Bertie, I wouldn’t trust Moresby as far as I could throw him. I have learned to trust you. Tell me why you need to reconnoitre?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Reconnaissance is to learn something you are not certain about. Something that can be seen from Gay Deceiver – but what?”
“Uh… will you all swear to secrecy?”
“Hilda -“
“Not now, Jacob. Governor, if you don’t want to trust us, tell us to leave!”
Smythe-Carstairs had been standing since turning the rug to remove the switch. He looked down at Hilda and smiled. “Captain, you are an unusually small woman… and the toughest man I’ve dealt with in many a year. The situation is this: The Russians have sent another ultimatum. We have never worried about Russians as we settled halfway around the planet from them and logistics here are almost impossible. No oceans. No navigable streams. Some canals if one enjoys suicide. Both sides have attempted to raise horses. They don’t live long, they don’t reproduce.
“Both sides have ornithopters. But they can’t carry enough or fly far enough. I was startled when you said that they had given you trouble where you had first touched down – and proved it by showing me wreckage of a ‘thopter.
“Any logistics problem can be solved if you use enough men, enough time. Those Russian craft must have, behind them, stockpiles about every fifty miles. If they have the same continuing this way, when they get here, they will wipe us out.”
“Is it that bad?” I inquired. Sharpie said, “Governor, our Chief Pilot is the only one of us with combat experience.”
“Yes,” agreed Jake with a wry smile, “I was awarded rank in lieu of combat. I signed papers.”
Bertie gave the same mirthless smile. “Welcome to the lodge. Twenty years since I last heard a bullet say ‘wheat!’ Now I may be about to lose my last battle. Friends, my rank states that I am qualified to command an army corps… but I have possibly one platoon who will stand and die.”
Jake said, “Governor, this city must be two hundred thousand people.”
“More than that, Jake. Over ninety-nine percent are convicts or discharged convicts or their wives and children. Do you imagine that they are loyal to me? Even if they were, they are neither trained nor armed.
“I have a nominal regiment, a battalion in numbers – and a platoon in strength. Friends, my troops, officers and men, and my civil servants, are, with few exceptions, transportees quite as much as the convicts. Example: An officer with a court staring him in the face can often get the charges dropped by volunteering for Mars. I don’t get murderers. What I do get is worse… for me. The mess treasurer who dips into mess funds because he has a ‘sure thing’ at a racing meet. The – Oh, the devil take it! I don’t get villains; I get weaklings. There are a few good ones. Hird-Jones. Young fellow named Bean. Two old sergeants whose only shortcomings are that one had two wives and, while the other had only one, she wasn’t his. If the Russians get here, they’ll kill our wogs – they don’t domesticate them; they hunt and eat them – they’ll kill anyone in uniform… and transportees will learn that being a serf is worse than being a free man not on the planet of his choice. Squeaky! Where have you been?”
“In the card room, sir. First table to the right.”
“So? How long ago did you get my message?”
“About twenty seconds ago, sir.”
“Hm! How long have you been in the card room?”
“A bit over an hour.”
“I see. Bolt the outer door, close the inner door, sit down.”
Twenty minutes later Sharpie was asking, “Deety, what time is sunrise here?” She indicated a point 30° east of the western boundary of the westernmost of the two loci Bertie wanted investigated.
“In about twenty minutes. Shall I have Gay check it?”
“No. Sunset over here?”
“More leeway there. One hour fifty-seven minutes.”
“Very well. Zeb, those zeroed packs?”
“Being charged, they told me. Ready in the morning.”
“Good. Squeaky, if I get you to bed by oh-two-hundred hours could you take us to the fields about eleven-hundred hours?”
“Oh-eight-hundred, if you wish, Captain Hilda.”
“I don’t wish. This job requires sunlight, so we will work whatever it takes. I intend to sleep late. Bertie, would your kitchen service extend to breakfast in bed about ten ack emma?”
“Tell the night maid. The sideboard in your dining room will be loaded and steaming whenever you say and the day maid will be delighted to bring you a tray in bed.”
“Heavenly! All hands and Brigadier Hird-Jones: Lift in thirty-nine minutes. Car doors open five minutes before that. Questions?”
“Just a comment. I’ll fetch sandwiches.”
“Thank you, Squeaky! Bertie.”
“Eh? Ma’am!”
“Deety and I expect to be kissed good-bye… in case something goes wrong.”

Chapter XXIX

” – we place no faith in princes.”

Deety:
We had a busy night. I had Gay display bingo dots for every stop we made – then circles around any that were supply dumps.
There were indeed supply dumps!
I spent the whole trip thinking: Where would I be if I were a supply dump? Where would ‘thopters have to land? Where could they get more water? Squeaky, Hilda, Pop, Zebadiah – and possibly Gay – were thinking the same thing.
We got back at half after one, the job done. The Hillbilly turned the results over to Squeaky and we went to bed.
Next morning at eleven our “roadable” arrived – without Squeaky. He sent an apologetic note saying that Lieutenant Bean knew what we expected and would add anything we asked for.
Captain Auntie had not taken breakfast in bed. I woke about nine local, found her at work – packing her dress clothes and Pop’s back into plastic pillow covers, then into a borrowed portmanteau. Our fresh laundry, given to us by the night maid on our return, was in another piece of borrowed luggage.
The Hillbilly was on her knees in our drawing room. She looked up, smiled and said, “Good morning. Better slide into your jump suit, dear; maids come in and out rather casually.”
“Doesn’t bother me, I’ve been caught twice already -“
“But it bothers them. Not kind, dear, with servants. Especially with involuntary servants. They’ll be in to load the sideboard any moment. Will you fetch yours and Zebbie’s dress clothes here? I’ll pack for you.”
“I’ll pack ’em, thanks. I was thinking about sliding back into bed with a nice warm man but your mention of food changed my mind. Hillbilly, what’s the rush?”
“Deety, I’m carrying out my own orders. When I brush my teeth after breakfast, the toothbrush goes into my purse. As for the rush, our husbands will wake soon. I have found that it is more practical to present a man with a fait accompli than a discussion.”
“I hear you three times, doll baby. When they get up, they’ll want to eat. When our roadable shows up, they’ll be sitting over second cups of coffee. Then they’ll say, ‘We’ll do it when we come back. Mustn’t keep the Brigadier waiting.’ Okay, I’ll grab our gear and we’ll sneak it out before they wake. I’ll carry the heavy ones.”
“We are not permitted to carry anything, Deety. But the place is swarming with maids. You sound much married.”
“Five years’ practice on Pop. But, Hillbilly, even Pop is easy to handle if you think ahead.”
“I’m learning. Deety, what shall we do about the maids?”
“Huh?”
“In the days when servants were common, it was polite for house guests to tip servants who served them personally. But how, Deety? I have two twenty-five-newdollar bills in the lining of my purse. Waste paper.”
“Pop and Zebadiah have gold. I know exactly because it was mass enough that I had to figure it into the loading, mass and moment arm. Here’s a giggle. These misers we married had each squirreled away the same weight of gold to four significant figures. So maids are no problem if you know how much to tip – I don’t. We’ll be buying local money today to pay for a number of things.”

“Leftenant” Bean – or “Brian” – is a delightful fuzzy puppy and a volunteer in order to have served “Beyond the Sky.” He managed to call me “Deety” and Zebadiah “Zeb” when invited, but he could not bring himself to shift from “Captain Burroughs” to “Hilda” – “Captain Hilda” was as far as he would go, and Pop was “Professor.”
He was pleased that we liked his “roadable.” You wouldn’t believe it! A large, wooden flatbed wagon with an upright steam engine in back; a trailer with cordwood; a sailing-ship’s wheel in front of the engine; this controlled the front wheels by ropes that ran underneath. Midway was a luggage pen, then in front were four benches, for twelve to sixteen people.
With a crew of five!
Engine driver, fireman, conductor, and two steersmen –
The conductor sat on a high perch braced to the pen and told the others what to do and occasionally rang a bell or blew a whistle. The bell told other traffic to get out of the way; the whistle warned that the vehicle was about to start or stop. There was much traffic but few “roadables” – most common were pedalled tricycles, for passengers and freight. Large versions had as many as a dozen men pedalling at once.
“I daresay you know,” said Brian, “that we have not been able to raise horses. We haven’t given up – we will develop a breed that will prosper here. But once we have horses, this will, I venture to predict, become a proper colony – and not just a place to send reformable evildoers and to obtain raw pharmaceuticals.”
“Pharmaceuticals?”
“Oh, definitely! The thing that makes the colony self-supporting. I daresay the descendants of these convicts will be wealthy. I will show you the fields – all in the weed – a cant word for Cannabis Magnifica Martia – except acreage for food crops. Brigadier Hird-Jones suggested Norfolk Plantation.” He smiled. “Shall we?”
“Just a moment,” Aunt Hilda said. “If I understood the Brigadier’s note, we can vary the program?”
“Captain Hilda, the carriage and I are at your disposal as long as you wish. My orders and my pleasure.”
“Brian, I have clothing being made up. I was told that sewing would continue through the night. Where should we go to inquire?”
“Here and now. I fancy I saw a package being delivered while we’ve been chatting; it could be yours. It would go to the chief housekeeper, who would have it placed in your digs – the Princess Suite, is it not?”
“Yes. Brian, I’ll slip upstairs and see.”
“Please, no!” Brian made a small gesture; a private soldier appeared out of nowhere. “Smathers, my greetings to Mrs. Digby. Has a package arrived for Captain Burroughs?”
“Sir!”
“Hold it! Brian, if it has arrived, I want it fetched here.”
I could see the look in Brian’s eye that Pop gets just before he starts demanding explanations for female “unreasonable” behavior. But Brian simply added, “If the package has arrived, tell Mrs. Digby that it must be delivered here at once. Double time, so to speak.”
“Sir!” The private stomped an about-face and broke into a run. Hilda said, “Thank you, Brian. If I place it in our craft, it is one less detail to remember. Your kindness eases my mind.”
“A pleasure, Captain Hilda.”
“Hilda, that clothing is not yet paid for.”
“Oh, dear! You are right, Jacob. Leftenant, where does one exchange gold for local money? Do you know the rate of exchange? In grams?”
“Or in Troy ounces,” I added.
Brian behaved as if he had not heard us. He turned toward his “roadable.” “Parkins! Take a turn around the circle! When you return, I want that steam up high. So that we won’t creep in starting.”
“Roight, sir.” The wagon moved off, at a headlong slow walk.
When no one else was in earshot Brian said quietly, “I missed what you Were saying because of engine noise. But let me mention in passing that Possession of gold by individuals is not permitted so I-am-happy-to-learn-that-you-have-none,” he said, not letting himself be interrupted. “Let me add,” he went on, “that since I handle secret and most-secret despatches, I know things that I don’t know, if I make my meaning clear. For example, I am grateful that you four were willing to lose sleep last night. Others feel strong obligations to such good friends. The Brigadier mentioned that you might have purchases to make or bills to pay. I was instructed to charge anything you need or want – or fancy – to the Imperial Household, signing his name and appending my signature.”
“Oh, that’s most unfair!”
“Truly, Captain? I fancy that those in authority will find something to add until you feel that you have been treated generously.”
“That’s not what she means, son,” put in Pop. “‘Unfair’ in the opposite direction. We pay for what we get.”
Brian lost his smile. “May I suggest that the Professor discuss that with the Brigadier? I would find it extremely embarrassing to have to report to the Brigadier that I was unable to carry out his orders.”
“Captain.”
“What, Deety?”
“I am required to advise you.”
“Advise away, my dear. I see my packages coming.”
“Captain Auntie, you’ve got a bear by the tail. Let go.”
The Hillbilly grinned and stuck out her tongue at me, then turned to Brian. “The Brigadier’s thoughtful arrangements are appreciated. We accept.”
It was still a few minutes before we left, as it turned out that Zebadiah’s power packs were ready, in the hands of the Household engineer. At last Hilda’s clothes and the power packs were in Gay; we boarded the char-à-banc, and whizzed away at 10 km/hr. “Norfolk Plantation, Captain Hilda?”
“Brian, at what time did you breakfast?”
“Oh, that’s not important, Ma’am.”
“Answer my question.”
“At oh-seven-hundred hours, Captain.”
“So I suspected. You eat at Imperial House?”
“Oh, no, Captain Hilda, only the most senior of the Governor’s official family eat there. I eat at the officers’ club.”
“I see. We’ll see wogs last. I am told there is a commissary. Is it open to us?”
“Captain Hilda, everything is open to you.”
“I must buy supplies. Then I wish to go to the best restaurant in Windsor City and watch you eat a proper luncheon; we ate breakfast three hours later than you did.”
“But I’m hungry,” said my husband. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Poor Zebbie.”

There was not much to buy that would keep. I bought a tin of Huntley & Palmer’s biscuits and quite a lot of Dutch chocolate – quick energy for growing boys – and tightly packaged staples.
Brian had us driven to that restaurant just past noon. I was glad that Aunt Hilda had decided to get everything else done before we went to look at vermin. Even so, I did not have much appetite – until I decided to stand up and forthrightly turn coward. Not look at vermin! Cui bono? Aunt Hilda was the expert.
That restored my appetite. We stopped across the parade ground from Imperial House. We twigged in this order – Zebadiah, Pop, me, Aunt Hilda – that it was the officers’ club. She was several meters inside when she stopped. “Brian, what are we doing here?”
“The Captain said ‘ – the best restaurant – ‘. The club’s chef was executive chef at Claridge’s until he ran into misfortune. Don’t look at me that way, Captain Hilda; the Brigadier picks up the chit; it’s charged against ‘official visitors’ and winds up in London against H.I.M.’s Civil List. Believe me, His Majesty gets paid more than leftenants, or even brigadiers.”
But the president of the mess signed the chit – a colonel who told the Hillbilly that he was buying her lunch because he wanted to ship with us as scullery maid.

I was telling Aunt Hilda that I would skip vermin viewing, thank you, when I did. One. Then six. Then a whole field of them. I was explaining to God that I didn’t like this dream so please let me wake up when Brian had the conductor halt the contraption and I saw that there were men in that field, too. The men carried whips; vermin were muzzled. This one vermin – well, “wog” – this wog had managed to pull its muzzle aside and was stuffing this weedy plant into its mouth… when a whip cracked across its naked back.
It cried.
The field on the other side of the road was not being worked, so I stared at it, After a while I heard Brian say, “Captain Hilda, you are serious, really?”
“Didn’t the Brigadier authorize it?”
“Ah, yes. I thought he was pulling my leg. Very well, Ma’am.”
I had to see what this was all about… and discovered that muzzled vermin, afraid of men with whips, weren’t frightening; they were merely ugly. Aunt Hilda was taking pictures, movies and stereo. Brian was talking to a man dressed like any farmer except for the Broad Arrow.
Brian turned and said, “Captain Hilda, the foreman asks that you point out the wog you want to dissect.”
Aunt Hilda answered, “There has been a mistake.”
“Ma’am? You don’t want to dissect a wog?”
“Leftenant, I was told that one or more died or was slaughtered each day. I want to dissect a dead body, in an appropriate place, with surgical instruments and other aids. I have no wish to have one of these poor creatures killed.”
We left shortly. Brian said, “Of the two, the abattoir and the infirmary, I suggest the latter. The veterinarian is a former Harley Street specialist. By the bye, there is no case of humans contracting disease from these brutes. So the infirmary isn’t dangerous, just, ah, unpleasant.”
We went to the wog hospital. I did not go inside. Shortly Pop came out, looking green. He sat beside me and smiled wanly. “Deety, the Captain ordered me outside for fresh air – and I didn’t argue. Aren’t you proud of me?”
I told him that I’m always proud of my Pop.
A few minutes later Brian and Zebadiah came out, with a message from Hilda that she expected to work at least another hour, possibly longer. “Captain Hilda suggests that I take you for a drive,” Brian reported.
The drive was only as far as the nearest pub; the sillywagon was sent back to wait for the Hillbilly. We waited in the lounge, where Pop and Brian had whisky and splash, and Zebadiah ordered a “shandygaff” – so I did, too. It will never replace the dry martini. I made it last till Aunt Hilda showed up.
Brian asked, “Where now, Captain Hilda?”
“Imperial House. Brian, you’ve been most kind.”
I said, “Cap’n Auntie, did you whittle one to pieces?”
“Not necessary, Deetikins. They’re chimpanzees.”
“You’ve insulted every chimp that ever lived!”
“Deety, these creatures bear the relation to ‘Black Hats’ that a chimpanzee does to a man. The physical resemblance is closer, but the difference in mental power – Doctor Wheatstone removed the brain from a cadaver; that told me all I needed to know. But I got something that may be invaluable. Motion pictures.”
Zebadiah said, “Sharpie, you took motion pictures in the fields.”
“True, Zebbie. But I have with me the Polaroids you took for me at Snug Harbor; some show the splints that creature used to disguise its extra knees and elbows. Doctor Wheatstone used surgical splints to accomplish the same with one of his helpers – a docile and fairly intelligent wog that didn’t object even though it fell down the first time it tried to walk while splinted. But it caught on and managed a stiff-legged walk just like that ranger – and like ‘Brainy’ now that I think about it – then was delighted when Doctor Wheatstone dressed it in trousers and an old jacket. Those pictures will surprise you. No makeup, no plastic surgery, a hastily improvised disguise – from the neck down it looked human.”
When we reached Imperial House, we transferred packages into Gay Deceiver – again were not permitted to carry; Brian told the conductor, the conductor told his crew. We thanked them, thanked Brian as we said good-bye, and Aunt Hilda expressed a hope of seeing him soon and we echoed her – me feeling like a hypocrite.
He saluted and started toward the officers’ club. We headed for the big wide steps. Aunt Hilda said, “Deety, want to share some soap suds?”
“Sure thing!” I agreed.
“Whuffor?” asked Zebadiah. “Sharpie, you didn’t get a spot on you.”
“To remove the psychic stink, Zebbie.”
“Mine isn’t psychic,” I said. “I stink, I do.”
But damn, spit, and dirty socks, we had hardly climbed into that tub when a message arrived, relayed by my husband, saying that the Governor requested us to call at his office at our earliest convenience. “Sharpie hon, let me translate that, based on my eighty years man and boy as flunky to an ambassador. Means Bertie wants to see us five minutes ago.”
I started to climb out; Aunt Hilda stopped me. “I understood it, Zebbie; I speak Officialese, Campusese, and Bureaucratese. But I’ll send a reply in clear English, female idiom. Is a messenger waiting?”
“Yes, a major.”
“A major, eh? That will cost Bertie five extra minutes. Zebbie, I learned before you were born that when someone wants to see me in a hurry, the urgency is almost never mutual. All right, message: The commanding officer of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver sends her compliments to the Governor General and will call on – him at her earliest convenience. Then give the major a message from you to Bertie that you happen to know that I’m taking a bath and that you hope I’ll be ready in twenty minutes but that you wouldn’t wager even money on thirty.”
“Okay. Except that the word should be ‘respects’ not ‘compliments.’ Also, the major emphasized that he wants to see all of us. Want Jake and me to keep Bertie happy until you are ready?” Pop had his head in the door, listening. “We wouldn’t mind.” Pop nodded.
“Zebbie, Zebbie! After four years under my tutelage. Until I know what he wants I can’t concede that he is senior to me. ‘Compliments,’ not ‘respects.’ And no one goes until I do… but thank you both for the offer. Two more things: After giving the major my message, will you please find my clothes, all but Deety’s Keds, and take them to the car? That’s Jacob’s shirt, Deety’s sailor pants, a blue belt, and a blue hair ribbon. In the car you will find new clothes on my seat. In one package should be three jump suits. Please fetch one back.”
Pop said, “Hilda, I’d be glad to run that errand. Run it twice, in fact, as you don’t want to send down what clothes you have until you know that your new clothes fit.”
“Jacob, I want you right here, to scrub our backs and sing for us and keep us amused. If that jump suit does not fit, I may appear in a bath towel sarong. But I plan to appear a minute early to make Bertie happy. Do not tell the major that, Zebbie! Officially it is twenty minutes with luck, thirty minutes more likely, could be an hour, Major; you know how women are. Got it all?”
“Roger Wilco. Sharpie, someday they’ll hang you.”
“They will sentence me to hang but Jacob and you will rescue me. Trot along, dear.” Aunt Hilda started to get out. “Stay there, Deety. I’ll give you three minutes’ warning – two to dry down, one to zip into your jump suit. Which leaves ten minutes to relax.”

The jump suit did fit; the Hillbilly looked cute. We left not a thing in that suite because Aunt Hilda checked it while waiting for Zebadiah. A few items went into my purse or hers. It was eighteen minutes from her message to our arrival at the Governor’s office – and I had had a fifteen-minute tub, comfy if not sybaritic.
Besides Bertie and the Brigadier, that fathead Moresby was there. Aunt Hilda ignored him, so I did. Bertie stood up. “How smart you all look! Did you have a pleasant day?” The poor dear looked dreadful – gaunt, circles under his eyes.
“A perfect day – thanks to you, thanks to the Brigadier, and thanks to a curly lamb named Bean.”
“A fine lad,” Squeaky boomed. “I’ll pass on your word, if I may.” The Brigadier did not look fresh; I decided that neither had been to bed.
Bertie waited until we were seated, then got to business. “Captain Burroughs, what are your plans?”
Aunt Hilda did not answer his question. She glanced toward Major General Moresby, back at Bertie. “We are not in private, Excellency.”
“Hmm – ” Bertie looked unhappy. “Moresby, you are excused.”
“But -“
“Dismissed. You have work to do, I feel sure.”
Moresby swelled up but got up and left. Squeaky bolted the outer door, closed the inner door, while Bertie stood up to lift the rug over his recorder switch. Aunt Hilda said, “Don’t bother, Bertie. Record if you need to. What’s the trouble, old dear? Russians?”
“Yes. Hilda, you four are refugees; yesterday you showed me why. Would you care to remain here? My delegated power is sufficient that I can grant naturalization as fast as I can sign my signature.”
“No, Bertie. But we feel greatly honored.”
“I expected that. Do reconsider it. There are advantages to being a subject of the most powerful monarch in history, in being protected by a flag on which the Sun never sets.”
“No, Bertie.”
“Captain Hilda, I need you and your ship. Because of millions of miles of distance, many months required for a message, I hold de jure viceregal power almost equal to sovereign… and de facto greater in emergency because no Parliament is here. I can recruit foreign troops, arm them, make guarantees to them as if they were British, award the King-Emperor’s commission. I would like to recruit all of you and your ship.”
“No.”
“Commodore for you, Captain for your second-in-command, Commander for your Chief Pilot, Lieutenant Commander for your Copilot. Retirement at full pay once the emergency is over. Return of your purchased ship as a royal gift after the emergency. Compensation for loss or damage.”
“No.”
“One rank higher for each of you?”
“All four of us must be at least one rank senior to Major General Moresby.”
“Hilda! That’s my own rank. Equivalent rank – Vice Admiral.”
“Bertie, you can’t hire us as mercenaries at any rank or pay. That hyperbole was to tell you that we will not place ourselves under your chief of staff. That settled, what can we do to help you?”
“I’m afraid you can’t, since you won’t accept the protection under international law of military status. So I’m forced to cut the knot. Do you understand the right of angary?”
(I thought he said “angry” and wondered.)
“I believe so. Are Great Britain and the Russias at war?”
“No, but there are nuances. Shall I call in my legal officer?”
“Not for me. My own legal officer is here: Doctor Zebadiah Carter, my consultant in international law.”
“Doctor Carter – oh, fiddlesticks! My friend Zeb. Zeb, will you discuss the right of angary?”
“Very well, Governor. One nuance you had in mind was that, in addition to wartime, it applies to national emergency – such as your current one with the Russians.”
“Yes!”
“Angary has changed in application many times but in general it is the right of a sovereign power to seize neutral transport found in its ports or territory, then use same in war or similar emergency. When the emergency is over, seized transport must be returned, fair rentals must be paid, loss or damage requires compensation. It does not apply to goods or chattels, and most especially not to persons. That’s the gist. Do we need your legal officer?”
“I don’t think so. Captain Burroughs?”
“We don’t need him. You intend to requisition my craft?”
“Captain… I must!” Bertie was almost in tears.
“Governor, you are within your legal rights. But have you considered how you will drive it?”
“May I answer that, Governor?”
“Go ahead, Squeaky.”
“Captain Hilda, I have an odd memory. ‘Photographic’ it is called but I remember sounds as automatically. I am sure I can fly every maneuver used last night – that is to say: sufficient for our emergency.”
I was seething. But Aunt Hilda smiled at the Brigadier and said in her sweetest voice: “You’ve been most thoughtful throughout our stay, Squeaky. You are a warm, charming, hospitable, bastardly fink. One who would sell his wife to a Port Saïd pimp. Aside from that you are practically perfect.”
“Doubled and redoubled!” (That was my Pop!) “Later on, Jones, I’ll see you at a time and place of your choosing. Weapons or bare hands.”
“And then I will see you, if Jake leaves anything.” My husband flexed his fingers. “I hope you choose bare hands.”
Bertie interrupted. “I forbid this during this emergency and after it in territory where I am suzerain and while Hird-Jones holds the Sovereign’s commission under my command.”
Aunt Hilda said, “You are legally correct, Bertie. But you will concede that they had provocation.”
“No, Ma’am! Hird-Jones is not at fault. I tried to get you and your crew to fly it on any terms at all. You refused. Hird-Jones may kill himself attempting to fly a strange flyer. If so he will die a hero. He is not what you called him.”
“I don’t think well of you, either, Bertie. You are a thief – stealing our only hope of a future.”
“He certainly is!” I cut in. “Governor, I can whip you – I can kill you, with my bare hands. I’m Black-Belt three ways. Are you going to hide behind your Commission and your self-serving laws?” I dusted my hands together. “Coward. Two cowards, with their chests covered with ribbons boasting about their brave deeds.”
“Astrogator.”
“Captain.”
“Let it drop. Bertie, under right of angary we are entitled to remove our chattels. I insist on a witness so that you will know that we have done nothing to damage the craft. If the Brigadier can drive it, it will be turned over to him in perfect shape. But my jewelry is in our craft and many other things; I must have a witness. You, sir. My stepdaughter can certainly kill you or anyone her size or a bit more than her size, with her bare hands. But I grant you safeconduct. Will you have it in writing?”
Bertie shook his head. “You know I can’t take time to witness. Pick anyone else.”
“I won’t grant safe-conduct to anyone else. Anyone who has not ridden with us would not know how to watch for sabotage. So it must be either you or Hird-Jones… and Hird-Jones would never live to get out of our car. He has three of the deadliest killers in two universes quite annoyed. Angry over angary.”
“Any of you who will not give parole must wait up here.”
“Wait a half, Gov,” my husband drawled. “‘Parole’ applies to prisoners. Captain, this might be a good time to read aloud our safe-conduct from the Governor General. See how many ways this fake ‘officer and gentleman’ has broken his word – and the written guarantees of his sovereign. He has broken all three essential guarantees to all four of us. That’s twelve. Almost a Russian score. Safe-conduct amounting to diplomatic immunity, all of us free to leave at any time, we four never to be separated involuntarily. Now he wants hostages. Pfui!”
“None is broken,” Bertie asserted.
“Liar,” my husband answered.
“All of you are safe here… until the Russians conquer us. I slipped in speaking of parole; you are not prisoners. You all may stay together – living in the Princess Suite if you so choose. If not, in any quarters you choose in territory I control. You are all free to leave at any moment. But you must not approach that requisitioned flyer. Captain, your jewels will be safe. But others will unload the flyer.”
“Bertie -“
“What? Yes… Hilda?”
“Dear, you are both stubborn and stupid. You can’t open the doors of our car, much less drive it. Attempt to force it open and no one will ever drive it. I conceded the legality of the right of angary. But you insist on making it impossible to apply it. Accept my safe-conduct and come witness or there that car sits until the Russians come, while we live in luxury in this palace. You know that ‘the right to leave at any time’ means nothing without our transport. Now, for the last time, will you do it my way… or will you waste the precious minutes of a war crisis trying to open that car by yourself? Make up your mind, this offer will not be repeated. Answer Yes or No… and be damned quick about it!”
Bertie covered his face with his hands. “Hilda, I’ve been up all night. Both Squeaky and I.”
“I know, dear. I knew when we came in. So I must help you make up your mind. Deety, check your purse. Something is missing.”
I hastily checked, wondering what she meant. Then I noticed that a secret pocket that should have been hard was not. “Oh! Do you have it?”
“Yes, Deety.” Aunt Hilda was seated, her choice, so that she had both Bertje and Squeaky in her line of fire – and none of us. “I mentioned three killers. Now you have four facing you… in a soundproofed room with its door bolted from inside.” (I never saw her draw my Skoda gun. But she was holding it on them.) “Bertie, I’m making up your mind for you. You are accepting my safe-conduct. Consider how poor the chances are that anyone would find your bodies in the time it takes us to run down one flight and reach our car.”
Squeaky lunged at Hilda. I tripped him, kicked his left kneecap as he fell, then said, “Don’t move, Fink! My next kick is a killer! Captain, has Bertie come to his senses? Or shall I take him? I hate to kill Bertie. He’s tired and worried and not thinking straight. Then I would have to kill Squeaky. He can’t help his eidetic memory, any more than I can help this clock in my head. Squeaky, did I break your kneecap? Or can you walk if I let you get up?”
“I can walk. You’re fast, Deety.”
“I know. Captain. Plans?”
“Bertie, you are accepting my safe-conduct. We are all going out together, we four around you two, laughing and talking and heading for our car – and if anyone gets close, you two are dead. One of you will get it with this -“
“And the other with this.” (My husband, with his stubby police special – )
“Why, Zebbie! How naughty of you! Jacob, do you have a holdout too?”
“Just this – ” Pop now had his hunting knife.
“Deety?”
“Did have. You’re holding it. But I still have five weapons.”
“Five?”
“Both hands, both feet, and my head. Squeaky, I must frisk you. Don’t wiggle… or I’ll hurt you.” I added, “Stop easing toward your desk, Bertie. You can’t kill four of us before we kill you. Pop, don’t bother with the gun, or trap, or whatever, in Bertie’s desk, Let’s get out of here, laughing and joking, as the Captain ordered. Oh, Squeaky, that didn’t hurt! Captain, shall I let him up?”
“Brigadier Hird-Jones, do you honor the safe-conduct granted to us by your commanding officer?” Aunt Hilda asked.
“Brigadier, I order you to honor it,” Bertie said grimly.
Maybe Squeaky had to catch his breath; he was a touch slow. “Yes, sir.”
Aunt Hilda said, “Thanks, Squeaky. I’m sorry I had to say harsh things to you… but not having muscles I must fight with words. Zebbie, frisk Bertie. But quickly; we leave now. I leave first, on Bertie’s arm. Deety follows, on Squeaky’s arm – you can lean on her if you need to; she’s strong. Help him up, Deety, Jacob and Zebbie trail along behind. Bertie, if anyone gets close to us, or either you or Squeaky try to signal anyone, or if anything is pointed at us – first you two die. Then we four die; that’s inevitable. But we’ll take some with us. What do you think the total may be? Two… and four… then five? Six? A dozen? Or higher?”

It took us forty-seven seconds to the bottom of the steps, thirty-one more to Gay Deceiver, and I aged seventy-eight years. Squeaky did lean on me but I made it look the other way around and he managed to smile and to sing with me: Gaudeamus Igitur. Hilda sang The Bastard King to Bertie which seemed both to shock him and make him laugh. The odd way she held his arm told me that she was prepared to plant 24 poisoned darts in Bertie’s left armpit if anything went sour.
No one bothered us. Bertie returned a dozen or more salutes.
But at Gay Deceiver we ran into a bobble. Four armed soldiers guarded our Smart Girl. By the starboard door was that fathead Moresby, looking smug. As we came close, he saluted, aiming it at Bertie.
Bertie did not return his salute. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said, pointing. Plastered to Gay’s side, bridging the line where her door fairs into her afterbody, was H.I.M.’s Imperial seal.
Moresby answered, “Governor, I understood you perfectly when you told me that I had work to do. Verb. sap., eh?”
Bertie didn’t answer; Moresby continued to hold salute.
“Major General Moresby,” Bertie said so quietly that I could just hear it.
“Sir!”
“Go to your quarters. Send me your sword.”
I thought Fathead was going to melt down the way the Wicked Witch did when Dorothy threw the pail of water over her. He brought down the salute and left, moving quickly.
Everybody acted as if nothing had happened. Hilda said, “Gay Deceiver, open starboard door” – she did and that seal broke. “Bertie, we’re going to need people to carry things. I don’t want our possessions stacked outdoors.”
He looked down at her, surprised. “Is the war over?”
“There never was a war, Bertie. But you tried to push us around, and I don’t push. You requisitioned this craft; it’s legally yours. What I insisted on was that you must witness removal of our chattels. That took coaxing.”
“‘Coaxing’!”
“Some people are harder to coax than others. Squeaky, I’m sorry about your knee. Can you hobble back? Or shall we get you a wheelchair? That knee must be swelling up.”
“I’ll live. Deety, you play rough.”
“Squeaky,” said the Governor General, “slow march back toward the House, grab the first person you see, delegate him to round up a working party. Hilda, will a dozen be enough?”
“Better make it twenty. And about four more armed guards.”
“Twenty and four additional sentries. Once you pass that word, put the senior rating in charge, and climb into a tub of hot water.”
“Cold water.”
“What, Hilda? Cold?”
“Hot is okay if he uses lots of Epsom salts. Otherwise ice-cold water will bring the swelling down faster, even though it’s uncomfortable. But not for long. Ice water numbs pain while it reduces swelling. By morning you’ll be fit. Unless Deety cracked the bone.”
“Oh, I hope not!” I blurted.
“Squeaky, you had better listen to Captain Hilda.”
“I’ll do it. Ice water. Brrrrr!”
“Get on with it. But order that working party.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Bertie, will you follow me?” Hilda went inside. The Governor followed her, started to say something but Hilda cut him off: “Jacob, get out the items forward here while Zebbie keeps inventory as you do. Bertie, I have something for Betty before that mob gets here. Will you help me undog this door or perhaps Deety can do it easier GayDeceiverCloseDoorsGayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Bertie, take off your clothes.” She held onto a door dog with her left hand, had my little gun aimed at his face.
“Hilda!”
“Captain Hilda, please; I’m in my spacecraft under way. Take off every stitch, Bertie; I’m not as trusting as Zebbie. I assume that you have a holdout he didn’t find. Gay Bounce. Hurry up, Bertie; you’re going to stay in free fall with no Bonine until you are naked. Zebbie, he may require help. Or inducement.”
He required both. But eleven minutes later Bertie was wearing one of Pop’s coveralls and his clothes were abaft the bulkhead. Zebbie did not find a weapon but Aunt Hilda took no chances. At last we were all strapped down, with Bertie between me and the Captain.
Hilda said, “All hands, report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Captain Auntie, we are in space.”
“But quite unready. Astrogator.”
“Seat belt fastened. Ready.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Door seal checked. No loose gear – I stuffed Bertie’s clothes in with the cabin bed clothes. Four charged power packs in reserve. Juice oh-seven-oh. All systems go. Ready.”
“Copilot.”
“Seat belt tight. Continua device ready. Door seal checked. I’d like a Bonine if we’re going to be in free fall long. Ready for space.”
“Astrogator, three antinausea pills – captain, copilot, passenger. Passenger.”
“Oh! Oh, yes! Safety belt tight.”
“Captain states seat belt fastened. Ready for space. Gay Termite.”
It was just sunrise at our streamside “home.” “Aunt Hilda, why did we run through all that rigamarole if we were coming straight here?”
“Deety, when you are captain you will know.”
“Not me. I’m not the captain type.”
She ignored me. “Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, will you give me your unconditional parole until I return you home? On your honor as an officer and a gentleman.”
“Am I going home? I had assumed that I had not long to live.”
“You are going home. And I do have something for Betty. But whether or not you give parole affects other matters. Make up your mind – at once!”
It took him six seconds; Aunt Hilda let him have them. “Parole. Unconditional.”
“I’m surprised, Bertie. You have a tradition against giving parole, do you not?”
“We do indeed, Captain. But I concluded that my only chance of serving my sovereign lay in giving my word. Am I right?”
“Quite right, Bertie. You now have opportunity to persuade me to support you in your crisis. Your King-Emperor is not our prince; we place no faith in princes. We have no reason to love Russians but we spanked the only one who gave us trouble. In what way is the British colony superior to the Russian one? Take your time.”
Aunt Hilda turned her attention to the rest of us. “Standing orders apply: Two at a time, one being armed. Deety and I will cut and wrap sandwiches, make coffee and prepare a snack for growing boys who can’t remember a bounteous luncheon three hours ago. One guard at all times at the car. Bertie, I’m assigning you that duty. You know how to use a rifle?”
Zebadiah said, “You’re arming him?”
“Chief Pilot, I assume that you are questioning my judgment. If you convince me that I am wrong, there will be a new captain even more quickly than I had planned. May I have your reason?”
“Sharpie, I didn’t mean to get your feathers up.”
“Not at all, Zebbie. Why are you surprised that I intend to use Bertie as guard?”
“Ten minutes ago you had me do a skin search to make sure he wasn’t armed. Now you are about to hand him a gun.”
“Ten minutes ago he had not given parole.”
Bertie said hastily, “Zeb is right, Hilda – Captain Hilda; Zeb has no reason to trust me. I don’t want to be a bone of contention!”
I’m still trying to figure out whether Aunt Hilda is more logical than other people or is a complete sophist. She gave Bertie a freeze, looking him up and down. “Smythe-Carstairs, your opinion was neither asked nor wanted.”
Bertie turned pink. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Although you were a person of some importance in your own land, you are now something between a prisoner and a nuisance. I am trying to give you the dignity of crew member pro tern. Hold your tongue. Zebbie, what were you going to say?”
“Shucks, if you aren’t afraid to have him with a gun at your back, I’m not. No offense intended, Bertie.”
“None taken, Zeb.”
“Zebbie, please assure yourself that Bertie can handle a rifle, and that he knows what to shoot at and when not to shoot, before you turn the guard over to him. Put the other rifle at the door for bush patrol. Bertie, watch and listen. Gay Deceiver, open your doors.”
Our Smart Girl opened wide. “Gay Deceiver, close your doors.” Gay complied. “Bertie,” Aunt Hilda went on, “you do it.”
Of course he failed – and failed again on other voice programs. The Hillbilly explained that it took me a tedious time with special equipment to cause this autopilot to respond to a particular human voice. “Bertie, go back and explain to Squeaky; make him understand that I saved his life. This car can be driven in three modes. Two Squeaky can’t use at all; the third would kill him as dead as Caesar.”
“Plus a fourth hazard,” added my husband. “Anybody who doesn’t understand the Smart Girl but tries to take her apart to see what makes her tick would find himself scattered over a couple of counties.”
“Booby-trapped, Zebadiah?” I asked. “I hadn’t known it.”
“No. But juice is very unfriendly to anybody who doesn’t understand it.”

“Come and get it!” The snack Aunt Hilda offered was a much-stuffed omelet. “Bertie, place your gun near you, locked. Between bites, you can tell us why your colony is worth defending. By us, I mean. For you, it’s duty.”
“Captain Hilda, I’ve done some soul-searching. I daresay that, in the main, we and the Russians are much the same, prison colonies with military governors. Perhaps, in a hundred years, it won’t matter. Although I see us as morally superior.”
“How, Bertie?”
“A Russian might see this differently. Our transportees are malefactors under our laws – but once here, they are as free as other Englishmen. Oh, they must wear the Broad Arrow until discharged – but at home they would wear it in a grim prison. The Russian prisoners are, if our intelligence is correct, the people they used to send to the Siberian salt mines. Political prisoners. They are serfs but I am told that most of them were not serfs in Russia. Whether they are treated better or worse than serfs in Russia I do not know. But one thing I do know. They work their fields with men; we work ours with wogs.”
“And whip them!” Suddenly I was angry.
We had an argument, Bertie maintaining that the whips were not used unnecessarily, I asserting that I had seen it with my own eyes.
I guess he won, as he told us that they had to muzzle the beasts in weed fields, or they would stuff themselves on it, pass out, wake somewhat, do it again, and starve – but the muzzles were designed to allow them to chew a blade at a time all day long, to keep them happy. “The raw weed is addictive, to wog and man. We won’t allow a man to work in the fields more than three months at a time… and pull him out if he can’t pass the weekly medical tests. As for wogs, Deety – yes, we exploit them. Human beings exploit horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, and other breeds. Are you vegetarian?”
I admitted I was not. “But I don’t want to eat wogs!”
“Nor do we. In Windsor colony wog meat goes only to wogs, and wogs don’t care. In the wild they eat their own dead, kill and eat their aged. Captain Hilda, that’s all the defense I can offer. I admit that it doesn’t sound as strong as I had always believed.”
“Captain, I’d like to put one to Bertie.”
“Jacob, I treasure your thoughts.”
“Bertie, would you polish off the Russians if you could?”
Bertie snorted. “That’s academic, Doctor. I don’t command the force it would take. I can’t set up a string of stockpiles – and wouldn’t know what to do with them if I could; I don’t have the troops or ‘thopters. But I must add: If my King tells me to fight, I will fight.”

Aunt Hilda told Bertie to wash dishes with Pop sent along as guard. As soon as they started down, Aunt Hilda said, “We are going to do it, to a maximum cost of one power pack. Deety, start working on a program stringing together the dumps we located last night.”
“Already have,” I told her. “In my head. Last night. To put me to sleep. You want it preprogrammed? I would rather tell Gay each bounce, I would.”
“Do it your way, hon. The purpose in sending Bertie to wash dishes and Jacob to guard him was to get them out of the way while I rig a frameup. At the end of the coming run, we drop Bertie and bounce… and at that instant I cease to be captain. I want to hold the election now – a one-ballot railroad. I will ask for nominations. Zebbie, you nominate Jacob. Deety, you don’t need to say anything but speak if you wish. If Jacob nominates either of you, don’t argue. I’ll rig it so that Bertie declares the ballots. If you two are with me, the only surprise will be that fourth vote. Three for Jacob, and let’s all write ‘Jacob,’ not ‘Pop’ or ‘Jake,’ and one for the dark horse. Are you with me?”
“Wait a half, Sharpie. Why not give Deety a crack at it?”
“Not me!”
“Deety should have the experience, but, please, Zebbie, not this time. Jacob has given me a dreadful time. Endless insubordination. I want to pass him on to Deety well tenderized. Deety ought not to have to put up with her father second-guessing her decisions – and, if you two help, she won’t have to. I want to give my beloved the goddamndest ‘white mutiny’ ever, one that he will remember with shudders and never again give a skipper any lip.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed, “but I don’t know what a ‘white mutiny’ is.”
“Sweetheart,” my husband told me, “it’s killing him with kindness. He says ‘Frog,’ we hop. Utter and literal obedience.”
“This he won’t like? Pop will love it!”
“So? Would you like to command zombies who never make suggestions and carry out orders literally without a grain of common sense?”

Fifteen minutes later Bertie read off: “‘Jacob’ and this reads ‘Jacob’ and so does this one, that seems to settle it. But here is one, folded: ‘A bunch of smarties, you three. Think I didn’t guess why you sent me down to ride shotgun? Very well, I vote for myself!’ It is signed ‘Jake.’ Madame Speaker, is that valid?”
“Quite. Jacob, my last order will be liftoff after we drop Bertie.”
Bertie said, “Jake, I think congratulations are in order.”
“Pipe down! All hands, prepare for space.”

“A piece of cake,” Bertie called it. We started at the easternmost dump, worked west. Pop out at four klicks and dive, a dry run to size up the target; where wood alcohol was stored, ornithopters on the ground and how arranged… while Gay ululated from intensity six to eight. Frightfulness. I did not let it go up to ten because it wasn’t intended to damage but to send anyone on target scattering.
Zebadiah’s idea: “Captain, I’ve got nothing against Russians. My only purpose is to burn their fuel and their flaphappies to make it difficult to attack our friends – and I don’t mean you big brass, Bertie. I mean the transportee maid who brought us tea this morning, and Brian Bean, and Mr. Wheatstone who was a top surgeon before some fool judge slammed him and is now doing his best for wogs, and the chef at the officers’ club, and five cons who drove that sillywagon, and dozens more who smiled when they could have scowled. I don’t want them killed or enslaved; I want them to have their chance. Governor, England is slapping the Broad Arrow on some of your best potential – you English will live to regret it.”
“You could be right, Zeb,”
“I don’t want to kill Russians, either. Could be most of them are decent blokes. Each strike will be a double run – one pass to scatter ’em, a second to destroy the dump. Captain, if that doesn’t suit you, find another gunner.”
Aunt Hilda said, “Astrogator.”
“Captain.”
“Strike as described by Chief Pilot. Take the conn. Attack.”
At the first target we lingered after the strike bounce. The dry pass did show them running away – they could hear us clear in their bones. Those subsonics are so horrid I keyed Gay to kill the noise at code-word “Bounce” – and did not use it on the strike pass.
Zebadiah made strikes from bearings planned to take out as many ‘thopters as possible while setting fire to fuel.
From four klicks the first strike looked good. The dump was burning, ‘thopters he had hit showed smoke, and one that he had not hit was burning. Splashed by flaming methanol, I suppose.
If that first target was indication, in thirty-four minutes the Russians lost all fuel and about 70% of the deployed flaphappies. I took us up high after the last. “Next stop, Windsor City.”
“I’m taking the conn, Astrogator. Bertie, don’t forget my little ring for Betty.”
“I’ll give it to her in the morning.”
“Good,” Captain Hilda said. “Unbelt, crowd past Jacob, place yourself against the door – feet on deck, chest against door. Jacob, push against the small of his back. Bertie, when the door opens, dive and roll clear.”
They positioned themselves. “Gay Parade Ground Gay Deceiver open starboard door… Gay Deceiver close doors, GayBounce, GayBounce! Jacob, do you relieve me?”
“Beloved, I relieve you. Ten minima H axis transit – and executed. All hands, unbelt.”
I unbuckled with extreme speed and clumsiness, getting Pop in the chin with my foot.
“Deety! Watch where you’re going!”
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’m out of practice with free fall.”
“You’ve been in free fall every day!”
“Yes, Captain. I’ve been in free fall every day, belted down.”
“Pipe down! Hilda, don’t cover the instrument board. Hold onto something. No, not me, damn it. Zeb! Grab something and catch Hilda!”
“Roger Wilco, Captain! Right away!” My husband snagged Aunt Hilda, grabbed a seat belt with his other hand, trapped our captain against the dogs of the bulkhead door with his buttocks. “What now, sir!”
“Get your goddam fanny out of my face!”
“Sorry, sir,” Zebadiah answered humbly while turning and digging an elbow into Pop’s ribs. I closed in from the other side and we had Pop trapped again – ballet and trampoline make a fine background for free fall. Zebadiah went on cheerfully, “What shall we do now, sir?”
Pop didn’t answer. From watching his lips I saw that he was counting backwards, silently, in German. That’s stage three.
Then he said quietly, “Zeb, get into the copilot’s seat and belt down.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Zebadiah did so.
Pop snatched Hilda while hanging onto a dog. “Deety, belt down in the chief pilot’s seat.”
“Roger Wilco, Captain” – I did so.
“My dear, I want you behind Deety. Do you need help?”
“Yes, thank you, Captain; it’s sweet of you to offer.” White mutiny? The Hillbilly is about as helpless as Zebadiah but thinks God created men to pamper women. I’ve heard less reasonable philosophies.
After “helping” Hilda, Pop strapped down in the starboard after seat. “All hands! We have moved clockwise ninety degrees. I am now captain. Hilda, you are astrogator and second-in-command. Deety, you are chief pilot. Zeb, you are copilot. In order of seniority, any questions?”
The Hillbilly said in a small voice, “As second-in-command I am required to advise the Captain -“
“Certain circumstances. Speak up.”
“Captain, I know very little about astrogation.”
“That’s why you have the job. You will seek advice from Deety as needed, both of you seek advice from Zeb when necessary – and if all three of you are stumped, I will tackle it and be responsible for mistakes. No burden, the Captain is always responsible for all mistakes. When in doubt, do not hesitate to consult me.
“Deety, you have not driven this car in atmosphere. But you are a competent, decisive, and skillful driver of duos” – I am, Pop? – you’re years late in saying so – “and we have come this high to give you time to acquaint yourself with it. I placed Zeb by you to coach you and, in time, to report to me that you are fully qualified.” Pop smiled. “Fortunately, should you get into trouble, we have programs that will get you out instantly such as ‘Gay Bounce’ -“
Gay bounced.
Pop did not notice but I had my eye on radar distance since learning that I was responsible. Pop, who invented those safety scrams? Think hard. Hint: One of your offspring.
“Zeb, you know the knobs and scales et cetera of the controls we refer to as the verniers but you have not had time to practice. Now you will practice until you can handle anything, by eye, or by clicks in the dark. Permit me to pay you this compliment: You will give yourself your own final examination. When you feel ready, tell me and I will have the Astrogator log it.
“Advice to future captains – I will not be happy until all are competent in each of four seats, and all feel easy in all twenty-five possible arrangements -“
“Twenty-four, Pop,” I blurted out. I hastily added, “Sorry, Captain – ‘twenty-five.'”
Pop has a terrible time with kitchen arithmetic; it has been so long since he has done any. He will pick up a hand computer to discover 2 x 3 = 6; I’ve seen him do it.
He stared at me, lips moving slightly. At last he said, “Chief Pilot.”
“Captain.”
“You are ordered to correct me when I make a mistake. ‘Twenty-four’ permutations, certainly.”
“Sir, may the Chief Pilot have more information before she answers Roger-Wilco?”
“Fire away!”
“Captain, what categories of mistakes?”
“Eh? Any sort! A mistake is a mistake. Daughter, are you baiting me?”
“No, Captain. I am unable to acknowledge your order as I do not understand it. ‘A mistake is a mistake’ is semantically null. If I see you about to sugar your coffee twice shall I – “
“Tell me! Of course.”
“If I see you treating your wife unjustly shall I -“
“Wait a moment! Even if I did or have – which I decline to stipulate – it is not proper for you to interfere.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve established that there are two sets. But the Captain has not defined the sets and the Chief Pilot lacks authority to do so. May I respectfully suggest that the Captain take notice of the quandary, then reframe the order at a time of his choosing … and in the meantime permit the Chief Pilot not to correct the Captain’s mistakes?”
Zebadiah winked at me with his head turned so that I saw it but Pop could not.
Pop fumed, complaining that I wasn’t showing common sense and, worse, I had broken his train of thought. He finally got around to a definition at about 8th grade level: I was to correct him only in errors involving figures or related symbols such as angles. (On your own head be it, Pop!) I gave him Roger-Wilco.
“In fact,” he went on expansively, “it may be my duty to see that this training course is completed before, with great relief, I turn this seat over to my successor.”
(I started figuring how many children I would have by then and decided to look for ways to hike up the “white mutiny.”)
“Captain?”
“Astrogator.”
“This advice concerns a mistake that could occur in the near future. I assume that the Captain has the conn?”
“Hilda, I have the conn. Speak up.”
“We are falling, sir. I advise placing us in orbit.”
I sighed with relief, as radar distance I was beginning to think of as H-above-G and did not like our closing rate.
Pop said, “Surely, put us in orbit. Take the conn and do it. Good practice. Deety can show you how. Or Zeb.”
“Aye aye, sir. I have the conn. Chief Pilot, keep her level with respect to planet.”
“Roger. Level now.”
“Copilot, add speed vector positive axis L three point six klicks per second.”
“Uh… set!”
“Hold it!” Pop unbelted, steadied himself by Zebadiah’s chair, checked the setting. “Okay. Execute!”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Zebadiah said, “but was that order directed at me or the Astrogator?”
Pop opened his mouth – then turned red. “Astrogator, I am satisfied with your solution and the setting. Please have the maneuver executed.”
“Aye aye, sir. Execute!”

What Pop planned seemed reasonable. “So far we have used juice, supplies, and four days’ time, and have merely established that there are at least two analogs of our universe, one quantum and ten quanta away on Tau axis. The latter has beasts – wogs – that are not the vermin we fled from, but – according to Hilda – closely related. To me, this makes Tau axis not our best place to seek a new home.
“Zebadiah has suggested that we sample the universes available by rotation rather than translation – six axes taken four at a time – before we search Teh axis. Let me remind you that we could die of old age searching Teh axis alone. I will decide but I will listen to arguments pro or con.”
Twenty-three minutes later Aunt Hilda shrilled, “Copilot, by plan, as set – Rotate!”

Chapter XXX

“Difference physical laws, a different topology.”

Jacob:
We rotated to… Nowhere –
So it seemed. Free fall and utter blackness – The cabin held only the faint radiance from the instruments.
My daughter said in hushed tones, “Captain! May I turn on inside lights?”
This was a time to establish discipline and doctrine. “Permission refused. Copilot, I would like to see in all directions.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeb acknowledged.
After a few moments I added, “Copilot? Why are you waiting?”
“I am awaiting orders, sir.”
“What the hell, Zeb? Get with it! I said I wanted to see in all directions. We have preprograms for that.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Well? Why aren’t you using them? Can’t you carry out orders?” (I was amazed at Zeb.)
“Captain, I have not as yet received any orders, and I am not at the conn.”
I started to answer sharply – and bit down on it. Precisely what had I said? I recalled that the autopilot stayed in recording mode during maneuvers; I could play back the last few minutes -and decided not to. We were wasting time and it was possible that I had not expressed myself in the form of a direct order. Nevertheless I could not ignore Zeb’s pigheaded behavior. “Copilot, I am aware that I have not given you direct orders. However, it is customary to treat a captain’s requests as politely worded orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well? God damn it, why don’t – “
“Captain! Captain Jacob! Please listen! Please!”
I took a deep breath. “What is it, Hilda?”
“Captain, I am required to advise you.”
“Eh? Advise away – but be quick about it.”
“Captain, you have given the Copilot neither orders nor requests. The autopilot’s record will confirm this. You mentioned preprograms – but voice programs are not normally handled by the Copilot.”
“I can order the Copilot to use a voice program.”
Hilda did not answer. Again I waited, then said, “Well?”
Then I said, “Astrogator, you did not answer me.”
“Sorry, Captain. Answer what?”
“My question.”
“Captain, I was not aware that you had asked me a question. Would you mind repeating it?”
“Oh, forget it, forget it! Chief Pilot!”
“Captain.”
“Deety, what’s the voice program to rotate us a full circle around W axis?”
“Shall I spell it, sir? S.G. is awake.”
“No, do it. Turn out your instrument lights. Pilots watch forward, Captain and Astrogator will watch the sides. Do it. Execute.”
Instrument lights dimmed to zero, leaving us in the darkest dark I have ever experienced. I heard a repressed moan and felt a burst of sympathy for my daughter; she had never liked total darkness. But she carried out my orders:
“Gay Deceiver, Tumbling Pigeon.”
“Forward somersault – whee!”
“Execute.”
I felt pressure against my belts – being forward of the center of mass we were starting a gentle outside loop. I started counting seconds as I recalled that this program took twenty seconds.
I had reached seventy-eight seconds and was beginning to wonder when Deety announced “Twenty seconds” as the autopilot announced, “End of program.”
Deety said, “You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“If I were smart, would I be doing this? Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Captain, I request permission to switch on cabin lights.”
“Permission granted. Report observations. Copilot?”
“Skipper, I saw nothing.”
“Deety?”
“Nothing.”
“Hilda?”
“Jacob, I didn’t see anything. Can’t we get out of this universe? It stinks.”
“That stink is me,” our copilot said. “The reek of fear. Captain, of what use is an empty universe?”
“Zeb, ’empty universe’ is a meaningless expression. Space-time implies mass-energy, and vice versa.”
“Captain, it looks empty to me.”
“And to me. I’m faced by a dilemma in theory. Is the mass in this spacetime so far away that we can’t see it? Or is it in a state of ‘Cold Death,’ level entropy? Or did we create this universe by rotating?”
“‘Create it’ – Huh?”
“A possibility,” I pointed out. “If we are the only mass in this universe, then this universe had no existence until we created it by rotation. But it will not collapse when we rotate out, because we will be leaving behind quanta we are radiating.”
“Hmm – Captain, I’m bothered by something else. We started from universe-ten and made one ninety-degree rotation. Correct?”
“Yes. We rotated around ‘x’ and thereby moved each of the other five axes ninety degrees. We are now experiencing duration along ‘y.’ Teh and ‘z’ are spatial coordinates now, and ‘x’ remains spatial because we rotated on it. Tau and ‘t’ are now null, unused.”
“Mmm – Deety, what Greenwich time is it?” Zeb glanced at the instrument board.
“Uh – Seventeen: thirteen: oh-nine.”
“Smart Girl says you are twenty seconds slow.” Zeb looked at his navigator’s watch. “But my watch splits the difference. How many minutes since we left Windsor City?”
“Thirty-nine minutes, thirteen seconds. Ask me a hard one.”
“I’m going to ask your father a hard one. Captain, if you tell G.D. to scram to Windsor P.G. right now mark! – what will the Greenwich time be?”
“Look at your clock. About a quarter past seventeen hundred.”
“But you told me that, since rotating, we’ve been experiencing duration along ‘y’ axis.”
“But – Oh! Zeb, I’m stupid. No time has elapsed on ‘t’ axis since the instant we rotated If we reversed the rotation, we would go back to that exact instant.”
“Deety hon?” Zeb asked. “Do you agree?”
(I felt annoyed that my son-in-law consulted my daughter as to the correctness of my professional opinion – then suppressed the thought. Deety will always be my little girl, which makes it hard for me to remember that she is also my professional colleague.)
My daughter suddenly looked upset. “I – Pop! That first trip to the world without the letter ‘J’ – time did pass, it did!”
Zeb said gently, “But that was translation, Deety. You continued to experience duration along ‘t’ axis.”
Deety thought about it, then said sorrowfully, “Zebadiah, I no longer know What time it is. Pop is correct; we experience duration on one axis only, and that is now ‘y’ axis. We can’t experience duration on two axes at once.” She heaved a sigh. “Will I ever get the clock in my head set right again?”
“Sure you will,” my son-in-law reassured her. “Like crossing a time zone. Shortly after we grounded on Mars-ten, your head started keeping time both in Greenwich and in Mars Touchdown meridian time, even though Touchdown time kept falling farther behind hour after hour. A simple index correction won’t bother you. My sweet, you don’t realize how smart you are.”
Zeb patted her hand, then looked around at me. “Captain, may I propose a change in schedule?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Sir, I would like two sequences. First, go back to Windsor P.G. with the verniers preset for a hundred thousand klicks straight up, and execute at once. Then translate back to our own universe-zero – but not to Earth-zero. Instead, set up an orbit around Mars-zero. That orbit becomes our base of operations.”
I said, “Simple enough. But why?”
“So that we will always have somewhere to go back to. Deety can write us a program that will place us back in that orbit. Something like G, A, Y, H, O, M, E, but based on Mars-zero – with elbow room.”
I asked, “Daughter, can you write such a program?”
“I think so, Pop. An emergency scram? G, A, Y, plus something?” Deety paused. “‘Sagan.’ G, A, Y, S, A, G, A, N means to return to orbit around Mars-zero. Built-in mnemonic.”
“Satisfactory. Is that all, Copilot?”
“No, sir. Our schedule breaks up naturally into a five group, a four group, a three, a two, and a one. I would like to add to each group a return to orbit around Mars-zero. Captain, if you were on the verniers, I wouldn’t worry; you know them so well. I don’t. If I do fifteen rotations, one right after the other, I’m afraid I’ll make some tiny mistake and we’ll wind up in analog-Andromeda-Nebula in universe a thousand-and-two on ‘z’ axis, with no idea how wa got there or how to get home.”
“Copilot, you worry too much.”
“Probably. Captain, my whole life is based on being chicken at every opportunity. I’ll breathe easier if I come back to a familiar orbit at the end of each group… and know that the next group is one less. It won’t take ten minutes longer to do it my way and I’ll be less likely to make mistakes. But tackling all fifteen at a slug scares me.”
“Captain Jacob -“
“Not now, Hilda. I must settle this with -“
“Captain, I am required to advise you.”
“Eh? All right, all right! Make it snappy.”
“You know – we all know – that Zebbie’s premonitions must not be ignored. I advise you officially – Gay Deceiver, record this ‘I-tell-you-three-times.'”
“Hilda, I hear you three times.”
“Captain Jacob, I, your second-in-command, advise you officially to revise the schedule of rotations in the fashion recommended by the copilot. End of I-tell-you-three-times.”
(Have you ever found yourself boxed in? Damn it, I intended to let Zeb do it his way; I am not unreasonable. I can’t say that I believe in Zeb’s premonitions; I suspect that he is simply a man with extremely fast reflexes. But both our wives believe in them and Zeb does himself. I found myself faced with mutiny unless I did exactly what I had intended to do anyway! How does one describe so ironical a situation?)
Shortly I found myself saying, “Copilot, by revised schedule, set second rotation of first group.” We were in “Sagan” orbit around Mars of Universe-zero (i.e., the one we had grown up in: Galactic coordinates X0, Y0, Z0, & t0 – Earth-zero, Mars-zero, Sun-zero, Universe-zero). I tend to think of this as the “real” universe even though I am aware that there is no evidence or mathematical theory for preferring one frame of reference over another – to do so is egocentric provincialism at its worst. But I offer this in mitigation: for us it was simplest and thereby helped us to avoid getting lost.
“Set,” Copilot Zeb reported. I went forward, checked the setting (rotation around ‘y,’ with ‘z’ and ‘t’ dropping out, null), then returned to my seat. “We can spare a minute to look at Mars. Deety, tilt the nose down to let us look. Do you know how?”
“Like this, Captain?”
“Right,” I agreed. “Keep it up.”
Deety raised the craft’s nose and swung right, catching me with belts not yet fastened. I said forcefully, “Deety! What the hell are you doing?” while I floundered and grabbed.
“Sir, you ordered ‘right’ and ‘up,'” Deety answered.
“I did no such thing!”
“But, Jacob – Captain – you did tell her that, I heard you.”
“Hilda, you keep out of this!”
Hilda answered stiffly, “Captain, I respectfully request that you either relieve me of the conn, or that you give orders to my pilots through me.”
“Damn it, you don’t have the conn. I do.”
“Then the Captain neglected to relieve me.”
“Uh – Take the conn! Carry out the planned schedule.”
“Aye aye, sir. Chief Pilot, orient the car for best view of Mars.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am!”
I was fuming, not looking, hardly listening. I had said to Deety, All right, keep on with it – or had I? Gay could play it back… and could also check on Hilda’s incredible allegation. If I were wrong (I felt certain I was not!), I would face up to it like a man and – Zeb broke in on my thoughts:
“Captain, do you care what attitude this craft is in at rotation?”
“No. Only for transitions.”
“Hmm – Then it follows as the night from day thou canst not then predict the attitude we’ll be in whenever we arrive in a new universe.”
Only with respect to our arbitrary zero reference frame. Why should it matter?”
“It won’t as long as we arrive with plenty of room. I’ve been noodling how to be sure of that. I don’t see an answer. But I don’t want to try translations or rotations parked on the ground. I hope the Captain won’t order any.”
“Copilot, I have no plans to. Astrogator, haven’t we had enough sightseeing?”
“Very well, Captain,” my wife acknowledged. “Deety, secure those binoculars. Zebbie, immediately after each rotation, set next rotation and report ‘Set.’ Deety, after each rotation, use voice program to put us through one Pigeon-Tumble with all lights out. I will watch to port, Deety forward, Zebbie starboard. Questions?”
I said, “Astrogator, you did not assign me a sector.”
“I have no authority to assign duties to the Captain. Does the Captain wish to select a sector and assume responsibility for it?”
She waited. I said hastily, “No. Perhaps it will be best for me to watch in all directions. General supervision.”
“Very well, Captain. Copilot – execute.”
Again we rotated into darkness. Deety switched out all lights. Zeb reported, “Set!”
“Stop!” I called out. I added, “Zeb, you reported ‘Set’ in total darkness. How did you set it?”
“Rotation around ‘z’ axis, with ‘x’ and ‘y’ dropping out. Duration along Teh. Third combo first group, sir.”
“I mean, ‘How did you do it in darkness?’ By clicks?”
“Captain, I didn’t do it in darkness.”
I said, “It was pitch dark when you reported ‘Set.”
“So it was, Captain.”
“It’s not necessary to call me ‘Captain’ every ten seconds. I want a straight answer. So far you have reported that you set it in darkness and that you set it with lights on.”
“No, sir.”
“God damn it, you just did!”
“Captain, I protest your swearing at me. I request that my protest be logged.”
“Zeb, you are – ” I shut up. I counted thirty in French under my breath, by which time I was ready to speak. “Zeb, I’m sorry that my language offended you. But I am still trying to find out what you did and how. Will you please tell me, in simple language?”
“Yes, sir. I set the third rotation by clicks -“
“But you said the lights were on – “
“The lights were on. I set the rotation with my eyes closed -“
“For God’s sake, why?”
“For practice. I set them with eyes closed. Then I check to see whether it matches what I intended to set. Deety leaves the light on until I give her the ‘kill it’ sign. Then she kills the glim and does her act.”
“Zeb, there wasn’t time to do it that way.”
Zeb gave a most irritating grin. “Captain, I’m fairly quick. So is Deety.” I said, “Perhaps I had better check the setting.”
Zeb made no answer; both women kept still. I began to wonder what everyone was waiting on… then realized that I was the “what.” Unbelt and check on Zeb’s setting? I remembered that irritating grin. So I said, “Deety, carry out the tumbling routine.”
The somersault completed, I asked, “Anyone see anything?” Hilda said, “I… think so. Captain, could we do that again?” “Do it, Deety,” I ordered.
Pigeon-Tumble resumed; Hilda suddenly said, “There!” and Deety snapped, “GayDeceiverStop!”
I asked, “Hilda, do you still see it?”
“Yes, Jacob. A fuzzy star. You can see it if I pull back and you lean forward.”
I suppose we each did so – for I spotted something. “I see it! Zeb – the binoculars, please.”
An invisible hand pushed them against my neck. I got them lined up with difficulty, got that faint light, focused with great care. “It looks like a lenticular galaxy seen not quite edge on. Or it might be a family of galaxies. Whatever it is, it is a long way off. Millions of light-years – I have no way of guessing.”
“Can we reach it by transition?” asked Zeb.
“Possibly. I would set middle range on ‘six,’ then keep punching until it showed change in width. It might be possible to reach it in an hour or so. Do you want to look at it?”
“From your description, I don’t think so,” Zeb answered. “That is fossil light – isn’t it?”
“Eh? Yes, the light has been traveling for millions of years.”
“That’s my point, Captain. We might find that those stars had burned out. Fossil light doesn’t tell us anything we can use. Let’s designate this ‘Last Chance’ and get out.”
Eminently sensible – “Stand by to rotate. Copilot – execute!”
Blinding light – “Zeb! Rotate! Execute!”
Suddenly we were in a starry void, almost homelike. I heaved a sigh of relief. “Zeb, what did we fall into?”
“I don’t know, Captain.” He added, “I had my eyes closed, setting the next rotation by clicks. So I didn’t get dazzled. But I never had a chance to check my setting by eyesight, either; I rotated at once.”
“You got us out – thanks. I did get dazzled; I’ve got purple blotches in front of my eyes. New standing order: At each rotation all hands close eyes and duck heads for that moment needed to be sure that we have not again run into dazzle. Zeb, that need not slow you up since you are setting by touch and click anyhow – but if we do hit dazzle, rotate us out; don’t wait for my orders. And – All Hands! – we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.”
“Next rotation set, Captain.”
“Thank you, Copilot. Hilda, do you or Deety have any notion as to what we fell into?”
“No, Captain,” my daughter answered.
“Captain Jacob, I have three hypotheses, none worth much.”
“Let others judge that, my dear.”
“Interior of a global star cluster – or near the nucleus of a galaxy, or – possibly – the early part of an expanding universe when new stars are almost rubbing shoulders.”
“Hmm – Real garden spots. Zeb, could we have picked up excessive radiation?”
“Captain, the shell of this buggy is opaque to most radiation, and that windscreen is heavily leaded – but no way to tell.”
“Zebadiah, if the film in the camera is ruined, some heavy stuff got through. If the next picture is okay, we’re probably okay.”
Hilda said, “I’m glad you thought of that, Deety. I don’t like the idea of radiation while I’m pregnant. You, too, hon.”
“Aunt Hilda, we’re almost completely shielded where it matters. It could addle our brains but not our bellies.”
“Hilda, do you wish to shoot one frame?” I asked.
“No, Jacob, it would waste film.”
“As you wish. My eyes are coming back. Deety, put us through one Pigeon-Tumble.”
My daughter did so; I saw nothing. “Report! Hilda?”
“Lots of big beautiful stars but nothing close.”
“Me, too, Pop – but what a beautiful sky!”
“Null report, Captain.”
“Hilda, mark it down as ‘promising.’ All hands, stand by for fifth rotation. Keep eyes closed and heads down. Execute!”
Zeb gasped. “Where in Hell are we?”
“In Hell, maybe, Zebbie.”
“Captain!”
“Hilda may not be too far off,” I answered. “It’s something I could not have believed three weeks ago: some sort of inside-out universe.”
“Pellucidar!” said Deety.
“No, my dear daughter. One: We are not inside our home planet; we are in another universe. Two: This universe has physical laws that differ from our own. The inside of a spherical shell cannot have a gravitational field by the laws of our universe. Yet I see a river and we seem to be falling toward it. Deety, are we in air or in vacuo?”
Deety wiggled the controls. “Got some air. Probably could get support with wings fully spread.”
“Then do so.” Deety brought the car into a dead-stick glide.
Zeb said grimly, “I don’t want to homestead here! So big – ten thousand kilometers across at a guess. Yet it’s all inside. No sky! No horizons. Never again a night sprinkled with stars. That light in the center – Looks like our sun but it’s too small, much too small. When we leave, I don’t want to come back; the god who takes care of fools and explorers let us arrive in empty space instead of maybe ten kilometers underground. But next time – I hate to think about it.”
I said, “It may not have been luck, Zeb, but logical necessity.”
“Huh. You’ve lost me, Captain.”
“You’re thinking of this as a spherical shell. But there is no basis for assuming that it has an outside.”
“What? Endless millions of light-years of solid rock?”
“No, no! Nothing. By ‘nothing’ I do not mean space; I mean a total absence of existence of any sort. Different physical laws, a different topology. We may be seeing the totality of this universe. A small universe with a different sort of closed space.”
“I can’t visualize it, Jake.”
“Deety, my dear, rephrase it for your husband.”
“I’ll try, Pop. Zebadiah, the geometry of this place may require different postulates from those that work back home. I’m sure you have played with Möbius strips -“
“A surface with only one side, one edge. But this is a sphere.”
“Pop is saying that it may be a sphere with only one side, the inside. Have you ever tried to figure out a Klein bottle?”
“I got cross-eyed and a headache.”
“This could be a Klein-bottle sort of thing. It might turn out that if you tunneled straight down anywhere down there, you would emerge at the opposite point, still inside. And that straight line might be shorter than the distance across. Maybe much shorter.”
“Point three-one-eight-three-zero-nine is the ratio by the simplest postulates,” I agreed. “But the geometry may not be that simple. However, Zeb, assuming that this is a total universe, our chances of arriving in open space were far greater than the chance of conflicting with a mass. But I would not wish to homestead here – pretty as it is. Nevertheless we might check for obstetricians.”
“No obstetricians,” Zeb answered firmly.
“Why?” I demanded.
“If there are human beings here, they do not have an advanced culture. Deety has been following that river. Did you notice where that other river joined it? Also look ahead where it meets the sea. No cities. No warehouses. No river traffic. No air traffic, no signs of roads. Yet this is choice real estate. Therefore, no advanced culture anywhere and a small population, if any. If anyone wants to refute me, please do so in the next two minutes; Deety can’t hold this heap in the air much longer without using juice.”
“I check you, Zebbie. They might be so advanced that they can make the whole joint look like a park. I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Deety?” I asked.
“Aunt Hilda is right, Captain. But it’s so pretty!”
“Hilda, expend one film, as a souvenir. Then we rotate.” My daughter nosed the car down to permit a better picture.
A click – “Got it!” Hilda cried. “GaySagan!”
Mars of Universe-zero lay to starboard. Zeb sighed. “I’m glad to be out of there. Sharpie, did you get a picture?”
“Can’t rush it,” my wife answered. “Nnnn, yup, picture coming.”
“Good!”
“Zebbie, I thought you didn’t like that inside-out world?”
“I don’t. If that picture is sharp, you two knocked-up broads weren’t hit by radiation where it counts. Any fogging?”
“No, Zebbie, and brighter color every second. Here – look.”
Zeb brushed it aside. “My sole interest is in radiation. Captain, I’m having misgivings. We’ve tried five out of fifteen and only one was even vaguely homelike. The pickings have been slim and the dangers excessive. But we know that Earth analogs Tau and Teh axes are Earthlike -“
“With monsters,” put in Hilda.
“Tau axis, probably. We haven’t explored Teh axis. Jake, are we justified in exposing our wives to dangers we can’t imagine?”
“In a moment, Copilot. Astrogator, why did you rotate? I don’t think I ordered it. I have been trying to run a taut ship.”
“So have I, Captain. I must ask to be relieved as astrogator.”
“I am sorry to say that I have been thinking along the same lines, my dearest. But you had better explain.”
“Captain, three times you have replaced me at the conn without relieving me. The last time I let it continue, wondering and waiting. Just now we were losing altitude, dangerously. So I acted. Now I ask to be relieved.”
Hilda seemed calm and not angry. But resolved. Had I really done anything out of line? It did not seem so to me.
“Zeb, have I been overriding the officer at the conn?”
Zeb took too long to answer. “Captain, this is a time when a man must insist on written orders. I will make a written reply.”
“Hmm – ” I said. “I think you have replied. Deety, what do you think? More written orders?”
“I don’t need written orders. Pop, you’ve been utterly stinking!”
“You really feel so?”
“I know so. Aunt Hilda is right; you are dead wrong. She understated the case. You assign her responsibilities – then ignore her. Just now she carried out her assigned duties – and you chewed her out for it. Of course she wants to be relieved.”
My daughter took a deep breath and went on: “And you bawled her out for ordering a scram escape. Twenty-seven minutes ago you said – and I quote: ‘All Hands! – we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.’ End of quotation. Pop, how can you expect orders to be obeyed when you can’t remember what orders you’ve given? Nevertheless, we have obeyed you, every time and no back talk – and we’ve all caught hell. Aunt Hilda caught the most – but Zebadiah and I caught quite a bit. Pop, you’ve been – I won’t say it, I won’t!”
I looked out the port at Mars for long unhappy minutes. Then I turned around. “I’ve no choice but to resign. Effective as I ground her. Family, I must admit to great humiliation. I had thought that I was doing quite well. Uh, back to our streamside, I think. Gay -“
“GayDeceiverOverride! Not on your tintype! You’ll serve as long as I did – not a second less! But Sharpie is right in refusing to take the conn under you; you’ve been mistreating her. Despite being a colonel, you have never learned that you can’t assign responsibility without delegating authority to match – and then respect it. Jake, you’re a lousy boss. We’re going to keep you in the hot seat until you learn better. But there’s no reason for Sharpie to resign over your failings.”
“I still have something to say,” said my daughter.
“Deety,” Zeb said forcefully, “leave well enough alone!”
“Zebadiah, this is to you quite as much – or more – as it is to Pop. Complaints of another sort.”
My son-in-law looked startled. “Oh. Sorry. You have the floor.”

Chapter XXXI

” – the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician.”

Hilda:
If Zebbie and Jacob have a fault in common, it is overprotectiveness. Having always been the runt, I am habitually willing to accept protection. But Deety rebels.
When Zebbie asked Jacob whether or not they were justified in exposing us to unknown dangers, Deety stuck her oar in – and Zebbie tried to hush her.
Zebbie should have known better.
But he is barely getting acquainted with her, whereas I’ve known her since her diaper days. Once when Deety was, oh, possibly four, I started to tie her shoes. She pulled away. “Deety do!” she announced indignantly – and Deety did: on one shoe a loose half bow that came apart almost at once, on the other a Gordian knot that required the Alexandrian solution.
It’s been “Deety do!” ever since, backed by genius and indomitable will.
Deety told him, “Zebadiah, concerning completing this schedule: Is there some reason to exclude Hilda and me from the decision?”
“Damn it, Deety, this is one time when husbands have to decide!”
“Damn it, Zebadiah, this is one time when wives must be consulted!”
Zebbie was shocked. But Deety had simply matched his manner and rhetoric. Zebbie is no fool; he backed down. “I’m sorry, hon,” he said soberly. “Go ahead.”
“Yessir. I’m sorry I answered the way I did. But I do have something to say – and Hilda, too. I know I speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate that you and Pop would die for us… and that you feel this more intensely now that we are pregnant.
“But we have not been pregnant long enough to be handicapped. Our bellies do not bulge. They will bulge, and that gives us a deadline. But for that very reason we will either sample those rotation universes today… or we will never sample them.”
“Why do you say ‘never,’ Deety?”
“That deadline. We’ve sampled five and, scary as some have been, I wouldn’t have missed it! We can look at the other ten in the next few hours. But if we start searching Teh axis there is no way to guess how long it will take. Thousands of universes along Teh axis and it seems likely that each holds an analog of Earth. We may check hundreds before we find what we are looking for. Let’s say we find it and Hilda and I have babies with skilled medical attention. Then what? Zebadiah, are you going to be more willing to take women with babies into strange universes than you are without babies?”
“Uh… that’s not the way to put it, Deety.”
“How would you put it, sir? Are you thinking that you and Pop might check those ten while Hilda and I stay home with the kids?”
“Well… yes, I suppose I am. Something of the sort.”
“Zebadiah, I married you for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I did not marry to walk the Widow’s Walk! Where you go, I go! – till death do us part.”
“Deety speaks for me,” I said, and shut up. Deety had it figured: If Jacob and Zebbie didn’t finish those rotations today, they would have that “far horizons” look for the rest of their lives – and they wouldn’t want us along. Not with kids. Sharpie wasn’t going to hold still for that. No, sir!
“Deety, are you through?”
“Not quite, sir. All humans are created unequal. You are bigger and stronger than Pop; I am bigger and stronger than Hilda. I have the least years of experience; Pop has the most. Pop is a supergenius… but he concentrates so hard that he forgets to eat – unless he has a nursemaid to watch him – as Mama did, as I did, as Hilda now does. You, sir, are the most all-around competent man I’ve ever met, whether driving a duo, or dancing, or telling outrageous tales. Three of us have eight or nine earned degrees… but Aunt Hilda with none is a walking encyclopedia from insatiable curiosity and extraordinary memory. We two are baby factories and you two are not – but two men can impregnate fifty women – or five hundred. There is no end to the ways that we four are unequal. But in one supremely important way all of us are equals.
“We are pioneers.
“Men alone are not pioneers; they can’t be. Pioneer mothers share the dangers of pioneer fathers and go on having babies. Babies were born in the Mayflower, lots were born in covered wagons – and lots died, too. Women didn’t stay home; they went along.
“Zebadiah, I do not ask to be taken to those next ten universes -“
“It sounds like it.”
“You didn’t listen, sir. I would like to finish sampling those fifteen. It’s my preference but not my demand. What I do demand I have stated: Where you go, I go. Today and to the end of our lives. Unless you tell me to get out, that you don’t want me anymore. I have spoken.”
“You certainly have, dear. Hilda?”
Fish or cut bait, Sharpie – what do you want? I didn’t care; any new universe was bound to be strange. But Deety had laid down the party line; I didn’t want to fuzz it up – so I answered instantly, “Deety speaks for me in every word.”
“Jake? Back to my original question: ‘Are we justified in exposing our wives to conditions we can’t even imagine?”
“Zeb, you are the one who convinced me that it would be prudent to sample the universes accessible through rotation before searching by translation.”
“True. But that was before we sampled five of them.”
“I don’t see that the situation has changed. An imaginable danger is not necessarily better than an unimaginable one; it may be worse. Our home planet had grave shortcomings before we tangled with the vermin. No need to list them; we all know that the Four Horsemen are ready to ride again. But I can think of a very close analog of our home planet that would be far worse than Earth-zero even if it didn’t have a single ‘Black-Hat’ vermin on it.”
“Go on.”
“One in which Hitler got atomic weapons but we did not. I can’t see that vermin are more to be dreaded than Hitler’s S.S. Corps. The sadism of some human beings – not just Storm Troopers; you can find sadists in any country including the United States – is more frightening to me than any monster.”
“Not to me!” Deety blurted it out.
“But, my dear, we don’t know that those vermin are cruel. We got in their way; they tried to kill us. They did not try to torture us. There is a world of difference.”
“Maybe there is, Pop, but those things give me the creeps. I’ll bet they’d torture us if they could!”
“My very dear daughter, that’s muddy thinking. How old are you?”
“Huh? Pop, you know if anybody does.”
“I was reminding you of what you said: you have the least years of experience. I was much older than you are before I was cured of that sort of muddy thinking. By Jane, your mother. Hilda?”
“Jacob is telling you not to judge a book by its cover,” I said. “I learned it from Jane, too, as Jacob knows. A creature’s appearance tells nothing about its capacity for sadism.”
Jacob said, “Does anyone have anything to add? Since it appears that I am not permitted to resign now, I must rule on it. We will complete the scheduled rotations.” Jacob cleared his throat loudly, looked at Deety. “During my remaining hours in what Zeb so accurately calls the ‘Worry Seat,’ I will endeavor to keep my orders straight … but, should I fail, I ask that my attention be invited to it at once – not saved up for a scolding later. Daughter?”
“Okay, Pop. Aye aye, Captain.”
“Thank you, my dear. Is anyone tired or hungry?” No one spoke up; Jacob continued, “Hilda, will you take the conn?”
“No, Captain” – I’ll omit the internal debate I held with myself; Jacob on his best behavior is hard to refuse.
“Very well, my beloved; I won’t press you. It’s an odd situation. Copilot, by schedule, set to rotate.”
“Second group, first of four – set, sir.”
“Check seat belts, stand by to rotate. Execute!”

We were in sunlight in a blue sky and upside down. For a few seconds we were thrown around a bit – Deety isn’t the pilot Zebbie is. But she did get us leveled off. I heard Deety say, “Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Hold course, speed, and height-above-ground.”
“Got it, girl!”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“But we can’t go on meeting like this! Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Whew! Time out while the Chief Pilot has a nervous breakdown. Zebadiah, what does that altimeter say?”
“Seven klicks H-above-G.”
“Pop, what’s the probability of winding up this close to a planet without getting killed?”
“Impossible to theorize, Deety. Maybe we’re dead and don’t know it. Copilot, deadman switch; I’m going to check the air.”
“Captain!” I yelped.
“Not now, Hilda, I’m -“
“NOW! Am I still second-in-command? If I am, I must advise you; you are about to make a bad mistake!”
Jacob hesitated. I think he was counting. “My dear one, if I am about to make a bad mistake, I want your advice no matter what your status is.”
“Thank you, Jacob. You should not be guinea pig. I should be. I -“
“Hilda, you’re pregnant.”
“All the more reason why I want the most competent and least expendable – you, Zebbie, and Deety – to take care of yourselves in order to take care of me. It’s my duty as science officer in any case, whether I’m number two or not. But, Jacob, you are doing it just the way Zebbie did it when we landed on Mars-ten – and that’s all wrong!”
“Thank you, Sharpie!”
“Zebbie dear! You risked your life and it’s not necessary -“
Zebbie interrupted me. “Not necessary to waste juice this way! Yack-yack-yack!”
“Copilot, pipe down!” Jacob said sharply. “Gay Bounce! Chief Pilot, when we reenter, place the car on dead-stick glide, manual or automatic. Don’t use juice. Now, All Hands, listen to the Science Officer. Go ahead, Hilda.”
“Yes, Captain. Three days ago it was necessary for somebody to be the canary – but it should have been me, not Zebbie. What was necessary three days ago is reckless today. That deadman switch – Unless it has been rewired, it takes us back two klicks over a crater – and that’s not what we want. The correct scram for this is T, E, R, M, I, T, E. But that’s just half of it. Deety has taught the S.G. how to ground herself no-power on any level bit of ground. We can ground first. Then anyone can be guinea pig, doesn’t matter. Whoosh back to our stream bank – bang, open the doors.”
Zebbie said, “Captain, that makes sense. Sharpie – I mean ‘Science Officer.’ May I apologize with a back rub?”
“You can apologize with a kiss. But I’ll take the back rub, too.”
“Zebadiah, don’t commit yourself too far; an air test isn’t necessary. Pop! Captain Pop, may I take her up thirty klicks?”
“I suppose so. May I ask why?”
“Captain, I know where we are. From that high I can prove it.”
“Deety, that’s imp -“
“Don’t say ‘impossible,’ Captain – I’ll refer you to my father.”
“Miss Smarty Pants. Take her up.”
“Thanks, Pop. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Gay Deceiver, vertical dive, execute. Everybody tell me where we are.”
I had noticed earlier what pretty countryside was under us. Now I studied it in detail. Zebbie said, “Be durned. Big rectangular oasis completely surrounded by desert. Populated, too. That’s a fair-sized town in the middle.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Don’t you recognize it, Zebbie? From a map.”
My husband said, “Now, Hilda, this is an unexplored universe. How could you have seen a -“
“Pop!” interrupted Deety. “You’ve seen the map. See the Yellow Brick Road off to the left? Try the binoculars; you can follow it clear to Emerald City.”
“Deety my love,” said Zebbie, “you are out of your mind. Or I am. Either way, somebody call an ambulance. Don’t forget the straitjacket. Sharpie, something worries me. I failed to get my warning… yet we came so close to hitting that real estate I’m still shaking.”
“That means there wasn’t any danger, Zebbie.”
“Then why am I trembling?”
“You’re a fraud, dear. We’ve all been dead quite a while now – killed in my parking lot. Deety and I may be the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician. In further support of my theory I am having a pregnancy with no morning sickness – a miracle that makes the Land of Oz as commonplace as faithful husbands.”
“I don’t think I want to analyze that. Is that the Castle of the Tin Woodman there in the east?”
“Yes, but that’s the west, dear. Deety, is that sun rising or setting?”
“Setting. Directions are reversed here. Everybody knows that.”
“A retrograde planet,” my husband commented. “Nothing dangerous about that.”
“Pop, admit it. You know the Oz books almost as well as I do -“
“Better. Don’t give yourself airs, Daughter. I agree that this appears to match stories and map, while trying to reserve judgment. Deety, how would you like to raise kids in the Land of Oz?”
“Pop, I’d love it!”
“Are you certain? As I recall, nobody dies in the Land of Oz yet the population doesn’t increase. I don’t recall babies being born in Oz stories. I don’t recall M.D.’s or hospitals. Or machinery. Zeb, that inside-out universe had different physical laws from those of our universe. If we ground here, will we be able to leave? Oz works by magic, not by engineering.” Jacob added, “Copilot, I want your professional opinion.”
“Captain, you see a difference between magic and engineering. I don’t.”
“Oh, come now, Zeb!”
“I believe in just two things: Murphy’s Law, and Place Not Your Faith in an Ace Kicker. Permit me to point out that we are already in the Land of Oz, even though at altitude. I can think of worse places to be stranded. No common cold. No income tax. No political candidates. No smog. No churches. No wars. No inflation. No -“
Deety interrupted. “We are now passing over the Palace of Glinda the Good.”
“Why pass over it?” I asked. “Jacob, why aren’t we grounding?”
“Me, too,” Deety added. “Captain Pop, I request permission to ground near the Palace. I’m certain that nothing can upset Glinda the Good; she already knows about it from her Book. Besides, a palace that size must have plumbing… and I’m beginning to feel as if I had attended a watermelon picnic.”
“Methinks a bush would suffice,” said Zebbie. “Even in another universe and with an armed guard. How about it, Captain?”
“Chief Pilot, ground at will. Hilda, do the Oz books have bathrooms in them? I don’t recall.”
“Nor do I, Jacob,” I answered. “But there are plenty of bushes.”
In three or four minutes Deety had us grounded, with Gay using Deety’s new program. I thanked my husband for deciding to ground. “There was never any doubt,” he said. “Not only would you and Deety never have spoken to me again, I would never have spoken to me again. But if I meet a living scarecrow, I may go stark, raving mad.”

Chapter XXXII

“Where Cat is, is civilization.”

Deety:
I found a clearing in the woods, a hundred meters from the Palace and screened from it by elms and walnut trees. I had Gay range it, told her three times that it was a scram spot – then she landed herself, slick as Zebadiah.
I unstrapped, opened the bulkhead door, and crawled aft to get clean suits – and thought better of it. Aunt Hilda had followed me and headed straight for a special locker. I rolled into lotus and asked, “Hillbilly, what are you going to wear?”
“The dress I got married in and the wedding ring Jacob had made for me in Windsor City.”
“Jewelry?”
“Nothing fancy.”
Mama Jane told me years ago that Aunt Hilda’s instinct for clothes was infallible. I got the dress I wore to hook Zebadiah, a pendant Pop had given me, my wedding ring, my dancing slippers. Put my darling in mess jacket? No, but in tights topped off with a white silk bolero shirt I made for him at Snug Harbor. Red sash, dancing pumps, jockey shorts – yes, that was all he needed.
I wiggle-wormed forward, clutching clothing. Our men were still in their seats, Gay’s doors closed. I said, “Why the closed doors? It’s warm and stuffy.”
“Look out to the left,” said Zebadiah.
I looked. A little storybook cottage with a sign over the door: WELCOME.
It had not been there when we grounded. “I see,” I agreed. “Shuck off your work clothes and pull on shorts and tights. Pop, Hilda has your trousers.”
“Deety, is that all you have to say?”
“What should I say, sir? Pop, you have taken us to some strange places. But in Oz I am not a stranger in a strange land. I know what to expect.”
“But damn it all -“
“Shush, Zebadiah. One does not say ‘damn’ in Oz. Not any sort of profanity or vulgarity. These are no longer teats; they aren’t even breasts – it’s my bosom and I never mention it. Vocabulary limited to that of the Mauve Decade. Mildest euphemisms.”
“Deety, I’m durned if I’ll be anything but myself.”
“Sir, I speak professionally. One does not use FORTRAN to a computer that knows only LOGLAN. Captain, can we open up?”
“Just a moment,” my father put in. “Deety, you called me ‘Captain.’ But I resigned, effective on grounding.”
“Wait a half!” Zebadiah interrupted. “You’ll do at least as much punishment time as I did – you earned it, old buddy.”
“All right,” Pop agreed, “but you decided that time on the ground counts. We’ll likely need a new captain when we lift. Let’s elect the victim now.”
“Reelect Pop,” I suggested. “He flunked and should do it over.”
“Daughter!”
“Joking, Pop – as long as you bear in mind that you did flunk and never again give a captain a bad time. I nominate my husband.”
“Let’s do this right.” Pop got out four file cards.
I wrote “Zebadiah” on mine, handed it to Pop. Hilda declared them, showing us each one: Deety – Deety – Deety – Deety. I gasped. “Hey! I demand a recount! No, a new election – somebody cheated.” I made so much fuss that they let me have it. I wrote “Zebadiah” on my fresh ballot, placed it face up on the Chief Pilot’s seat, placed the other three, one by one, on top of it, then declared them myself: Deety – Deety – Deety – then, in my own handwriting: Deety.
I gave up. (But resolved to have a word with the Wizard.)

It was a pretty cottage with a broad stoop and a climbing rose – but not to live in, just one room with a table and no other furniture. The table held a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of milk, four tumblers. There was a door to the right and a door to the left; the one on the left had painted on it a little girl in a sunbonnet, the other had a boy in a Buster Brown suit.
Hilda and I headed for the sunbonnet. I snatched a glass of milk and a bunch of grapes, and put on a milk moustache; I hadn’t tasted milk in ages. Delicious!
Hilda was drawing a tub and had peeled off her dress. The window was open but up high, so I peeled off mine. We made ourselves clean and “beautiful,” i.e., we restored our fanciest hairdos but without jewelry. Whatever we needed, that bath and dressing room had, from a sponge to lipstick Aunt Hilda’s shade.
We hurried and did it in forty-two minutes. Zebadiah looked beautiful and Pop looked just as smart in dark trousers and a richly simple Aloha shirt.
“We thought you,” said my husband, “had gone down the drain.”
“Zebadiah, we took forty-two minutes. If you did it in less than thirty, you aren’t clean.”
“Smell me.”
I sniffed him – a faint fragrance of soap, a touch of shaving lotion. “You took more than thirty minutes. Kiss me.”
“Thirty-six minutes, by my watch. Say ‘Please.”
I said “Please” and he caught me with my lips open, he always does. Zebadiah just suits me and I haven’t been sulky with him and stubborn only when necessary.
There was a path toward the Palace. Pop, with Aunt Hilda on his arm, led off; we followed. Aunt Hilda was carrying her high-heeled sandals, so I took mine off, and glanced back toward the clearing. The little cottage was missing, as I expected. Zebadiah noticed it but said nothing. His face was an interesting study.
The grassy path debouched into a garden in front of the Palace; the path through it was hard, so Hilda and I put on our shoes. Glinda’s Palace was more like a Norman chateau or Bertie’s “Stately Home of England” than it was like those dreary castles on the Rhine – but it had fairyland grace, like the Taj.
As we started up the sweeping marble steps to the great doorway Zebadiah stumbled. “What the hell?”
“Sssh!” I said. “Language, dear. A magic staircase. Glinda would not make her guests climb. Pretend that Escher designed it. Look proud and walk as if they were level.”
As we reached the broad landing two tall trumpeters stepped out of the great doorway, raised their long trumpets, and sounded four flourishes. An old man with a merry grin, a fringe of whiskers, a shiny bald head, a wooden left leg, and wearing a sailor’s oilskins, came out as the flourishes ended. I wondered why he was here rather than Emerald City.
He took a pipe from his mouth and said, “Welcome to the Palace of Glinda the Good! I’m Cap’n Bill. You, sir, are Doctor Burroughs the Wizard, with your wonderful wife the Princess Hilda. You must be Cap’n Zeb Carter – Howdy, Cap’n! – and everybody knows Deety; she’s spent so much of her life in Oz. Howdy, Deety! Last time I seen you you warn’t more’n knee high to a tall duck. And now look at you! Almost up to my shoulder and married! Congratulations, Cap’n! Yer a lucky man!”
“I think so, Captain.”
“I know so. Deety, Ozma sends her love and sez to tell you that you and your family are welcome in the Royal Kingdom as long as you like.”
“Please thank Her Royal Majesty for me, Cap’n Bill.” (Actually I’m taller than Cap’n Bill now – but of course I’ll always be a little girl to him. It’s nice.)
“Oh, I will, I will! Come inside, folks: we ain’t formal here. Or I ain’t. This ain’t my reg’lar job; I’m standing this watch for a friend.” He took my hand; his hand was horny and felt like Zebadiah’s – and just as gentle.
He led us inside. “Where’s Trot?” I asked.
“Around somewhere; you’ll see her. Prob’ly picking out her best hair ribbon in your honor. Or maybe helping Betsy with Hank – little Betsy ain’t happy unless she’s workin’; Neptune knows that mule gets more attention than all the mules that ever came out of Mizzoura. This way to the Library, friends.”

How does one describe Glinda the Good? Everyone knows that she is tall and stately and beautiful and never frowns and wears all day long what I think of as beautiful evening gowns with sweeping trains. But those are just words. Perhaps it is enough to say that, just as Dejah Thoris is the most beautiful woman of her world, the Sorceress is the most beautiful of hers.
She was surrounded by her bevy of the most beautiful girls from all over Oz. But Glinda outshone them all without trying. The name of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti means both “beautiful” and “good,” in one word; I think that explains Glinda.
She got up from her Great Book of Records and glided toward us – kissed Hilda first, kissed me and said, “Welcome home, Deety!” and I choked up and couldn’t talk; I just curtsied. She offered a hand each to Zebadiah and Pop; they bowed simultaneously and kissed her hands.
She waved at chairs (that hadn’t been there) and invited us to sit down. Zebadiah whispered, “You seem to own this place.”
“Not really,” I whispered back. “But I’ve lived in Oz longer than anywhere else” – Mama and Pop lived at several campuses while I was growing up but I always took Oz along wherever we moved.
“Well… I’m glad you made me dress up.”
We were introduced to Glinda’s girls and each one curtsied; it felt like being in Imperial House-except that these girls were neither compelled nor paid. When I stopped to think about it, I couldn’t recall that money was used in Oz; it didn’t have an “economy.”
The girls were beautifully dressed, each differently but each girl’s dress was predominately the color of her own country, Munchkin blue, Gillikin purple, Winkle yellow, a few in green. One girl in red – Quadling of course, where we were – looked familiar. I said to her, “Is your name Betty?”
She was startled. “Why, yes, Your Highness – how did you know?” She dropped a curtsy.
“I’ve been here before; ask Captain Bill. I’m not ‘Your Highness’; I’m just Deety. Do you have a friend named Bertie?”
“Yes, Your – Yes, Deety. He’s not here now, he’s at the College of Professor Wogglebug.” I made note to tell Betty about it… someday.
I can’t tell all about everyone we met at Glinda’s Palace; there were too many and more kept arriving. Everyone seemed to expect us and pleased to see us. Pop did not go stark, raving mad when he met the Scarecrow because he was already deep in conversation with Professor H. M. Wogglebug and with Oz the Great, Royal Wizard to Queen Ozma – Pop was barely polite, shook hands and said, “Howd’you do, Mr. Scarecrow,” and went right on talking to Professor Wogglebug and the Wizard. I’m not sure he looked at the Scarecrow. He was saying, “You put it neatly, Professor. I wish Professor Mobyas Toras could hear your formulation. If we set alpha equal to zero, it is obvious that -“
I wandered off, because when Pop says, “It is obvious that – ” what is really obvious is that Deety should leave.
Dinner was in the banquet hail and the crowd of guests exactly filled it – Glinda’s banquet hall is always the right size for the number of persons eating there – or not eating, as the case may be, for Jack Pumpkinhead, Tik-Tok, the Tin Woodman, the Sawhorse, the Scarecrow, and other people who don’t eat were seated there, too, and also people who aren’t human people: the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, the Woozy, the King of the Flying Monkeys, Hank, Toto, and a beautiful long-haired cat with supercilious manners.
Glinda the Good was at the head of the table at one end and Queen Ozma was at the head at the other end. Pop was on Glinda’s right and Zebadiah was on Ozma’s right. The Wizard was on Glinda’s left, and Professor Wogglebug was on Ozma’s left. Aunt Hilda and I were opposite each other at the middle of the long table. She had the Tin Woodman on one side and the Scarecrow on the other and was doing her best to charm both of them and both were trying to charm her and all three were succeeding.
I had three dinner companions. I started with two, the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Lion ate what others ate but the Tiger had a bowl of cornflakes the size of a small washtub and ate from it very tidily with a spoon that matched the bowl. The Cowardly Lion and I had just started seafood cocktails when this cat brushed against my leg to get my attention, looked up and said, “You smell like a cat person. Make a lap, I’m coming up” – and jumped.
I said, “Eureka, do you have Dorothy’s permission?”
“What a silly way to talk. Dorothy must get my permission. Feed me the lobster first, then the shrimp. You may have the last piece of shrimp for yourself.”
The Hungry Tiger put down his big spoon and said, “Highness, may I abate this nuisance?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Old Boy,” the Lion said. “I’ll abite it instead, in one bite. But please pass the Tabasco sauce; cats have so little taste.”
“Pay no attention to those peasants, wench, and get on with the lobster. Animals should not be allowed to eat at the table.”
“Look who is calling whom an animal,” growled the Cowardly Lion.
“It’s not an animal, Leo,” the Hungry Tiger objected. “It’s an insect. Highness, I’m a vegetarian – but I would be happy to break over this once and slice it into my cornflakes. Shall I?”
“Dorothy wouldn’t like it, Rajah.”
“You have a point, Ma’am. Shall I ask Toto to chase it out?”
“Eureka may stay. I don’t mind.”
“Wench, the correct answer is ‘I am honored.’ Ignore these jungle beasts; they are not cats. Be it known that Felis domestica has been civilized more generations than all you lesser breeds combined. As my serene ancestress, Bubastis, Goddess of the Nile, was wont to say: ‘Where Cat is, is civilization.’ Hurry up with that lobster.”
So I hurried. Eureka accepted each bit daintily, barely flicking my finger tips with her scratchy tongue. At last she averted her mouth. “Don’t overdo it; I’ll tell you when I require more. Scratch behind my left ear – gently. I shall sing, then I shall sleep. Maintain a respectful silence.”
I did as ordered. Eureka purred very loudly. As the buzzing gave way to soft snores I slowly stopped scratching. I had to eat with one hand; the other was needed to keep her from falling.

As Aunt Hilda has placed a record in Gay by interviewing all of us and combining it, I will stick to essentials. After the rest had gone home or retired to their rooms we four were invited into the Library. It was smaller than it had been, cozy, as Glinda’s girls had gone to their rooms. Glinda was at her Great Book of Records as we were ushered in; she smiled and bowed without getting up as we sat down.
“Friends,” she said, “Doctor, Captain, Princess Hilda, and Deety, I will save time by telling you that, during the dancing, I conferred with Ozma, the Wizard, and Professor Wogglebug. I had studied the Records of your strange adventure, and I read a résumé to them before we discussed your problems. First, let me say that Ozma repeats her invitation. You are welcome to stay here forever; you will find hospitality wherever you go. Deety knows this, and Princess Hilda knows it, too, although she is not as sure of it as Deety is.
“But to reassure you gentlemen, the Wizard and I have made the Land of Oz one quarter inch wider in all directions, a change too small to be noticed. But you, Doctor, will recognize that this provides ample Lebensraum for four more good people, as well as for your sky chariot Miss Gay Deceiver. A quarter of an inch, Captain, is six and thirty-five hundredths millimeters.
“While we were about it, on the advice of Professor Wogglebug, we made small changes in Miss Gay Deceiver – “
Zebadiah gave a start and looked upset. Gay was his sweetheart long before I was; he takes care of her as carefully as he takes care of me. But he should have trusted Glinda.
Glinda smiled warmly. “Don’t be alarmed, Captain, no harm has been done to the structural integrity or to the functioning of your beloved craft. When you notice – you will notice – if you do not like the changes, all you need do is to say aloud, ‘Glinda, change Miss Gay Deceiver back the way she was.’ I will read it here in my Book and will carry out your wish. But I do not think that you will ask me to do this. That is not prophecy; a good witch does not prophesy. But it is my firm opinion.
“Now to major matters – There are no ‘Black Hat’ vermin in Oz. Should one be so foolish as to come here, I would know it from my Book, and it would be ejected into the Deadly Desert. What would happen to it there, the less said, the better – but evil is not tolerated in Oz.
“As to the problem of vermin in your home world, it does not lie in Ozma’s jurisdiction. My powers are limited there. While my Great Book tells me what happens there, it does not distinguish between vermin disguised as human beings and human beings who by their nature are evil. I could cast a spell over you which would keep you away from all ‘Black Hats.’ Do you wish that?”
Pop glanced at Zebadiah; my husband said, “Just a moment, Glinda the Good. Just what does that mean?”
“Spells are always literal, Captain; that’s why they can cause so much trouble. I rarely use them. This one means what I said: You would be kept away from any vermin of the sort you call ‘Black Hats.”
“In that case we couldn’t recognize one, could we? Or get close enough to destroy it.”
“I think one would have to devise ways to do each at a distance. Spells do not reason, Captain. Like computers, they operate literally.”
“Could they recognize us? Booby-trap us? Bomb us?”
“I do not know, Captain. My Book records only what they have done, not what they may do. Even then, as I have said, the Records do not unmask a disguised ‘Black Hat.’ Therefore, I know little about them. Do you wish the spell? You need not decide at once. If you remain in Oz, you won’t need it.”
I blurted out, “We ought to stay here!”
Glinda smiled at me, not a happy smile. “Dear Deety – You have decided not to have your baby?”
“Huh? I mean, ‘Excuse me, Glinda?'”
“You have been in Fairyland more than the others. You know that your little girl will not be born here… just as no one ever dies here.”
Aunt Hilda spoke up so quickly I couldn’t get a word in. “Glinda, thank you very much but I will not be staying.”
I gulped. “I won’t be staying, either, Aunt Glinda.”
“So I suspected. Do you want my advice, dear?”
“Yes. Certainly!”
“Having decided to be a woman and not a little girl like Dorothy or Trot, leave here quickly… lest you be tempted to stay in Fairyland forever.”
Pop glanced at Zebadiah, then said, “Madame Glinda, we’ll be leaving in the morning. We are grateful for your lavish hospitality… but I think that is best.”
“I think so, too, Doctor. But remember: Ozma’s invitation stands. When you are weary of the world, come here for a holiday and bring the children. Children are happy here and never get hurt. Oz was designed for children.”
“We will, we certainly will!”
“Is there anything more to discuss? If not… “
“Just a second!” put in Aunt Hilda. “You told Deety – will you tell me?”
Glinda smiled. “My Book states that you are growing a boy.”

Chapter XXXIII

” – ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word.”

Zeb:
I didn’t sleep with Deety that night. I didn’t plan it that way. A footman showed me to a room; Deety and Hilda were standing at the top of the stairs (more magical stairs – okay as long as you don’t look down) and talking excitedly, with Jake nearby.
When I saw that the room had only a single bed, the footman had vanished. I stepped outside; Deety and Hilda and Jake were gone, the upper hall was dark. So I said a word one mustn’t use in Oz and went back into my room. Even a single bed looked inviting; I went to sleep at once.
Glinda had breakfast with us, in the banquet hail, considerably shrunken. The food in Imperial House is wonderful, but you can’t beat ham and basted eggs and toast and jelly and fresh orange juice. I drank three cups of coffee and felt ready to rassle alligators.
Glinda kissed Deety and Hilda good-bye at the top of those Escher steps, and Jake and I bent over her hands. She wished us good luck… which must mean more from her.
Gay Deceiver looked good in morning sunlight. Tik-Tok was standing at her nose. “Good mor-ning,” he said. “I have been con-ver-sing with Miss Gay De-cei-ver all night. She is a ve-ry Smart Girl.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Howdy, Gay. What have I told you about picking up strange men?”
“You’ve told me nothing, Zeb. And Tik-Tok is not a strange man. He is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for some people.”
“Tru-ly, Cap-tain, I meant no im-pro-pri-e-ty.”
“Just kidding, folks. Thanks for keeping Gay company, Tik-Tok.”
“It was a plea-sure and a pri-vi-lege. I ar-ranged with the night watch-man to wind me up each hour in or-der that our con-ver-sa-tion be not a-brupt-ly ter-mi-nat-ed.”
“Smart of you. Thanks again and we’ll see you again. We’ll be back for a visit, first chance. Gay, open up.”
“You didn’t say ‘Please,'” my autopilot answered, but she opened her doors.
“I am de-ligh-ted to hear that you are re-tur-ning. Miss Gay De-cei-ver and I have much in com-mon.”
Sharpie said good-bye to Tik-Tok, went inside. Deety not only said good-bye but kissed his copper cheek – Deety would kiss a pig if the pig would hold still for it (if he didn’t, I would turn him into sausage; kissing Deety is not to be scorned).
Hilda reappeared, still in evening gown. “Deety, come here. Hurry!”
I shook hands with Tik-Tok (odd!) and suggested that he back off a little. Then I went inside. No sign of our wives – I called to them, “Shake it up in there. I want a pilot suit.”
Deety called out, “Zebadiah, wiggle your way through the bulkhead.”
“I can’t change clothes back there.”
“Please, dear. I need you.”
When Deety says she needs me, I go. So I wiggled through, and the space didn’t seem as cramped as it had been when I was working on it at Termite Terrace. “Where are you?”
“In here. Port side,” came Deety’s muffled voice. I turned around, banging my head, and found a door where a door shouldn’t be. I had to stoop but once through it I could stand up. A room slightly bigger than a telephone booth – a door aft, a door forward, Sunbonnet Sue to the left, Buster Brown to the right. Deety opened the door on the left. “Come look!”
A luxurious dressing room and bath – “It’s the same one as in the ‘Welcome’ cottage,” said Deety, “except that the window is frosted and doesn’t open. But the air is fresh.”
I said “Hmmm – ” Then I added, “Well, well!” I checked out Buster Brown. Yes, the same bathroom Jake and I had used yesterday.
Jake stuck his head in. I said, “Perfesser, give me the benefit of your wisdom.”
“Zeb, I’m fresh out.”
“Jake – your opinion, please. Is this craft ready for space?”
“Zeb, I don’t know.”
“Let’s check the outside.”
We went over the shell with eyes and fingers, port and starboard. That car was unblemished – coutside. But from inside I heard a toilet flushing.
I went inside, on back, still on back, and knocked on Sunbonnet Sue. Sharpie let me in. “Just leaving, Zebbie,” She had elected to wear one of her new jump suits and looked like a Cracker Jack prize. “Deet’ is about ready.”
“Wait a half, Sharpie. Jake and I have decided to trust Glinda.”
“Was there any doubt?”
I stepped inside; Deety twisted around at the dressing table, smiled through a mouthful of bobby pins. “Your father and I have approved this craft for space – tentatively – Captain Deety.”
“I approved it at breakfast – and not tentatively. What do you have there, dear one?” She accepted a list from me, read it over:

NameDutyAdditional and/or Relief Duty
D. T. B. CarterCommanding

Hilda S. Burroughs2nd in Command & NavigatorScience Officer & Chef

Z. J. CarterChief PilotRelief Navigator
J. J. BurroughsCopilotSous-Chef

“It’s intended to make your life easier, Cap’n Deety. Jake didn’t get the going-over he should have had. But with Jake in the right-hand seat and me over him, I can keep him in hand – and he’ll be so busy with his verniers that he won’t have time to talk back. ‘Sous-Chef’ is a fancy way of saying that he’ll be under his wife’s thumb when we’re grounded.”
“It’s well thought out, Zebadiah. Thank you.”
“Suits you?”
“Let me study it.”
I got fidgety, ducked into Buster Brown and killed time until she called me. “Slight revision, Zebadiah.”

NameDutyAdditional and/or Relief Duty
DeetyCaptainInstructor Computers

Zebadiah2nd in Command & Chief Master at ArmsInstructor Duo, Air

JakeChief PilotInstructor Verniers
HildaCopilotScience Officer & Executive Chef

Note: Cooking will rotate D-J-Z unless changed by the Executive Chef.

“A ‘Slight revision’!” – I felt offended.
Deety looked at me anxiously. “I’m submitting it for your advice, Zebadiah. I want to continue Pop’s policy of everybody learning every job, at least well enough to limp home. Hilda will learn the verniers quickly; she’s deft, she doesn’t have to be told twice, and the inventor I have placed at her elbow. Pop needs practice in air; he isn’t as good as he thinks he is and he’s never driven a car this fast. You’ll be behind him, ready to bounce him out of trouble. Dear – will it work?”
I was forced to admit that Deety’s T.O. was better than mine.
“It’s better than mine, so you owe me a forfeit. Where are my handcuffs and nightstick?”
“As second-in-command you are vested with the duty to keep order and to see that the commanding officer’s orders are carried out, are you not?”
“Of course, Deety – Captain Deety – why rub their noses in it?”
“You know why, Zebadiah. I am reminding everyone that I mean to have a taut ship – and no back talk! You don’t need handcuffs or a club. But in that right-hand dressing-table drawer is a ten-centimeter roll of adhesive tape – the size gangsters use for gags.”
“Oh. Oho!”
“Zebadiah! Don’t use it without my direct order. I shall maintain a taut ship. But when I’ve served my time, I would much rather my father was still speaking to me. It’s a last resort, my husband. A sharp Pipe-down from you is all P – anybody will ever need. I intend to keep you at the conn most of the time – unless you ask me to relieve you, or I tell you I want to conn something personally.”
“Suits.”
“Very well, sir. You have the conn. Give them their assignments, prepare the car for space, take the reports, let me know here when you are ready. Revision in plan: Take us straight up one thousand klicks. Let us look at Oz from a distance, then continue by plan.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” I started to leave while thinking that Deety might leave a reputation equal to that of Captain Bligh.
“Zebadiah!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Don’t go ‘way without kissing me or I won’t take the bloody job!”
“I didn’t realize that the Captain cared to be kissed.”
“Captains need kisses more than most people,” she answered, her face muffled against my shoulder.
“Got a fresh new stock. Will there be anything else, Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“When I’ve served my time, will you use your influence to put me on the verniers? And – sometime – will you teach me supersonic?”
“Verniers, yes. Supersonic – A man who takes his wife as a pupil is breeding a divorce. Gay will teach you supersonic if you will let her. At super- or hypersonic she’s safest on autopilot. She won’t hurt herself – but if you override, you may hurt her, she may hurt you.”
“But you override. How am I to learn?”
“Easy. Give her a program. Leave it loose enough for her to correct your goofs. Keep your hands and feet very lightly on the controls. Be patient, and eventually you’ll be part of Gay and Gay will be part of you. Shut up and kiss me.”
Captains kiss better.
Ten minutes later we were ready for space. I asked, “Did anyone leave anything in our annex?” I wasn’t thinking about it; Jake had reported: “Juice one point zero – full capacity!”
“Hilda and I hung up our dresses.”
“Captain, do you realize that our magical space warp will probably go back wherever it came from the instant we leave?”
“Want to bet? Glinda wouldn’t pull a trick like that.”
“It’s your dress, Cap’n. But your exec advises you officially to warn all hands never to leave anything essential in there during maneuvers.” I wiped the matter from my mind; Deety would do it her way. “Gay, are you going to go on being talkative on your own?”
“Zeb, back on watch, I’ll be strictly business. But a girl is entitled to a night out once in a while.”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“So Tik-Tok told me, Zeb.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Sharpie, set transition one thousand klicks H axis, plus.”
“A thousand kilometers straight up, minimum-range scale, vernier setting three. Jacob, will you check me, please?”
Jake reported the setting correct; I snapped, “Execute!”
Jake put her nose-down: an Earthlike planet so covered with haze that I could make out no details other than straight down, where Oz was still sharp and framed by the impassable deserts. “Sharpie, please hand me the binox, then shift hats to ‘Science Officer’ and find out whether or not our new addition came along.”
I had to help her undog the bulkhead door – Sharpie, in free fall, can’t brace herself to apply enough torque to loosen a dog I had fastened on the ground. Meanwhile Deety had been using the binox. “Zebadiah, it’s hazy everywhere but below us. Emerald City shines out green as Erin, and Glinda’s Palace gleams in the sunshine. But the rest might as well be Venus. Only it’s not.”
“Daughter – Captain, I mean – have you looked at the stars?” Jake added, “I think it’s our own universe.”
“It is, Pop? On which side of Orion is the Bull?”
“Why, on – Jesus, Allah, and Zoroaster! It’s turned inside out!”
“Yes, but not the way that other inside – out place was. Like Oz itself. East for west.”
I asked my wife, “Captain Deety, is there anything odd about duration here?”
“Doesn’t feel odd. But it’s been about a century since those three little girls moved to Oz. I don’t know what it feels like to them, and I carefully didn’t ask. Did anybody notice that there were no clocks and no calendars?”
“Zebbie!”
“Yes, Sharpie?” I answered.
“Our new plumbing works just dandy. Be careful going in; it’s not free fall; the floor is down. I did a spectacular somersault.”
“Hilda my love, are you hurt?”
“Not a bit, Jacob. But next time I’ll hang on to something, pull myself down even with the deck, and slide in.”
“Science Officer, secure all doors, return to your seat and strap down. Then swap hats and set next rotation by schedule.”
“I fastened the doors. I’m dogging the bulkhead door. Okay, I’m strapping down. Where are the binoculars?”
“Jake stowed them. All hands, stand by to rotate.”
Another totally black one – I said, “Captain, we’ll tumble now unless you prefer to check our new plumbing first.”
“Plumbing isn’t Deety’s job! I’m Science Officer and that includes hygiene, plumbing, and space warps.”
Deety said to me, “I relieve you, dear” – then more loudly, to Hilda: “Copilot, pipe down. Pop, dowse the lights and tumble us. Aunt Hillbilly, attempt to set next rotation by touch and sound, in the dark. That’s number eight, third of second group.”
“Aye aye, Captain Bligh.”
The tumble showed nothing. Jake switched on lights, reported that Sharpie had set the next rotation correctly. Deety asked me to relieve her at the conn, then said, “Science Officer, I am about to inspect the addition to your department; please accompany me.” Without a word Sharpie did so.
They were gone quite a while. At last I said, “Jake, what do women talk about in can conferences?”
“I’m afraid to find out.”
They came back full of giggles; I concluded that Deety’s disciplinary methods worked. As they strapped down, Deety said, “Dear, it’s black as sin out there – and sunlight streaming in both bathroom windows. Riddle me that.”
“Science Officer’s department,” I evaded. “Stand by to rotate.”
This time Jake not only had air, I could hear it. Jake got her leveled out hastily. “Copilot, H-above-G!”
“Thirteen hundred meters.”
“Too close! Zeb, I’m going to retire and take up tatting. Where are we? I can’t see a thing.”
“We’re over water, Pop, with a light fog. I see a shoreline to starboard.” Jake turned Gay to the right, I picked out the shoreline. Gay’s wings were spread; Jake held her at an easy glide and placed her on automatic. “We’ll leave this kite sealed now; I won’t check the air without going up high.”
“Sail ho!”
“Where away, Sharpie?”
“Starboard bow. A sailing ship.”
Durn if it wasn’t. A square-rigger out of the seventeenth century, high forecastle and sterncastle. Jake took us down for a better look. I wasn’t afraid; people who sail ships like that don’t use guided missiles – so I kept telling myself.
It was a pretty sight. Jake dropped the starboard wing so that we could have a good look. But we must not have been a “pretty sight” to them; sailors were rushing around and the helmsman let her get away from him and she fell into irons, her canvas flapping foolishly. Not wanting to get the poor fellow keelhauled, I told Jake to level off and head for land.
Deety said, “Good God, Pop, you scared me silly.”
“Why, Deety? – Captain Deety. They were scared-but surely you aren’t scared by black-powder cannon?”
“You almost put the starboard wing into the water.”
“Don’t be silly, Deety; I was above two hundred meters. Well, maybe a hundred and fifty when I did that steep turn. But plenty of room.”
“Take a look at your altimeter. And pressure.”
Jake looked and so did I. The radar altimeter stated that we were nineteen meters above the water; Jake had to change scales to read it. Pressure showed well over a thousand millibars – a sea-level high. So I snapped, “Gay Bounce!”
Gay did and I caught my breath.
“Deety, how did I make that error?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know, Pop. I can see the right wing tip; you can’t. When it looked to me as if you might cut the water, I looked at the instruments. I was about to yell when you straightened out.”
“Captain, I was driving seat-of-my-pants by the ship’s masts. I would swear I never got within three hundred meters of that ship, on the slant. That should put me plenty high.”
Sharpie said, “Jacob, don’t you recognize this place?”
“Hilda, don’t tell me you’ve been here before?”
“Only in books, Beloved. A child’s version in third grade. A more detailed version in junior high. Finally I laid hands on the unexpurgated version, which was pretty racy for the age I was then. I still find it pleasantly bawdy.”
“Sharpie,” I demanded, “what are you talking about?”
Jake answered. “Zeb, what sort of ship could cause me to think I was high in the air when in fact I was about to pole-vault into the sea?”
“I’ve got it!” said Deety.
“I give up,” I admitted.
“Tell him, Pop.”
“One manned by sailors fifteen centimeters high.”
I thought about it. We were approaching land; I told Jake to glide to two klicks by instrument and told Gay to hold us there – it seemed much higher. “If anyone runs across Dean Swift, will you give him a swift kick for me?”
Deety said, “Zebadiah, do you suppose the land of the giants – Brobdingnag – is on this continent?”
“I hope not.”
“Why not, dear? It should be fun.”
“We don’t have time to waste on either Lilliputians or giants. Neither would have obstetricians able to take care of you two. Sharpie, get ready to take us up a hundred thousand klicks. Then to rotate. Does anyone have any theory about what has been happening to us? Aside from Sharpie’s notion that we are dead and don’t know it?”
“I have another theory, Zebbie.”
“Give, Sharpie.”
“Don’t laugh – because you told me that you and Jacob discussed the heart of it, the idea that human thought exists as quanta. I don’t know quanta from Qantas Airways, but I know that a quantum is an indivisible unit. You told me that you and Jacob had discussed the possibility that imagination had its own sort of indivisible units or quanta – you called them ‘fictons’-or was it ficta? Either way, the notion was that every story ever told – or to be told if there is a difference – exists somewhere in the Number of the Beast.”
“But, Hilda my love, that was merely abstract speculation!”
“Jacob, your colleagues regard this car as ‘abstract speculation.’ Didn’t you tell me that the human body is merely complex equations of wave forms? That was when I bit you – I don’t mind being a wave form, waves are pretty; I bit you for using the adverb ‘merely.”
“Zebadiah, there is a city on the left. Shouldn’t we look at it before we leave?”
“Captain, you must decide that. You saw what a panic we caused in that ship. Imagine yourself fourteen centimeters tall and living in that city. Along comes a great sky monster and dives on you. Would you like it? How many little people will faint? How many will die of heart failure? How many are you willing to kill to satisfy your curiosity?” I added, “To those people we are monsters worse than ‘Black-Hat’ vermin.”
“Oh, dear! You’re right, Zebadiah – dismally so. Let’s get out of here.”
“Copilot, set to transit straight up one hundred thousand klicks.”
“Transition ‘H’ axis, positive, vernier setting five – set!”
“Execute.” I continued, “Captain, I’d like to sit here a while.”
“Very well, Zebadiah.”
“Sharpie, let’s hear your theory. Captain, I’ve been scared silly by too many narrow escapes. We know how to translate from one Earth-analog to the next; just use plenty of elbow room. But these rotations are making me white-haired. The laws of chance are going to catch up with us.”
“Zebbie, I don’t think the laws of chance have anything to do with it. I don’t think we have been in any danger in any rotation.”
“So? Sharpie, I’m about to swap jobs with you as quickly as I can get the Captain’s permission.”
“No, no! I -“
“Chicken!”
“Zebbie, your hunches are part of why I say that the laws of chance are not relevant.”
“Sharpie, statistical laws are the most firmly established of all natural laws.”
“Do they apply in the Land of Oz?” asked Deety.
“Uh – Damned if I know! Touché!”
“Zeb, Hilda has not expressed it as I would; nevertheless I agree with her.) To call the equations used in statistics ‘laws of nature’ is a misnomer. Those equations measure the degree of our ignorance. When I flip a coin and say that the chance of heads or tails is fifty-fifty, I am simply declaring total ignorance as to outcome. If I knew all conditions, the outcome might be subject to precalculation. But we have experienced two universes having physical laws unlike those of our home universe.”
“Three, Jacob. Lilliput makes three.”
“I don’t follow you, my dear.”
“The cube-square law that runs through all biology does not apply here. A human brain can’t be placed in a space the size of a thimble by our biophysical laws. But we’re getting away from the theory Zebbie wanted me to expound. Shall I go on?”
“Yes,” Deety ruled. “Everybody shut up but Aunt Hilda. I’m zipping my own lip. Hillbilly – proceed.”
“All right. It’s not chance that we have been in three universes – InsideOut, the Land of Oz, and Lilliput – in … less than twenty-four hours, isn’t it, Deety?”
“Less than twenty-one, Aunt Hilda.”
“Thanks hon. It’s not chance that those three are ‘fictional’ universes – I have to call them that for lack of a better word – well known to each of us. By coincidence – and again I don’t have a good word but it’s not ‘chance’ – all four of us are addicted to fanciful stories. Fantasy. Fairy tales. We all like the same sort of stories. How many of us like detective stories?”
“Some – not all,” said Deety.
“My sole loyalty is to Sherlock Holmes,” I said.
“Waste of time,” said Jake.
“I’d like to try an experiment,” Hilda went on. “Write down the twenty stories you have enjoyed most. Or groups of related stories – the Oz books would count as one, so would the Edgar Rice Burroughs Mars series, and so would the four voyages of ‘Gulliver’s Travels.’ Make them stories you reread for pleasure when you are too tired to tackle a new book.”
“Sharpie, is it cheating to ask how you mean to use this?”
“No, Zebbie. If my theory is right, the next time we rotate and find ourselves near a planet, it will turn out to be the scene of a story or group of stories that appears on all four lists. We’ll arrive high enough that Jacob will have plenty of time to level off but close enough that we can ground. But we will never rotate into a mass or any danger that we can’t handle. This isn’t chance; we haven’t been dealing with chance. The Land of Oz surprised me. Lilliput didn’t surprise me at all; I expected it. Or at least a place that all of us know through Stories.”
“How about those empty universes?” I demanded.
“Maybe they are places about which stories will be written or maybe stories have already been told but aren’t favorites of us four, so we don’t emerge close to their scenes. But those are guesses. So far as my theory is concerned, such Universes are ‘null’ – they don’t count one way or the other. We find our universes.”
“Sharpie, you have just invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism. I didn’t think it was mathematically possible.”
“Zeb, anything is mathematically possible.”
“Thanks, Jacob. Zebbie, ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word. I’m saying that we’ve stumbled onto ‘The Door in the Wall,’ the one that leads to the Land of Heart’s Desire. I don’t know how and have no use for fancy rationalizations. I see a pattern; I’m not trying to explain it. It just is.”
“How does that hollow world fit your theory?”
“Well, Deety called it Pellucidar -“
“It was!”
” – but I’ve read dozens of stories about worlds underground; I’ll bet all of us have. Jules Verne, S. Fowler Wright, H. G. Wells, C. L. Moore, Lovecraft – all the great masters of fantasy have taken a crack at it. Please, can we stop talking? I want all four lists before we rotate again.”
Jake changed attitude so that Lilliput’s planet was dead ahead and told Gay to hold it there. The planet looked very small, as if we were a million kilometers out – reasonable, I decided, and wrote down “The Dorsai yarns.”
At last Deety announced, “I’m through, Aunt Hillbilly.”
Soon after, her father handed Sharpie his list. “Don’t count those I’ve lined out, dear – I had trouble holding it down.”
“‘Twenty’ is arbitrary, Jacob. I can leave your extras in.”
“No, dear, the four I eliminated do not stand as high as the twenty I retained.”
After some pencil-chewing I announced, “Sharpie, I’m stuck at seventeen. Got a baker’s dozen more in mind, but no choice.”
“Seventeen will do, Zebbie – if they are your prime favorites.”
“They are.”
Hilda accepted my list, ran her eye down it. “A psychoanalyst would have a wonderful time with these.”
“Wait a half! Sharpie, if you’re going to let a shrink see those lists, I want mine back.”
“Zebbie darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” She added, “I need a few minutes to tally.”
I glanced at Lilliput. “Need help?”
“No. I’ve tallied a ‘one’ after all on my list. I’ve checked Deety’s against mine and tallied a ‘two’ where they match, and added to the bottom of my list, with one vote tallied against each, those she picked but I didn’t. I’m doing the same with Jacob’s list, tallying three’s and two’s and one’s. Then Zebbie and we’ll wind up with a four-vote list – unanimous – and a list with three each – and a list with two, and with one.”
Sharpie kept busy some minutes, then took a fresh sheet, made a list, folded it. “This should be in a sealed envelope to establish my reputation as a fortuneteller. Zebbie, there are nine soi-disant fictional universes listed. Any close approach we make by rotation should be near one of them.”
I said, “You included Pellucidar?”
“Pellucidar got only two votes. I stick to my theory that the inside-out world is a composite of underground fantasies. But our vote identified that third universe – the blinding lights, the one that worried you about radiation.”
“The hell you say!”
“I think it did. Four votes for Doctor Isaac Asimov’s ‘Nightfall.’ I expected his Foundation stories to make it but they got only three votes. Too bad, because his library planet might be able to tell us what those vermin are, where they come from – and how to beat them.”
“My fault, Aunt Hillbilly. Pop told me I should read the Foundation series… but I never did.”
“Sharpie,” I said, “we can put you down in New York in five minutes. The Good Doctor is getting on in years – turns out less than a million words a year now – but still likes pretty girls. He must know whatever is in the Galactic Library; he invented it. So telephone him. Better yet, sit on his lap. Cry if necessary.”
“Zebbie, if there is one place I’m certain is loaded with ‘Black Hat’ vermin, it’s New York City! You sit on his lap!”
“Not me. If we learn how to delouse our home planet, I’ll work on a way to spread the word. But I’m number one on their death list.”
“No, Jacob is.”
“No, Sharpie. Jake and Deety are dead, you are kidnapped, and I’m marked down to be ‘terminated with extreme prejudice.’ But I’ll risk grounding on the Hudson River VTOL flat long enough for you to visit the Good Doctor. Your husband can escort you; I’m going to hide in the bathroom. I figure that is actually in Oz and therefore safe.”
“Go lay an egg!”
“Sharpie dear, none of us is going to Earth-zero. Hand that list to Deety; she won’t peek. Captain, shall we rotate? The Science Officer has me half convinced that we can get away with it; let’s do it before I lose my nerve. Fourth and last universe in the second group, isn’t it?” I asked Sharpie.
“Yes, Zebbie.”
“Anybody as chicken as I am, speak up!… Isn’t anybody going to get us out of this!…… Execute!”

Chapter XXXIV

” – all my dreams do come true!”

Zeb:
Gay Deceiver was right side up five hundred meters above a sunlit, gentle countryside. Jake set her to cruise in a circle. I asked, “Are we back in Oz? Sharpie, check your setting.”
“Not Oz, Zebbie. I’ve stuck to schedule.”
“Okay. Does your magic list tell you where we are?”
“If it’s one of the nine, then it’s – ” Hilda wrote a word on a sheet, folded it, handed it to me. “Stick this in your pocket.”
I tucked it away. “Jake, bounce us, then range-and-target to ground us in that meadow. We’ll test the air when we’re down. Safer.”
Jake zeroed Gay in; she grounded. “Zeb,” he said fretfully, “how can I tell what juice we have? The gauge still reads ‘Capacity.”
“Let me think about it.”
“All right. Has the Captain worked out that new scram?”
“I think so, Pop. Take G.D. straight up a hundred thousand klicks, but do it in two words, in total darkness, or with eyes dazzled, or anything. As long as anyone can get out two syllables we’ll zip far enough away from trouble that we’ll have time to work out what to do next.”
“Good enough. Can you program it before I open a door?”
“I think so, Zebadiah. If she’s asleep, G.D. will wake up and do it at once.”
“Okay, will you program it? Hilda, set up the same thing on your dials as a back-up. Meanwhile I’m going to give the plumbing a field test. Don’t touch the doors till I get back.”
I returned in a few minutes. “Our magic space warp is still with us – don’t ask me why or I’ll scream. New program inserted?”
“Yes, Zebadiah. On tell-me-three-times and protected against execution without the doors being closed and locked. I’ve written down the magic words. Here.” Deety handed me a scrap of paper.
On it was: “Gay – Zoom!”
“It’s the shortest program with an unusual monosyllable that I can think of.”
“Its shortness may save our necks. Swap seats with me, Sharpie, it’s my turn to be pioneer mother. Everybody, hold your breath; I’m going to sniff the air.”
“Zebbie, this planet is Earthlike to nine decimal places.”
“Which gives me a cheap chance to play hero.” I opened her door a crack, sniffed.
Shortly I said, “I feel okay. Anybody woozy?”
“Open the door wide, Zebbie; this place is safe.”
I did so and stepped out into a field of daisies; the others followed me. It certainly seemed safe – quiet, warm, peaceful, a meadow bounded by a hedge row and a stream.
Suddenly a white rabbit came running past, headed for the hedge. He barely paused, pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, then moaned, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!” and ran even faster. Deety started after him.
“Deety!” I yelled.
She stopped short. “I want to find the rabbit hole.”
“Then keep your eye on her. You’re not going down the hole.”
“On whom?” Deety turned back toward the hedge row. A little girl in a pinafore was hurrying toward the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. “Oh. But it didn’t hurt her to go down the hole.”
“No, but Alice had lots of difficulties before she got out. We haven’t time; this is not a place we can stay.”
“Why not?”
“Nineteenth-century England did not have advanced medicine.”
“Zebbie,” put in Hilda, “this isn’t England. Read that slip.”
I unfolded the scrap of paper, read: Wonderland. “Just so,” I agreed, and handed it to my wife. “But it is modeled on England in the eighteen-sixties. It either has no medicine, like Oz, or pre-Pasteur medicine. Possibly pre-Semmelweiss. Deety, do you want to die from childbed fever?”
“No, I want to go to the Mad Tea Party.”
“We can have a mad tea party; I went mad several universes back – and it’s time for lunch. Sharpie, you win the Order of Nostradamus with diamond cluster. May I ask two questions?”
“One may always ask.”
“Is H. P. Lovecraft on that list?”
“He got only one vote, Zebbie. Yours.”
“Chthulhu be thanked! Sharpie, his stories fascinate me the way snakes are said to fascinate birds. But I would rather be trapped with the King in Yellow than be caught up in the worlds of the Necronomicon. Uh… did any horrids get four votes?”
“No, dear, the rest of us prefer happy endings.”
“So do I! Especially when I’m in it. Did Heinlein get his name in the hat?”
“Four votes, split. Two for his ‘Future History,’ two for ‘Stranger in a Strange Land.’ So I left him out.”
“I didn’t vote for ‘Stranger’ and I’ll refrain from embarrassing anyone by asking who did. My God, the things some writers will do for money!”
“Samuel Johnson said that anyone who wrote for any other reason was a fool.”
“Johnson was a fat, pompous, gluttonous, dirty old fool who would have faded into the obscurity he so richly deserved had he not been followed around by a spit-licking sycophant. Spell that ‘Psycho-‘, as in ‘Bloch.'” I added, “Did Poul Anderson get in? Or Niven?”
“Zebbie, that’s far more than two questions.”
“I haven’t even reached the second question… which is: What do we have for a mad tea party?”
“Surprise! Glinda had a picnic basket placed in our dressing room.”
“I missed it,” I admitted.
“You didn’t look in the wardrobe.” Sharpie grinned. “Can sandwiches from Oz be eaten in Wonderland? Or will they ‘softly and silently vanish away’?”
“‘Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!'”
Several hundred calories later I noticed a young man hovering nearby. He seemed to want to speak but was too diffident to do so. Deety jumped up, trotted toward him. “The Reverend Mister Dodgson, is it not? I’m Mrs. Zebadiah Carter.”
He quickly removed his straw boater. “‘Mr. Dodgson,’ yes, uh, Mrs. Carter. Have we met?”
“Long ago, before I was married. You are looking for Alice, are you not?”
“Dear me! Why, yes, I am. But how -“
“She went Down the Rabbit-Hole.”
Dodgson looked relieved. “Then she will be back soon enough. I promised to return her and her sisters to Christ Church before dark.”
“You did. I mean, ‘you will.’ Same thing, depending on the coordinates. Come meet my family. Have you had luncheon?”
“Oh, I say, I don’t mean to intrude.”
“You aren’t intruding.” Deety took him by the hand, firmly. Since my treasure is stronger than most men, he came along… and let go her hand hastily as soon as she loosened her grip. We men got to our feet; Hilda remained in lotus.
“Aunt Hilda, this is Mr. Dodgson, Lecturer in Mathematics at Christ Church College, Oxford. My stepmother, Mrs. Burroughs.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Burroughs. Oh dear, I am intruding!”
“Not at all, Mr. Dodgson. Do sit down.”
“And this is my father, Dr. Burroughs, Professor of Mathematics. And my husband Captain Carter. Aunt Hilda, will you find a clean plate for Mr. Dodgson?”
The young don relaxed once introductions had been made but he was still far more formal than Deety intended to permit. He sat down on the turf, placed his hat carefully beside him, and said, “Truly, Mrs. Burroughs, I’ve just finished tea with three little girls.”
Deety ignored his protests while she piled his plate with little sandwiches and cakes. Sharpie poured tea from a Thermos jug. They nailed him down with cup and plate. Jake advised, “Don’t fight it, son, unless you really must leave. Are Alice’s sisters safe?”
“Why, yes, Professor; they are napping in the shade of a hayrick nearby. But -“
“Then relax. In any case, you must wait for Alice. What branch of mathematics do you pursue?”
“Algebraic logic, usually, sir, with some attention to its applications to geometry.” The Reverend Mr. Dodgson was seated so that he faced Gay Deceiver and sat in the shadow of her port wing but nothing in his manner showed that he noticed the anachronism.
“Have your studies led you into multidimensional non-Euclidean geometries?” Jake asked.
Dodgson blinked. “I fear that I tend to be conservative in geometry, rathuh.”
“Father, Mr. Dodgson doesn’t work in your field; he works in mine.”
Dodgson raised his eyebrows slightly. Jake said, “My daughter did not introduce herself fully. She is Mrs. Carter but her maiden name is Doctor D. T. Burroughs. Her field is mathematical logic.”
“That is why I am so pleased that you are here, Mr. Dodgson. Your book ‘Symbolic Logic’ is a milestone in our field.”
“But, my dear lady, I have not written a work titled ‘Symbolic Logic.”
“I’ve confused things. Again it is matter of selection of coordinates. At the end of the reign of Queen Victoria you will have published it five years earlier. Is that clear?”
He answered very solemnly, “Quite clear. All I need do is to ask Her Majesty how much longer she is going to reign and subtract five years.”
“That should do it. Do you like to play with sorites?” For the first time, he smiled. “Oh, very much!”
“Shall we make up some? Then trade and solve them?” “Well… not too lengthy. I really must get back to my young charges.”
“We can’t stay long, either. Anyone else want to play?” No one else elected to play. I stretched out on the grass with a handkerchief over my face; Jake and Sharpie went for a walk. “Shall we hold the statements down to groups of six?” Dodgson suggested.
“All right. But the conclusion must be true. Not nonsense. Agreed?” (Deety had taught me this game; she’s good at it. I decided to be a silent witness.)
They kept quiet while I snored convincingly, Deety was a “lady” for a while, then sprawled on her belly and chewed her pencil. I watched with one eye from under my handkerchief.
First she covered several pages with scratch work in developing statements incomplete in themselves but intended to arrive at only one possible conclusion. Having done so, she tested them by symbolic logic, then wrote out her list of statements, mixing them randomly – clooked up.
The young mathematician was looking at her solemnly, note pad in hand.
“Finished?” my wife asked.
“Just finished. Mrs. Carter, you remind me of my little friend Alice Liddell.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s how I recognized her. Shall we trade?”
Dodgson tore a sheet from his pad. “This is to be solved in the first person; its conclusion applies to you.”
“All right, I’ll try it.” Deety read aloud:

“1) Every idea of mine, that cannot be expressed as a syllogism, is really ridiculous;
“2) None of my ideas about Bath-buns are worth writing down;
“3) No idea of mine, that fails to come true, can be expressed as a syllogism;
“4) I never have any really ridiculous idea, that I do not at once refer to my solicitor;
“5) My dreams are all about Bath-buns;
“6) I never refer any idea of mine to my solicitor, unless it is worth writing down.”
Deety chortled. “How sweet of you! It is true; all my dreams do come true!”
“You solved it so quickly?”
“But it’s only six statements. Have you solved mine?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” He also read aloud:
“1) Everything, not absolutely ugly, may be kept in a drawing room;
“2) Nothing, that is encrusted with salt, is ever quite dry;
“3) Nothing should be kept in a drawing room, unless it is free from damp;
“4) Time-traveling machines are always kept near the sea;
“5) Nothing, that is what you expect it to be, can be absolutely ugly;
“6) Whatever is kept near the sea gets encrusted with salt.”
He blinked at the list. “The conclusion is true?” he asked.
“Yes.”
For the first time he stared openly at Gay Deceiver. “That, then – I infer – is a ‘time-traveling machine.”
“Yes… although it does other things as well.”
“It is not what I expected it to be … although I am not sure what I expected a time-traveling machine to be.”
I pulled his handkerchief off my face. “Do you want to take a ride, Mr. Dodgson?”
The young don looked wistful. “I am sorely tempted, Captain. But I am responsible for three little girls. So I must thank you for your hospitality and bid you good-bye. Will you offer my apologies to Professor and Mrs. Burroughs and explain that duty calls me?”

Chapter XXXV

“It’s a disturbing idea – “

Jake:
“Deety, how does it feel to say good-bye without getting kissed?”
“Zebadiah, I didn’t make it possible. Lewis Carroll was terrified by females over the age of puberty.”
“That’s why I stayed close. Deety hon, if I had gone with Jake and Hilda, he would have left at once.”
“I can’t figure out how he got here in the first place,” said my dear wife Hilda. “Lewis Carroll was never in Wonderland; he simply wrote about it. But this is Wonderland – unless rabbits in England wear waistcoats and watches.”
“Aunt Hilda, who can possibly be as deeply inside a story as the person who writes it?”
“Hmm – I’ll have to study that.”
“Later, Sharpie,” Zeb said. “Stand by to rotate. Mars, isn’t it?”
“Right, Zebbie,” Hilda agreed.
“Gay… Sagan!”
Mars-zero lay ahead, in half phase at the proper distance.
“Set!” Hilda reported. “To tenth universe, third group.”
“Execute.” It was another starry void with no familiar groupings; we ran through routine, Zeb logged it as “possible” and we moved on to the second of the third group – and I found myself facing the Big and Little Dippers. Again we ran through a routine tumble – but failed to find the Sun or any planets. I don’t know the southern constellations too well but I spotted Crux and the Magellanic Clouds. To the north there could be no doubt about Cygnus and a dozen others.
Zeb said, “Where is Sol? Deety? Sharpie?”
“I haven’t seen it, Zebadiah.”
“Zebbie, don’t go blaming me. I put it right back where I found it.”
“Jake, I don’t like this. Sharpie, are you set?”
“Set. Standing orders. Third group, third of three.”
“Keep your finger near the button. How does this fit your theory? I don’t recall listing a story that doesn’t have the Solar System in it.”
“Zebbie, it can’t fit two of those left, could fit the others, and could fit half a dozen or more that got three votes. You said that about a dozen were tied in your mind. Were any of them space-travel stories?”
“Almost all.”
“Then we could be in any world that takes our universe as a model but far enough from the Sun so that it appears as second or third magnitude. That wouldn’t have to be far; our Sun is pretty faint. So this could be the Darkover universe, or Niven’s Known Space, or Dr. Williamson’s Legion of Space universe, or the Star Trek universe, or Anderson’s world of the Polesotechnic League, or Dr. Smith’s Galactic Patrol world. Or several more.”
“Sharpie, what were two that this could not be?”
“King Arthur and his Knights, and the World of the Hobbits.”
“If we find ourselves in either of those, we leave. No obstetricians. Jake, any reason to stay here longer?”
“None that I see,” I answered.
“Captain Deety, I advise scram. Those space-opera universes can be sticky. I don’t care to catch a photon torpedo or a vortex bomb or a negative-matter projectile, just through failure to identify ourselves promptly.”
So we rotated.
This time we weren’t merely close; we were on the ground. Charging straight at us was a knight in armour, lance couched in attack. I think it unlikely that a lance could damage Gay. But this “gentle knight” was unfriendly; I shouted, “Gay! – Zoom!”
Sighed with relief at sudden darkness and at the Captain’s next words: “Thanks, Pop. You were on your toes.”
“Thank you. End of group three. Back to Mars? S, A, G, A, N?”
“Let’s get on with it,” Zeb agreed. “All Hands -“
“Zebadiah!” my daughter interrupted. “Is that all you wish to see of King Arthur and his Knights?”
“Captain Deety, that wasn’t one of King Arthur’s Knights. He was wearing plated mail.”
“That’s my impression,” my beloved agreed. “But I gave more attention to his shield. Field sable, argent bend sinister, in chief sun proper with crown, both or.”
“Sir Modred,” my daughter decided. “I knew he was a baddie! Zebadiah, we should have hit him with your L-gun.”
“Killed that beautiful beer-wagon horse? Deety, that sort of armor wasn’t made earlier than the fifteenth century, eight or nine centuries after the days of King Arthur.”
“Then why was he carrying Sir Modred’s shield?”
“Sharpie, was that Sir Modred’s coat of arms?”
“I don’t know; I blazoned what I saw. Aren’t you nit-picking in objecting to plate armor merely because it’s anachronistic?”
“But history shows that -“
“That’s the point, Zebbie. Camelot isn’t history; it’s fiction.”
Zeb said slowly, “Shut my big mouth.”
“Zebbie, I venture to guess that the version of Camelot we blundered into is a patchwork of all our concepts of King Arthur and the Round Table. I picked up mine from Tennyson, revised them when I read ‘Le Morte d’Arthur.’ Where did you get yours?”
“Mark Twain gave me mine – ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.’ Add some Prince Valiant. Jake?”
I said, “Zeb, there seems little doubt that there was a king or a general named Arthur or Arturius. But most people think of King Arthur from stories having little connection with any historical person. ‘The Sword in the Stone’ and ‘The Once and Future King’ are my favorites.”
My daughter persisted, “I do believe in the Round Table, I do! We should go back and look! Instead of guessing.”
“Captain Deety,” her husband said gently, “the jolly, murderous roughnecks called the Knights of the Round Table are fun to read about but not to know socially. Nor are people the only dangers. There would be honest-to-God dragons, and wyverns, and malevolent magic – not the Glinda-the-Good variety. We’ve learned that these alternate worlds are as real as the one we came from. We don’t need to relearn it by getting suddenly dead. That’s my official advice. If you don’t agree, will you please relieve me at the conn… Ma’am?”
“Zebadiah, you’re being logical – a most unfair way to argue!”
“Jacob,” said my wife, “suppose we were people who don’t like fanciful stories. What sort of worlds would we find?”
“I don’t know, Hilda. Probably only humdrum slice-of-life universes indistinguishable from the real world. Correction: Substitute ‘Universe-zero’ for ‘real world’ – because, as your theory requires, all worlds are equally real. Or unreal.”
“Jacob, why do you call our universe ‘universe-zero?”
“Eh… for convenience. Our point of origin.”
“Didn’t you tell me that no frame is preferred over any other? Each one to the Number of the Beast is equally zero in six axes?”
“Well… theory requires it.”
“Then we are fiction in other universes. Have I reasoned correctly?”
I was slow in answering. “That seems to be a necessary corollary. It’s a disturbing idea: that we ourselves are figments of imagination.”
“I’m nobody’s figment!” my daughter protested. “I’m real, I am! Pinch me!… Ouch! Zebadiah, not so hard!”
“You asked for it, dear,” Zeb told her.
“My husband is a brute. And I’ve got a cruel stepmother just like Snow White. I mean ‘Cinderella.’ And my Pop thinks I’m imaginary! But I love you anyway because you’re all I’ve got.”
“If you fictional characters will pipe down, we’ll get this show on the road. Stand by to rotate. Gay Sagan!”
Mars was where it should be. I felt more real.

Chapter XXXVI

“Pipe down and do your job.”

Hilda:
“Set, Captain,” I reported. “Thirteenth rotation. Correct, Zebbie?”
“Check, Sharpie. Captain?”
Deety answered, “Let’s catch our breaths.” She stared out at the ruddy barrenness of Mars-zero. “That rock looks downright homelike. I feel like a tourist who tries to see thirty countries in two weeks. Shock. Not ‘future shock’ but something like it.”
“Homesickness,” I told her. “Knowing that we can’t go back. Deety, somewhere, somewhen, we’ll build another Snug Harbor. Won’t we, Jacob?”
Jacob patted my knee. “We will, dearest.”
Deety said wistfully, “Will we really find another Snug Harbor?”
“Deety, are you over your pioneer-mother jag?”
“No, Zebadiah. But I can get homesick. Like you. Like Hilda. Like everybody but Pop.”
“Correction, Daughter. I don’t miss Logan, and I don’t think Hilda misses California -“
“Not a bit!” I agreed.
“Nor me,” agreed Zeb. “I had a rented flat. But Snug Harbor was home.”
“Agreed,” Jacob answered. “I didn’t really hate these vermin until they bombed our home.” Jacob added, “We’ve got to find a new Snug Harbor. Comfortable as this car is, we can’t live in it indefinitely.”
“Check. Sharpie, your theory seems to be checking out. Is there any reason to finish this schedule? Should we go directly to Teh axis?”
“Zebbie, granted that most rotations didn’t amount to more than sightseeing, if we hadn’t followed this schedule, this car would not be nearly so comfortable. Do you know of another Ford that has two bathrooms?”
“Sharpie, I don’t know of one that has one bathroom. Our space-warp special lets us stay in space as long as our air holds out. And food. But air is the critical factor.”
I said, “Zebbie, have you noticed that our air does not get stuffy?”
“It will soon.”
“It need not,” Jacob pointed out. “We can scram-code to Oz, or to Wonderland, in seconds. Sweet air, no danger.”
Zebbie looked sheepish. “I’m still learning what our wonder buggy will do.”
“So am I.”
“Gentlemen, you missed my point. You might check the juice. I haven’t mentioned another asset. Zebbie, would you like a banana?”
“Sharpie, I ate the last before I buried garbage. While you and Deety were washing dishes before we left Wonderland.”
“Tell him, Deety.”
“Zebadiah, Hilda and I salvaged and put everything into the basket. Hilda started to put it into our wardrobe – and it was heavy. So we looked. Packed as tight as when we left Oz. Six bananas – and everything else. Cross my heart. No, go look.”
“Hmmm – Jake, can you write equations for a picnic basket that refills itself? Will it go on doing so?”
“Zeb, equations can be written to describe anything. The description would be simpler for a basket that replenishes itself indefinitely than for one that does it once and stops – I would have to describe the discontinuity. But I am no longer troubled by natural – or ‘unnatural’ – laws that don’t apply in Universe-zero.”
“Mmmm… Science Officer, I suggest that you check on that basket now that we have returned to Universe-zero.”
“Zebbie, make that an order in writing and sign your name – if you want to look foolish. Deety, will you order it logged?”
“Sharpie, if you weren’t such good company, I’d strangle you. Your earlier answer recommended that we complete the rotations.”
“No, I noted that the first twelve had not been unprofitable. We could have completed the last three by now had we not spent time debating it.”
“Hilda honey, our cowardly Astrogator needed time to get his nerve back. By yumpin’ yiminy, once you’re all trained, I’m going to retire.”
“We would simply recall you, Zebbie. Each will go on doing what she can do best.”
“Time is out of joint. O curséd spite, that I was ever picked to set it right.”
“You misquoted.”
“I always do. What universe do we hit next?”
“Zebbie, we have three rotations to go, with four left on the four-votes list. One is useless but amusing and safe. The other three are places to live but each has its own dangers. As the chief of surgery used to say: ‘I dunno, let’s operate and find out.”
Zebbie sighed. “All hands, stand by to rotate. Execute!”
Green fire – “Rotate! Execute!”
A formless red fog – “Gay Sagan!”
Mars looked like an old friend. Zebbie wiped his brow and said, “Whew! One to go – Cap’n Deety hon, let’s get it over with. Sharpie?”
“Fifteenth universe – set!” I reported.
“Execute!”
We came out into a starry universe. “Cap’n Deety hon, don’t these constellations look familiar?” Zebbie commented.
“I think so.”
“They are familiar,” I insisted. “Except that there is a very bright star near the Gemini. That ought to be the Sun. We’re way out past Pluto, where the comets spend the winter. Let’s move in and find Earth.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” said Zebbie. “Science Officer, what was that first rotation? Green fire?”
“How about the deadly green nebula in ‘The Legion of Space’? – on the trip to the Runaway Star where Aladoree had been taken.”
“That was on your list?”
“All of us voted for it.”
“What was that red fog we rotated into next?”
“That one is harder to figure,” I admitted. “It could be any universe by a writer who paid respectful attention to astronomy – Bova, Haldeman, Schmidt, Pournelle, Niven, Benford, Clement, Anderson, and so forth. But there were four votes for ‘The Mote in God’s Eye.’ Whether the two old gentlemen had anything to do with it or not, I think we blundered into a red giant. A red giant is close to what we call vacuum. Anyhow, we weren’t hurt; we were there about two seconds.”
“Less than that, Sharpie; you set it with one click, and barely had your thumb off the execute button. Captain, do you wish to transit toward that bright star?”
“Let’s chop off thirty or forty A.U.’s,” Deety decided, “and get a rough cross fix. Maybe that will give us a disc Pop can measure. If not, we’ll narrow it down until it does. Then place us one A.U. from the Sun and we’ll spot Earth easily. Astrogator – advice.”
“Captain, I advise making that first jump with wide offset. Miss the Sun by at least one A.U. At least.”
“Yes! Zebadiah, make that cross fix wide. Uh – ” Deety peered around. “There’s the Sickle. Have Pop aim for Regulus.”
My husband said, “I’m swinging toward Regulus. Zeb, how do I take the angular width of the Solar disc without broiling an eyeball?”
“The gunsight has a built-in polarizer. Didn’t I show you?”
“You did not.”
“Sorry. Captain Deety hon, I request permission to relieve the Chief Pilot for this.”
“Permission granted. But, Zebadiah, you be careful.”
“Spacecraft! Identify yourself!” – the voice was everywhere.
Zebbie jerked with surprise. (Me, too!) “Who said that?”
“Lensman Ted Smith, Commander Galactic Patrol, commanding Patrol Vessel ‘Nighthawk.’ Entity, I regret being forced to enter your mind but you have been ignoring sub-ether radio for four minutes thirty-two seconds. Switch it on and I will get out of your mind. Do not maneuver; we have weapons on you.”
“Captain,” Jacob whispered, “Hilda is set to rotate.”
Deety shook her head, touched Zebbie’s arm, pointed to herself.
“Lensman, this is Captain Deety, commanding Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We don’t have sub-ether radio. Do you read me?”
“I read you loud and clear. What happened to your sub-ether radio? Do you need help?”
“Captain Smith, I don’t have sub-ether radio at all. We don’t need help but could use astrogational advice. Where are we?”
“The important point is that you are in my patrol sector, an unscheduled ship insufficiently identified. I repeat: DO NOT MANEUVER. By order of the Galactic Patrol. Do you understand?”
“I understand you, Lensman. I regret having intruded into your patrol space. This is a private ship engaged in peaceful exploration.”
“That is what I am about to determine, Captain. Stay where you are, make no hostile moves, and you will be safe.”
“Lensman, can you see through my eyes?”
“Are you inviting me to do so?”
“Certainly. Use my eyes, use my ears. But don’t try to take over my mind or this ship will disappear.” Deety squeezed my shoulder; I signaled “Roger” with a pat.
“I warn you not to maneuver. Ah … interesting!”
I snapped, “Captain Smith, quit threatening us! A Lensman is supposed to be an officer and gentleman! I intend to report you to the Port Admiral! You’re an oaf!”
“Sorry, Madam. I do not wish to offend but I have duty to perform. Captain, will you please turn your head so that I can see who is speaking?”
“Certainly. Let me introduce all of us. On my left” – Deety looked at Zebbie – “is Doctor Zebadiah Carter. In front of him is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. On his right” – Deety looked at me – “is his wife, Doctor Hilda Burroughs, xenobiologist and chief of science. Let me offer you this advice, Lensman: It is never safe to offend Doctor Hilda.”
“I gathered that impression, Captain. Doctor Hilda, I would not willingly offend – but I have duties. Shall I get out of your mind entirely? If you speak to me, I will hear with Captain Deety’s ears. She can, if she will, repeat to you my thought in answer.”
“Oh, it’s all right for conversation. But don’t try to go deeper! Mentor would not like it – as you know!”
“Doctor Hilda, your mention of … a certain entity… surprises me – from one who is not a Lensman.”
“I don’t need a Lens. You can check that with Arisia.”
Deety said hastily, “Lensman, are you satisfied that we are a peaceful party of scientists? Or is there something more that you wish to know?”
“Captain, I can see that this ship is not a pirate vessel – unarmed and unarmoured. Oh, I note controls for a coherent light gun but that wouldn’t be much use to a pirate. Nor can I visualize two men and two women attempting to attack a space liner. But keeping the peace is just one of my responsibilities. Your ship, small as it is, could be carrying millions of credits in contraband.”
“Say what you mean, Lensman,” I snapped. “Drugs. But don’t use the word ‘zwilnik.'”
Mentally, we could hear him sigh. “Yes, Doctor Hilda – drugs. But I did not introduce that offensive word into the discussion.”
“I heard you thinking it. Don’t do it again!”
“Lensman,” Deety said quickly, “we have medical drugs. The only one that could interest you is a few milligrams of morphine. But we carry no thionite, no bentlam, no hadive, no nitrolabe. You are using your Lens; you know that I’m telling the truth.”
“Captain, it’s not that easy. Before I hailed you I did try a slight probe – please, Doctor Hilda; it was in line of duty! I’ve never encountered minds so fully blocked. And this is a most curious craft. It is obviously designed for aerodynamic use rather than space. Yet here you are – and I can’t see how you got here. I have no choice but to detain you and to examine this ship thoroughly. If necessary, take it apart piece by piece.”
“Lensman,” Deety said earnestly, “don’t be hasty. You can search more thoroughly by Lens than by other means. Go ahead. We’ve nothing to hide and we have a great deal to offer the Patrol. But you won’t get it by pushing us around.”
“You certainly won’t! Cap’n, let’s leave! I’m tired of stupidity!” – and I snapped, “Gay Sagan!”
Mars-zero was on our starboard bow. That dead rock looked awfully good to me.
Zebbie said, “Captain, did you order the copilot to execute?”
I said, “Don’t bother Deety with it, Zebbie. I did it without permission. Solely my decision.”
Zebbie frowned unhappily. “Sharpie, I thought you would be our model Girl Scout while Deety is skipper. Why?”
“Zebbie, you can rotate back there in no time. But I would like to be dropped first. Imperial House. Or Minus-J. Somewhere.”
“Why, Hilda?” my husband asked.
“Jacob, meet your friendly neighborhood zwilnik. Commander Ted Smith of the Galactic Patrol – a fine officer; I’m certain, as Dr. E. E. Smith saw to it that no unworthy person could ever wear the Lens – was getting unpleasantly close. That’s why I was so fierce with the poor man.”
Deety said, “But, Aunt Hilda, E. E. Smith’s world is just the sort of world we’ve been seeking.”
“Maybe we’ll go back. But not until I’ve had a chance to dump two pounds of concentrated extract of Cannabis magnifica. Dr. Wheatstone tells me that it is incredibly valuable in therapy, as the base for endless drugs. But I had a hunch that Commander Smith would confiscate it, impound the Smart Girl, arrest all of us – and convict me. But that isn’t all, Zebbie. Doctor Smith created one of the most exciting universes I know of. To read about, not to live in. With that endless Boskone War – must have been going on; they were looking for zwilniks – you have to be as smart as Kimball Kinnison to stay alive… and even he gets chopped up now and again. Deety and I need a good baby-cotcher and I’m sure they have them. But we have months to find one. Let’s not deliberately back into a war.”
Deety didn’t hesitate. “I agree with Aunt Hilda. If we go back, it will not be while I’m captain. Hillbilly, you didn’t disobey orders; you used your head in an emergency.” I thought Deety was going to ask me how and when I got Cannabis magnifica extract… but she didn’t.
“Jake,” Zebbie said, “we’re overruled. Where now, Captain? Earth-Teh-one-plus?”
“First we’d better pick a place to spend the night, and hold an election.”
“Why, Deety, you’ve served less than twelve hours!”
“It will be about twenty-four hours when we lift off tomorrow. I’m not going to ask for nominations; we’ve all had a turn at it; we are now balloting for permanent captain.”
I expected Zebbie to be picked. But there were three for me, one for Zebbie – my ballot.
I seemed to be the only one surprised. Zebbie said to Deety, “Ask to be relieved now, hon. The short-timer syndrome is bad for anyone but worse for a C.O. – it demoralizes her crew.”
“Aunt Hilda, will you relieve me?”
I pondered it half a second. “I relieve you, Deety.”
“Goody! I think I’ll take a nap.”
“I think you’ll take the verniers. Zebbie and Jacob stay in the jobs they’re in. Prepare to maneuver. Copilot, set for Oz. If you don’t know how, ask your father.”
“Set verniers for Oz?”
I took a deep breath to calm down. “Before anyone starts asking ‘Why?’ the answer is: Pipe down and do your job. Before we start on Teh axis, I want to ask questions. We talked to Glinda about our problem. We didn’t talk directly to the others. I mean Ozma and Professor Wogglebug and the Little Wizard and possibly others. Family, magicians who can install two bathrooms in a Ford and never have it show can also help us spot vermin if we ask the right questions. Deety, are you having trouble setting for Oz?”
“Captain, why set verniers? Gay has our parking spot in her perms. Codeword ‘Glinda.”
A few seconds later Gay called out, “Hi, Tik-Tok!”
“Wel-come back, Miss Gay De-cei-ver. Glin-da told me that you would be gone on-ly a few mi-nutes, so I wai-ted here for you. I am deep-ly hap-py to see you a-gain.”

Chapter XXXVII

The First Law of Biology

Zeb:
“Stand by to maneuver,” I ordered – at the conn by Captain Sharpie’s wish “Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. You look hung over.”
“I am. Gay Home!”
Arizona was cloudless. “Crater verified, Captain Hilda.”
“Teh axis one plus – set, Captain,” Deety reported.
“Execute!”
“No crater, Cap’n Auntie. No house. Just mountains.” Deety added, “Teh-one-minus – set.”
“Roger, Deety. Routine check, Captain?”
“Voice routine, short schedule.” (I think that is what got Sharpie elected permanent C.O. – she never hesitates.)
“Gay Deceiver. Sightseeing trip. Five klicks H-above-G.”
“Ogle the yokels at five thousand meters. Let’s go!”
“Deety, keep your thumb on the button. Gay – Miami Beach.”
Below lay a familiar strip city. “Captain?”
“Zebbie, note the crowded streets. Sunny day. Beaches empty. Why?”
“Bogie six o’clock low!” Jake yelped.
“Gay Zoom!”
Earth-Teh-one-plus swam warm and huge. Opposite us a hurricane approached Texas. I asked, “Want to see more, Captain?”
“Zebadiah, how can we see more when we haven’t seen any?”
“But Cap’n Sharpie has, Deety. Folks, I’m unenthusiastic about a world where they shoot without challenging. Jake, your bogie was a missile?”
“I think so, Zeb. Collision course with Doppler signature over a thousand knots and increasing.”
“A missile – out of Homestead-analog, probably. Captain, these blokes are too quick on the trigger.”
“Zebbie, I find empty beaches more disturbing. I can think of several reasons why they would be empty on a nice day – all unpleasant.”
“Want to check San Diego? I can get more scram time by increasing H-above-G.”
“No, we have over forty thousand analogs on this axis; we’ll stick to doctrine. Shop each world just long enough to find something wrong – ‘Black Hats,’ war, low technology, no human population, bad climate, overpopulated, or factor X. If we don’t find our new Snug Harbor in the next four months, we’ll consider returning to Doctor Smith’s world.”
“Hillbilly, if we wait there to have our babies, then wait again until they are big enough to travel, we’ll never find Snug Harbor.”
“I said, ‘consider.’ We may find a place to shack up for five months or so, then slam back to Galactic Patrol Prime Base hospital for the Grand Openings. Could be an empty world – no people, pleasant otherwise. Food is now no problem and we get water from Oz. All we lack is television -“
“That’s no lack!”
“Deety, I thought you liked ‘Star Trek’?”
“Auntie Captain, we’ve got our own star trek now.”
“Hmm – Deety, you and I should go easy on this star trek. I’m going to I’m having my first one past forty and I’m going to be very careful – exercise, diet, rest, the works.”
“I surrender. Let’s get cracking, Cap’n Hillbilly.”
“Take it, Zebbie.”
“Copilot, execute!”
Earth-Teh-one-minus replaced Teh-one-plus. “Jacob, it doesn’t look right. Astrogator, I want us up a hundred kilometers, over – make it Mississippi Valley about St. Louis. Want to change attitude?”
“Yes, please. Jake, point Gay at your target; it will skip setting angle.” The craft’s nose dipped and steadied.
“How’s that?”
“Fine, Jake. Deety, set L axis plus transition ninety-nine thousand klicks.”
“Set, Zebadiah.”
“Execute.” We popped out high over fields of ice. “Sneak up on it, Cap’n?”
“Never mind. Zebbie, that’s what I call a hard winter.”
“A long winter. Actually it’s summer, I think; Earth-analogs should be in the same place in orbit as Earth. Jake?”
“By theory, yes. Doesn’t matter either way; that’s glaciation. Deety has set Teh-two-plus.”
“We can’t homestead on an ice sheet. Execute.”

“Zebbie, how many ice ages so far?”
“Five, I think. Deety?”
“Five is right, Zebadiah. Plus two worlds with major war, one where they shot at us, and one so radioactive that we got out fast!”
“So we’re hitting ice more often than not.”
“Five to four has no statistical significance, Zebadiah. At least Aunt Hilda hasn’t spotted even one ‘Black Hat.”
“Sharpie, how good are your magic spectacles?”
“Zebbie, if I see them walk, I’ll spot ’em, no matter how they’re disguised. In the simulations Glinda and Wizard cooked up, I spotted their gait every time Deety identified it by Fourier analysis.”
“You feel confident, that’s enough.”
“Zebbie, I don’t have clairvoyance; there wasn’t time to train me. But Glinda got me highly tuned to their awkward gait, both with and without splints. I want to discuss something else. According to geologists, when we were home – Earth where we were born, I mean – we were in a brief warm period between glaciations.”
“If geologists are right,” I admitted.
“If so, we’ll usually hit glaciation.”
“Probably. ‘If – ‘”
“Yes, ‘if – ‘ But we now know what glaciation looks like. If you and Jacob and Deety can make it a drill, we can flip past ice ages as fast as you spot one.”
“We’ll speed it up. Jake.”
“Zebadiah, wait!”
“Why, Deety? We’re about to translate.”
“Pop, you told me to set for Teh-five-plus.”
“Jacob?” Captain Sharpie said.
“That’s right, Captain.”
“What’s the trouble, Deety?”
“Aunt Hilda, I said that five-to-four had little statistical significance. But so far, all glaciations have been in Teh-minus. That could be chance but -“
” – but doesn’t look like it. You want us to explore axis Teh-plus first? Astrogator?”
“No, no! Captain Auntie, I would like to see enough of Teh-minus to have a significant sample. At least a hundred.”
“Jacob?”
“Hilda, if we check in one pseudodirection only – say Teh-minus – it’ll be four or five times as fast as hunting back and forth between plus and minus. Deety can set with one click; Zeb can yell ‘Execute!’ as soon as you are satisfied.”
“Jacob, we’ll get Deety her sample. But faster. Astrogator, have our copilot set Teh-six-minus”
“Uh… set, Captain.”
“When Zebbie says ‘Go,’ Jacob, you and Deety flip them past as fast as you can without waiting for orders. All we’ll be looking for is ice ages; we can spot one in a splitsecond. If anyone sees a warm world, yell ‘Stop!’ Deety, can Gay count them?”
“She’s doing so, Captain. We both are.”
“Okay. I’m going to give my magic specs a rest – we’re looking for nothing but glaciers versus green worlds. Questions?”
“Run out Teh-minus as fast as I can set and translate. Stop when anyone yells. Aye aye, Cap’n Hillbilly honey.”
Sharpie nodded to me; I snapped, “Go!”

“STOP!” yelped Deety.
“Jacob, I’ve never seen so much ice! Deety, how many martinis would that make?”
“On the rocks or straight up?”
“Never mind; we’re out of vermouth. Did you get your sample?”
“Yes, Captain. One hundred ice ages, no warm worlds. I’m satisfied.”
“I’m not. Zebbie, I want to extrapolate logarithmically – go to Teh-minusone-thousand, then ten thousand, a hundred thousand, and so on. Jacob?”
Jake looked worried. “Hilda, my scales can be set for vernier setting five, or one hundred thousand. But that translation would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle – I think.”
“Elucidate, please.”
“I don’t want to get lost. My equations appear to be a description of six-dimensional space of positive curvature; they’ve worked – so far. But Euclidean geometry and Newtonian mechanics worked as long as our race didn’t monkey with velocities approaching the speed of light. Then the approximations weren’t close enough. I don’t know that the plenum can be described with only six space-time coordinates. It might be more than six – possibly far more. Mathematics can be used for prediction only after test against the real world.”
“Jacob, what is the ‘real world’?”
“Ouch! Hilda, I don’t know. But I’m afraid to get too many quanta away from our world – world-zero, where we were born. I think the extrapolation you propose would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle to – What world, Deety?”
“World-six-thousand-six-hundred-eighty-eight on Teh-minus axis, Pop. Unless it’s skewed.”
“Thanks, Deety. Captain, if we arrived there, we could return to Earth-zero by one setting. ‘If – ‘ Instead of a superhyper great circle we might follow a helix or some other curve through dimensions we know not of.”
“Pop, you took what I said and fancied it up.”
“R.H.I.P., my dear. You will appear as junior author on the monograph you’ll write and I’ll sign.”
“Pop, you’re so good to me. Wouldn’t Smart Girl return us simply by G, A, Y, H, O, M, E?”
“Those programs instruct a machine that has built into it only six dimensions. Perhaps she would… but to our native universe so far from Earth-zero that we would be hopelessly lost. If Zeb and I were bachelors, I would say, ‘Let’s go!’ But we are family men.”
“Deety, set the next one. Teh-five-plus?”
“Right, Zebadiah. But, Captain Auntie, I’m game! The long trip!”
“Me, too,” agreed Captain Sharpie.
I said in a tired voice, “Those babies are ours as much as they are yours – Jake and I are taking no unnecessary risks. Captain Sharpie, if that doesn’t suit you, you can find another astrogator and another chief pilot.”
“Mutiny. Deety, shall we pull a ‘Lysistrata’?”
“Uh… can’t we find some reasonable middle ground?”

“Looks like a place to stop for lunch. Sharpie, want to sniff for ‘Black Hats’?”
“Take me down, please. About two thousand klicks above ground.”
“Will you settle for five?”
“Sissy pants. Yes, if you’ll first have Jacob zip us around night side to check for city lights.”
“Give her what she wants, Jake, by transiting; an orbit takes too long. ‘Give me operations… way out on some lonely atoll! For I… am too young to diiiie! I just want to grow old!'”
“You’re off key, Zebbie.”
“Deety likes my singing. Anybody spot city lights?”
We found no cities. So Jake put us down for lunch on a lonely atoll, Hilda first making certain that it had nothing on it but palm trees. Deety stripped, started exercises.
Hilda joined her; Jake and I set out lunch, having first dressed in stylish tropical skin. The only less-than-idyllic note came from my objecting to Deety’s swimming in the lagoon. Hilda backed me up. “Deety, that’s not a swimming pool. Anything in it has defenses or couldn’t have survived. The first law of biology is eat or be eaten. A shark could have washed over the reef years back, eaten all the fish – and now be delighted to have you for lunch.”
“Ugh!”
“Deety, you’d be very tasty,” I soothed.

Chapter XXXVIII

” – under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid – “

Jacob:
Teh positive took longer to search than Teh-negative for the very reason that its analogs were so much like our native planet.
An uninhabited planet could be dismissed in ten minutes; one heavily populated took no longer. A planet at too low a level of culture took hardly longer – a culture with animal-drawn carts and sailing ships as major transport we assumed not to have advanced medicine. But most took longer to reject.
At the end of a week we had rejected ninety-seven… which left us only 40.000 + to inspect!
That evening, at “Picnic Island,” our private atoll, my daughter said, “Cap’n Auntie, we’re doing this wrong.”
“How, Deetikins?”
“Ninety-seven in a week, over forty thousand to go. At that rate we finish in eight years.”
Her husband said, “Deety, we’re getting faster.”
My beloved said, “Astrogator, do you know more about calculating than does the Copilot?” Zeb shut up. We had learned that when Hilda addressed us by titles, she was speaking as captain. I flatter myself that I learned it quicker whereas Zeb was a bit slow. “Go ahead, Deety.”
“If we go on checking this way, it won’t get better; it will get worse. Here’s the first weeks’ score” – she passed around her summary; it read:

Earth analogs checked97
Average time per planet34 mins 38 1/2 sec
Maximum time2 days 3 hrs 52 mins
Minimum time13 seconds
Median time12 mins 07 sec

I studied it. “Deety, we can reduce that average time. Over two days was much too long to check analog twenty-six.”
“No, Pop, we should have taken longer on twenty-six. It’s that thirteen seconds that is bankrupting us.”
“Daughter, that’s preposter – “
“Chief Pilot.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Please let the Copilot finish… without interruption.” I retired from the field, annoyed, to wait until my advice was indispensable – soon, I felt sure.
“Aunt Hilda, if we gave each analog thirteen seconds, it would take us eighteen and a half days… and we would learn nothing. I want to cut the minimum time way, way down – make it routine – and learn something. I wish Gay could talk, I do.”
“But, dear, she can. We can be in Oz in two minutes. The dirty dishes can wait.”
My daughter looked startled. “Pass me the Stupid Hat.”
“But we won’t go to Oz before tomorrow. We need to figure out what the problem is, first – and I need a night of cuddle with Jacob for the good of my soul.” Hilda reached out and took my hand.
Hilda went on, “Deety, remember how fast we mapped Mars-Tau-ten-positive once we let Gay do it her way? Isn’t there some way to define a locus – then turn her loose?”
We discussed it until bedtime. I set the locus myself by vetoing going past Earth-analog-Teh-positive-five-thousand until we were certain that no satisfactory analog existed in those first five thousand. “Family,” I told them, “call me chicken, to use Zeb’s favorite excuse. I know so little about this gadget I invented that I am always afraid of getting lost. All rotations have been exactly ninety degrees. In theory I can define a quantum of angle and each such quantum should render accessible another sheaf of universes. In practice I can’t do machining of that quality. Even if I could, I would be afraid to risk our necks on a gadget required to count angular quanta.
“But I have another objection – a gut feeling that worlds too far out Teh axis will be too strange. Language, culture, even dominant race – I confess to prejudice for human beings, with human odors and dandruff and faults. Supermen or angels would trouble me more than vermin. I know what to do with a ‘Black Hat’ – kill it! But a superman would make me feel so inferior that I would not want to go on living.”
Deety clapped. “That’s my Pop! Don’t worry, Pop; the superman who can give you an inferiority complex hasn’t been hatched.” I think she meant that as a compliment.
We worked the parameters down to three: climate warm enough to encourage nudity; population comfortably low; technology high. The first parameter was a defense against B.H. vermin: they require antinudity taboo to bolster their disguises. The last parameter would tend to indicate advanced obstetrics. As for population, every major shortcoming of our native planet could be traced to one cause: too many people, not enough planet.
Hilda decided to standardize: one locale, one H-above-G. The locale was (in Earth-zero terminology) Long Beach, California, over its beach one klick H-above-G – dangerously low were it not that Gay would never be in any universe longer than one second. Any speed-of-light weapon can destroy in less than a second, but can its human-cum-machine operators identify a target, bear on it, and fire in one second? We thought not. We hoped not.
At analogs of Long Beach, it should be midsummer, hot, dry, and cloudless. If that beach was comfortably filled but not crowded, if the people were nude, if area adjacent to the beach showed high technology by appearance, then that analog should be checked further.
Forty minutes in Oz changed much of our planning.

Tik-Tok was waiting for his lady friend as usual but kept politely quiet while Deety talked with Gay – and so did Zeb and so did I, not because we have Tik-Tok’s courtly manners but because Captain Hilda was blunt. Gay understood the Celsius scale, i.e., both freezing and boiling water temperatures lay in her experience and splitting the interval into one hundred parts was no trouble. She had enough parts that needed to be neither too hot nor too cold that awareness of her surroundings both ambient and radiant was as automatic as breathing is for me. As for radio and television (both gauges of technical level) she could sample all infrared flux (as she had done at Windsor City). Crowds on beach? Would it suffice to count bodies on a sample one hundred meters square?
But Gay had a quite un-human complaint: “Deety, why must I hang around a thousand milliseconds for a job I can do in ten? Don’t you trust me?”

So instead of 57 years – or 8 years – or 18 1/2 days – or 11.4 hours – our preliminary survey was complete less than a minute after we left Oz – 5000 universes in fifty seconds. Gay Deceiver displayed her results as three curves representing temperature, body count, density of communication-frequency radiation – abscissa for all running from Earth-zero to Earth-analog-5000-Teh-plus.
Those curves told one thing at once: No need to search past analog 800; glaciation had returned.
In the lower right corner was displayed: 87. Zeb asked why. “Nulls,” said Deety. “Gay couldn’t get readings. Storm, earthquake, war, anything. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety! We whupped ’em!”
“You surely did, Smart Girl; Tik-Tok will be proud of you. Change scale. Display zero through eight hundred.”
As scale expanded, figure 87 dropped to 23. Zeb said, “Deety, I’m curious about those twenty-three. Will you have S.G. display their designations?”
“Certainly, Zebadiah, but may I take it in planned order?”
“Sure but just let me find out first -“
“Astrogator,” Sharpie said flatly, “isn’t this your day as K.P.?”
We were at Picnic Island, examining results. I suppressed a smile; “slunk” describes the way Zeb left the cabin. Later I was unsurprised to see my tiny treasure giving Zeb an unusually warm hug and kiss. Our Captain has an efficient system of rewards and punishments – never so described.
Deety instructed Gay to eliminate all worlds with a body count higher than that of the Earth-zero beach, and all worlds chillier by five degrees (my daughter was bracketing to avoid false readings from unseasonable weather).
With elimination of high population, cold climate, and low technology as indicated by low or nil flux of communication frequencies, my daughter had us down to seventy-six worlds, plus twenty-three to reexamine – had eliminated over four thousand worlds – and it was still two hours till lunch time!
Deety had Gay display temperatures of the seventy-six. The curve was no longer continuous, but a string of beads, with clumps. I said, “Hilda my love, I’ll wager ten back rubs that at least half of the nulls fit into that gap” – and indicated a break at the maximum of the temperature curve.
Hilda hesitated. “Why, Jacob?”
“My dear, figures mean little to me until expressed geometrically. Curves are bold print. I’ll give you odds.”
“What odds?”
“Don’t be suckered, Auntie Cap’n! Pop, I’ll take your end of the bet, give you two to one, and spot you a point.”
A back rub from Deety is a treat; she has strong hands and knows how. But I answered, “Ladies, I must start lunch. Deety, when we make visual check, let’s include Antarctica as well as Greenland, at that break.”
“Two points, Pop?” I pretended not to hear.
That same day we trimmed it down to six worlds, all warm, all free of body taboos, all high technology, all acceptably low in population, all free of major war or overt preparations, all with some version of English as the major North American language. It was time to pick a world by inspection on the ground.

How to make contact was much discussed. Hilda chopped it by saying: “One way is to land on the White House lawn and say, ‘Take me to your leader!’ The other is to be as sneaky as a ‘Black Hat.’ Let me know when you reach consensus.” She went through the bulkhead and dogged the door.
An hour later I rapped on the bulkhead; she rejoined us. “Captain,” I reported formally, “we have reached consensus. Each is afraid of the open approach; authorities might confiscate our car, we might wind up as prisoners.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Twice we just missed it.”
“Precisely. The expression ‘sneaky as a “Black Hat”‘ is distasteful -“
“I so intended.”
I went doggedly on: ” – but sneakiness is not immoral per se. A mouse at a cat show is justified in being inconspicuous; so are we. We merely seek information. I am expendable; therefore I will scout on the ground.”
“Hold it. This is unanimous? Deety? Zebbie?”
“No,” my daughter answered. “I didn’t get a vote. You and I are barred from taking risks. Pregnant, you know.”
“I certainly do know! Jacob, I asked for consensus on method. I did not ask for volunteers. I’ve picked the scout I consider best qualified.”
I said, “My dear, I hope you have picked me.”
“No, Jacob.”
“Then I’m your boy,” said Zebbie.
“No, Zebbie. This is spying, not fighting. I’m doing this job myself.”
I interrupted, “Hilda, where you go, I go! That’s final.”
Our captain said gently, “Beloved, I hope you don’t stick to that. If you do, we’ll elect another skipper. You are my candidate.”
“Dear, I was trying to -“
” – take care of me. Nevertheless you are my candidate. Deety is too reckless; Zebbie too cautious. I’ll carry out whatever duties you assign, including using the magic spectacles. Are you sticking to that ultimatum?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Even though your stubbornness could result in my death? I love you, dear, but I won’t take you with me on a spying mission. What happened to that ‘All for one and one for all’ spirit?”
“Uh… “
“Captain!”
“Yes, Zebbie?”
“You proved that you can be tough with your husband. Can you be tough with yourself? Look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about intelligence than I do. Or that you can fight your way out of a rumpus better than I can.”
“Zebbie, this isn’t military intelligence. You look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about obstetrics than I do. How do you prepare for leapfrog transfusion and when is it likely to be needed? Define eclampsia. What do you do about placenta previa? I am less likely to get into a rumpus than you are … and if I do, I’ll throw my arms around his neck and cry. However… convince me that you know as much about obstetrics as I do and I’ll consider letting you make contacts. In the meantime pick a midwestern town big enough for a fair-sized hospital and public library, and select a point for grounding and rendezvous; you will be in command while I’m gone.”
I interrupted. “Hilda, I absolutely forbid -“
“Chief Pilot! Pipe down!” My wife turned her face away from me. “Chief Master at Arms, restore discipline.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am! Jake, she means you.”
“But -“
“Shut up! Crewmen don’t give orders to the C.O., and I’ve had a bellyful of your attempts.”

Two hours later I was in Zeb’s seat, biting my nails and sweating, while Zeb had my seat. I had given unconditional parole – the alternative having been to go (or be stuffed) through the bulkhead, then wait, locked in. I am not a total fool; I gave my word.
Zeb held us in cloud cover while my daughter, wearing earphones, stayed in contact with Hilda. Gay’s cabin speaker was paralleled with the phones so that we could follow in part what went on below. Deety reported, “That fade is from entering a building; I could hear her footsteps. Zebadiah, if I fiddle with the gain, I might miss her as she comes out.”
“Don’t shift. Wait.”
Eternities later we heard Hilda’s sweet voice: “I’m heading for rendezvous. I no longer have to pretend that this is a hearing aid – but everybody accepted it as such. You needn’t be cautious picking me up; we’re leaving.”
Five minutes later we bounced and translated at once, then Zeb held her in cruise while Hilda reported:
“No trouble. Ze bewildair’ French ladee she zink les Americain’ verree gentils. Mais les arts medicals – poof! Infant mortality high, childbirth mortality gruesome. I could have left sooner but I got fascinated.”
“Hilda,” I protested, “you had me worried to death.”
“Jacob, I had to be certain; it’s such a nice world otherwise. Other contacts should not take as long as I’ve solved the money problem.”
“How?” Zebadiah asked. “I’ve been noodling that. There’s an even chance that private ownership of gold will be illegal. A standard trick used whenever a government is in trouble.”
“Yes, Zebbie – it’s illegal there, too. I still have the bullion you had me carry. Instead I sold that heavy gold chain I was wearing. Sorry, Deety; I had to.”
“Forget it, Hillbilly. That chain was a way to horde gold. Pop bought it for Mama Jane before they clipped the zeroes and remonetized.”
“Well… I found a public phone – didn’t try to use it; Edison would never have recognized it. But it had a phone book, so I looked up ‘gold’ – and found ‘licensed gold dealers’ and sold your chain -“
“And now you’re stuck with a lot of local money.”
“Zebbie! See why I didn’t let you go down by yourself? The dealer was of course a coin dealer, too – and I bought foreign silver coins, worn, small, oldish, dates without being old enough to be collectors’ items. French coins, but he didn’t have enough, so I filled out with Belgian, Swiss, and German.”
I said, “My dear, the coins you bought there will not be good here. Or at the next analog. Or the next.”
“Jacob, who – other than a professional – is certain of designs on foreign coins? – especially if they are a few years old and a bit worn. I got real silver, none of those alloys that don’t have the right ring to them. At most a shopkeeper will phone his bank and ask for the rate. That’s how I bought this,” my beloved said proudly, pulling out of Deety’s biggest purse a World Almanac.
I was not impressed. If she was going to buy a book, why not a technical manual that might contain new art, data Zeb and I could use?
My darling was saying, “We must buy one in each analog we ground in. It’s the nearest thing to an encyclopedia less than a kilo mass you’ll find. History, law, vital statistics, maps, new inventions, new medicine – I could have skipped the library and learned all I needed from this book. Zebbie! Turn to the list of U.S. Presidents.”
“Who cares?” Zeb answered, but did so. Shortly he said, “Who is Eisenhower? This shows him serving one of Harriman’s terms and one of Patton’s.”
“Keep going, Zebbie.”
“Okay – No! I refuse to believe it. Us Carters are taught to shoot straight, bathe every month even in the winter, and never run for office.”

Two days later Hilda and Zeb, as a French-tourist couple, found the world where we settled.
We slid in quietly, both through the histrionics of our “bewildered French lady” and Zeb’s unmalicious chicanery. Sometimes he was our French lady’s husband; other times he spoke English slowly with a strong Bavarian accent.
In this analog, the United States (called that, although boundaries differ) is not as smothered in laws, regulations, licensing, and taxes as is our native country. In consequence “illegally entered aliens” do not find it difficult to hide, once they “sling the lingo” and understand local customs.
Hilda and Zeb learned rapidly in a dozen towns, Deety and me “riding shotgun” in the sky. Deety and I learned from them and from radio. Then we moved to the Northwest, “natives” from back east, and coped with our only problem: how to keep Gay Deceiver out of sight.
Hilda and Deety hid her in the Cascades for three days while Zeb and I found and bought a farmhouse outside Tacoma-analog. That night we moved Gay into the barn, slapped white paint on the building’s windows, and slept in Gay, with a feeling of being home!
We own six hectares and live in the farmhouse in front of Gay’s hideaway. Gay will eventually go underground, protected by reinforced concrete; the barn will become a machine shop. We will build a new house over her bunker. Meanwhile, our old farmhouse is comfortable.
This United States, population under a hundred million, accepts immigrants freely. Zeb considered buying phony papers to let us enter “legally” – but Hilda decided that it was simpler to use Gay to smuggle us while we smuggled Gay. The outcome is the same; we will never be a burden to the state – once we get our machine shop and electronics lab set up, Zeb and I will “invent” hundreds of gadgets this country lacks.
We seem to be near the warmest part of an interglaciation. Wheat grows where our native world has frozen tundra; the Greenland icecap has vanished; lowlands are under water, coastlines much changed.
Climate and custom encourage light clothing; the preposterous “body modesty” taboo does not exist. Clothing is worn for adornment and for protection – never through “shame.” Nakedness is symbolic of innocence – these people derive that symbology from the Bible used in our native culture to justify the exact opposite. The same Bible – I checked. (The Bible is such a gargantuan collection of conflicting values that anyone can “prove” anything from it.)
So this is not a world where alien vermin can hide. A “man” who at all times kept arms and legs covered by long sleeves and long trousers would be as conspicuous as one in armor.
The sects here are mostly Christian – on a Saturday morning one sees families headed for church in their finest Sabbath-go-to-meeting clothes. But, since nakedness is symbolic of innocence, they undress in an anteroom to enter their temple unadorned. One need not attend services to see this; the climate favors light, airy structures that are mostly roof and slender columns.
The Bible affects their penal system, again by selective quotation: “Eye for eye, tooth for tooth -“
This results in a fluid code, with no intent to rehabilitate but to make the punishment fit the crime. I saw an example four days after we settled. I was driving our steam wagon and encountered a road block. A policeman told me that I could take a detour or wait twenty minutes; the highway was being used to balance a reckless driver.
I elected to pull over and wait. A man was staked with one leg stretched out at a right angle. A police wagon drove down that cleared highway, ran over his leg, turned and drove back over it.
An ambulance was waiting – but nothing was done for a timed seventeen minutes. Then surgeons amputated on the spot; the ambulance took him away and the block was removed.
I went back to my wagon and shook for many minutes, then returned home, driving cautiously. I didn’t tell our family. But it was reported on radio and the evening paper had pictures – so I admitted that I had seen it. The paper noted that the criminal’s insurance had been insufficient to cover the court’s award to the victim, so the reckless driver had not only lost his left leg (as had his victim) but also had had most of his worldly goods confiscated.
There is no speed limit and traffic regulations are merely advisory – but there are extremely few accidents. I have never encountered such polite and careful drivers.
A poisoner is killed by poison; an arsonist is burned to death. I won’t describe what is done to a rapist. But poisoning, arson, and rape are almost unknown.
My encounter with this brutal system of “balancing” almost caused me to think that my dear wife had been mistaken in picking this world-we should move! I am no longer certain. This place has no prisons, almost no crime, and it is the safest place to raise children I’ve ever heard of.
We are having to relearn history. “The Years of Rising Waters” explain themselves. The change came before 1600; by 1620 new shorelines had stabilized. That had endless consequences – mass migrations, political disorder, a return of the Black Death, and much immigration from Great Britain and the lowlands of Europe while the waters rose.
Slavery never established here. Indentures, yes – many a man indentured himself to get his family away from doomed land. But the circumstances that could have created “King Cotton” were destroyed by rising waters. There are citizens here of African descent but their ancestors were not slaves. Some have indentured ancestors, no doubt – but everyone claims indentured ancestors even if they have to invent them.
Some aspects of history seem to be taboo. I’ve given up trying to find out what happened in 1965: “The Year They Hanged the Lawyers.” When I asked a librarian for a book on that year and decade, he wanted to know why I needed access to records in locked vaults. I left without giving my name. There is free speech – but some subjects are not discussed. Since they are never defined, we try to be careful.
But there is no category “Lawyers” in the telephone book.
Taxation is low, simple – and contains a surprise. The Federal government is supported by a head tax paid by the States, and is mostly for military and foreign affairs. This state derives most of its revenue from real estate taxes. It is a uniform rate set annually, with no property exempted, not even churches, hospitals, or schools – or roads; the best roads are toll roads. The surprise lies in this: The owner appraises his own property.
There is a sting in the tail: Anyone can buy property against the owner’s wishes at the appraisal the owner placed on it. The owner can hang on only by raising his appraisal at once to a figure so high that no buyer wants it – and pay three years back taxes at his new appraisal.
This strikes me as loaded with inequity. What if it’s a family homestead with great sentimental value? Zeb laughs at me. “Jake, if anybody wants six hectares of hilly land and second-growth timber, we take the profit, climb into Gay – and buy more worthless land elsewhere. In a poker game, you figure what’s in the pot.”

PART THREE – Death and Resurrection

Chapter XXXIX

Random Numbers

Hilda:
Jacob stood, raised his glass. “Snug Harbor at last!”
Zebbie matched him. “Hear, hear!”
Deety and I sat tight. Zebbie said, “Snap it up, kids!” I ignored him.
Jacob looked concerned. “What’s the matter, dear one? Zeb, perhaps they don’t feel well.”
“It’s not that, Jacob. Deety and I are healthy as hogs. It’s that toast. For ten days, since we signed the deed, it’s been that toast. Our toast used to be: ‘Death to “Black Hats”!'”
“But, my dear, I promised you a new Snug Harbor. The fact that you girls are having babies made that first priority. This is the place. You said so.”
I answered, “Jacob, I never called this ‘Snug Harbor.’ I reported that I had found a culture with advanced obstetrics, and customs that made it impossible for Black Hats to hide. I wasn’t asked what I thought of it.”
“You signed the deed!”
“I had no choice. My contribution was one fur cape and some jewelry. Deety put in more – but effectively no gold. She fetched her stock certificates, other securities, some money – paper – and a few coins. I fetched two twenty-five newdollar bills. Deety and I left Earth as paupers. Each of us women – not ‘girls’!, Jacob – was once wealthy in her own right. But in buying this place, you two decided, you two paid for it – all we did was sign. We had no choice.”
Zebbie looked at Deety and said softly, “‘With all my worldly goods I thee endow,'” and took her hand.
Jacob said, “Thanks, Zeb. I, too, Hilda – if you don’t believe that, then you don’t believe I meant the rest: ‘ – for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health – ‘ But I did and I do.” He looked up. “Zeb, where did we go wrong?”
“Durned if I know, Jake. Deety, what’s the score? Give.”
“I’ll try, Zebadiah. Maybe all we should expect is washing dishes and wiping noses and changing diapers. But that doesn’t seem like a be-all and end-all when you’ve gone banging around the universes… stood guard for your husband while he bathed in a mountain stream … or – Oh, the devil with it! This place is good and clean and wholesome and dull! I’ll find myself joining the church just for company… then sleeping with the priest out of boredom!”
“Deety, Deety!”
“I’m sorry, Zebadiah. It would be boredom with Beulahland, not with you. The very hour we met, you saved my life; you married me before that hour was over, impregnated me before midnight, fought and killed for me only days later, saved my life twice more that same day, took me to another planet in another universe before midnight still that same day… and short hours later had again fought for me, twice. You are my gallant knight, sans peur et sans reproche. In the six weeks I have known you, you have gifted more romance, more glorious adventure, into my life than in all the twenty-two years before it. But the last twelve days – especially the last ten – have told me what we now look forward to.”
Deety paused to sigh; I said quietly, “She speaks for me.”
Deety went on, “You two would lay down your lives for us – you’ve come terrifyingly close. But what happened to your glorious schemes to rebuild the Solar System? To kill every last one of those vermin? Gay Deceiver sits in an old barn, dark and quiet – and today I heard you discussing how to market a can opener. Universes beyond the sky to the incredible Number of the Beast! – yet you plan to sell can openers while Hilda and I serve as brood mares. We haven’t even visited Proxima Centauri! Zebadiah – Pop! – let’s spend tonight looking for an Earth-type planet around Alpha Centauri – kill a million vermin to clean it, if that’s what it takes! Plan what planets to put on Earth’s Lagrange points. I’ll write programs to meet your grandest plans! Let’s go!”
My husband looked sad. Zebbie held Deety’s hand and said, “Deety, we don’t want to sell can openers. But you two are pregnant and we’ve gone to a lot of trouble to put you where you and our kids will be safe. Maybe it’s dull… but it’s your duty. Forget hunting vermin.”
“Just forget it? Zebadiah, why is Gay Deceiver loaded and ready for space? Power packs charged, water tanks full, everything? Do you and Pop have something in mind… while Hilda and I stay home and baby-sit?”
“Deety, if we did, it wouldn’t hurt to sell a few can openers first. You two and the kids must be provided for, come what may.”
“That Widow’s Walk again, Hillbilly. But, my husband, you have started from a false premise. You men want to protect Hilda and me and our kids at any cost – and we honor you for it. But one generation is as valuable as another, and men are as valuable as women. With modern weapons, a computer programmer is more use in war than a sniper. Or – forgive me, sir! – even an aerospace fighter pilot. I’m a programmer. I can shoot, too! I won’t be left out, I won’t!”
I gave Deety our signal to drop it. It doesn’t do to push a man too hard; it makes him stubborn. One can’t expect logic from males; they think with their testicles and act from their emotions. And one must be careful not to overload them. We had given them five points to stew over; we would save the sixth – the clincher – for later.
I waited three days… and struck from the other flank. Again Deety and I rehearsed: We would wrangle with each other and appeal to the men for support – crosswise.
“Jacob, what is ‘random’? Is it correct to say that ‘random’ is shorthand for ‘I don’t know’?”
Deety said scornfully, “Don’t let her trap you, Pop. She’s got the second law of thermodynamics mixed up with the second law of robotics – and doesn’t understand either one.” (I had to phrase this and insist; Deety didn’t want to say it. Deety is sweet, not the bitch I am.)
“‘Random’ is used a number of ways, my love, but it usually means a set in which the members are equal in probability of experiencing some event, such as being next to be chosen.”
“If they’re ‘chosen,’ how can it be ‘random’?”
Deety snickered.
Zebbie said, “Don’t let him snow you, Sharpie; ‘random’ means ‘I don’t know’ – as you said.”
“Aunt Hilda, pay no attention to Zebadiah. ‘Random’ is what you have when you maximize entropy.”
“Now, Daughter, that is hardly a mathematical statement -“
“Pop, if I gave it to her in mathematical language she’d faint.”
“Deety, quit picking on Sharpie,” Zebbie said sternly.
“I wasn’t picking on her. Hillbilly has this silly notion that we didn’t get anywhere hunting vermin because we went about it systematically… but every time we told Gay to shake up her random numbers and do as she pleased, we got results.”
“Well, didn’t we?” I put in, intentionally shrill. “We had endless failures… but every time we gave Gay her head – ‘Put her on random numbers,’ as Deety says – we never had a failure. ‘Random’ and ‘chance’ are not related. ‘Random chance’ is a nonsense expression.”
“Auntie darling, you’re out of your skull. Don’t worry, Pop; pregnant women often get the vapors.”
I indignantly listed things that could not be “random” or “chance” – then discovered that Deety and I had to start dinner. We left them wrangling, and were careful not to giggle within earshot.
After dinner, instead of that tired toast, Jacob said, “Hilda, would you explain your concept of ‘random’? Zeb and I have been discussing it and agree that there is some factor in our adventures not subject to analysis.”
“Jake, that’s your statement. I just said, ‘I dunno,’ and wiped the drool off my chin. Tell us, Sharpie.”
“But Jacob told us a month ago. There isn’t any such thing as ‘chance.’ It’s a way of admitting ignorance. I thought that I had begun to understand it when we started hitting storybook universes. Lilliput. Oz. Dr. Smith’s World. Wonderland. I was so sure of it – You remember three weeks ago after our second visit to Oz? I ordered a day of rest; we spent it on Tau axis instead of Teh.”
“Dullest day we had,” said Zebbie. “You put us in orbit around Mars. Not just one Mars but dozens. Hundreds. The only one worth a fiat dollar was the one we aren’t going back to. I got permission to go off duty and take a nap.”
“You weren’t on duty, Zebbie. You three slept or read or played crib. But I was searching for Barsoom. Not hundreds, Zebbie – thousands. I didn’t find it.”
“Hillbilly, you didn’t tell me!”
“Dejah Thoris, why bother to say that I had been chasing the Wild Goose? I swallowed my disappointment; next day we started searching Teh axis… and wound up here. Would I have found Barsoom had I asked Gay to run the search? Defined her limits, yes – as Zebbie did on Mars-ten – but, having defined it, told her to take her random numbers and find it. It worked on Marsten; we mapped a whole planet in a few hours. It worked on Teh axis. Why wouldn’t it be best for another search?”
Jacob answered, “Dearest, Zeb fed Gay a defined locus. But how would that apply to this, uh, speculative… search?”
“Jacob, Zebbie told us that Gay holds the Aerospace Almanac. That includes details about the Solar System, does it not?”
“More than I want to know,” Zebbie agreed.
“So Gay knows the Solar System,” I went on. “I thought of reading the Barsoom stories to Gay, tell her to treat them as surface conditions on the fourth planet – then take her random numbers and find it.”
Jacob said gently, “Beloved, the autopilot doesn’t really understand English.”
“She does in Oz!”
My husband looked startled. Jacob has immense imagination… all in one direction. Unless one jogs him. Zebbie caught it faster. “Sharpie, you would be loading her with thousands of bytes unnecessarily. Deety, if they’ve got those novels on New Earth – I’ll find out – what do you need to abstract in order to add to Gay’s registers an exact description of Barsoom, so that Gay can identify it – and stop her Drunkard’s Walk?”
“Don’t need books,” my stepdaughter answered. “Got ’em up here.” She touched her pretty strawberry-blonde curls. “Mmm… go to sleep thinking about it, tell it to Gay early tomorrow before I speak to anybody. Minimum bytes, no errors. Uh … no appetizer.”
“A great sacrifice, merely for science.”
“A one-eyed Texas honeybutter stack?… and the prospect of meeting the original Dejah Thoris? Never wears anything but jewels and is the most beautiful woman of two planets.”
“About that stack – Jane’s buttermilk recipe?”
“Of course. You’re not interested in the most beautiful woman of two planets?”
“I’m a growing boy. And ain’t about to be trapped into damaging admissions.” Zebbie stopped to kiss Deety’s retroussé nose and added, “Sharpie, Gay can’t handle the full Number of the Beast and anyhow Jake locked off most of it. What’s the reduced number, Jake?”
Deety promptly said, “Six to the sixth. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six.”
Zebbie shook his head. “Still too many.”
Deety said sweetly, “Zebadiah, would you care to bet?”
“Wench, have you been monkeying with Gay?”
“Zebadiah, you put me in charge of programming. I have not changed her circuitry. But I learned that she has four registers of random numbers, accessible in rotation.”
“A notion of my own, Deety. Give them down time. Keep entropy at maximum.”
Deety did not answer. Her face assumed her no-expression. Her nipples were down. I kept quiet.
Zebbie noted it also – he does check her barometer; he once told me so. When silence had become painful, he said, “Deety, did I goof?”
“Yessir.”
“Can you correct it?”
“Do you wish me to, Zebadiah?”
“If you know how, I want it done soonest. If you need a micro electrician, I have my loupe and my micro soldering gear.”
“Not necessary, Zebadiah.” My stepdaughter made a long arm, got a walky-talky we keep indoors – with six hectares, it is convenient to carry one outside the house. “Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety,” came this tiny voice from the ear button. Deety did not place it in her ear. “Hello, Gay. More gain… more gain… gain okay. Retrieve Turing program Modnar. Execute.”
“Executed. Did he chew the bit?”
“Goodnight, Gay. Over.”
“Sleep tight, Deety. Roger and out.”
I cut in fast. “Gentlemen, the dishes can sit overnight. I vote for a ramble among the universes, say two hours, then early to bed. The other choice is, I think, channel one with the Beulahland Choir and channel two with Bible Stories Retold: ‘The Walls of Jericho.’ Both are highly recommended… by their sponsors.”

It felt good to be back in a jump suit. I was turning out lights, making sure windows were fastened, gathering up one walky-talky, when Zebbie stuck his head into the kitchen from the back door. “Captain?”
“Huh? Zebbie, do you mean me?”
“You’re the only captain around, Sharpie. What I started to report was: Captain, your car is ready.”
“Thank you, First Officer.”
He waited for me to put the butter away, then locked the back door behind me, opened the barn’s people door. I noted that the big doors were still closed – and remembered my borrowed panties four weeks and many universes away. I squirmed past Deety, got into my old familiar starboard-aft seat with a song in my heart.
Shortly Deety said, “Starboard door seal checked, First Officer.”
“Roger. Captain, ready for space.”
“Thank you. Has anyone left behind anything normally carried?”
“No, Captain. I replaced worn-out clothes. Added tools I could buy here.”
“Zebbie, it sounds as if you expected to lift without warning.”
“Habit, Captain. I’ve kept anything important in my – our – car rather than in that flat. Some I duplicated. Teethbreesh. Iodine. Some clothes.” Zebbie added, “Jake keeps basics here, too. ‘Be prepared!’ Troop ninety-seven, Cleveland.”
“Jacob? Anything you need?”
“No, Captain. Let’s go!”
“We will, dear. Deety, did you give Zebbie a schedule?”
“The one you planned. Not Barsoom, just fun. Two hours.”
“Astrogator, take the conn. Carry out schedule.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Zeb. This is great! Whyinhell did you lobotomize me?”
“Because I’m stupid. Random walk, Gay – transitions, translations, rotations, vectors, under all safety rules. Two hours. Five-second stops subject to ‘Hold’ from any of us.”
“May I place a ‘Hold’ myself?”
“Captain?”
I resorted to sophistry. “Astrogator, you said ‘any of us’ – which includes Gay.”
“Gay, paraphrase acknowledge.”
“I shall make unplanned excursions of all sorts with five-second pause at each vertex, plus ‘Hold’ option, plus safety restrictions, for two hours, then return here. Assumption: Program subject to variation by Captain or surrogate. Assumption confirmed?”
I was astonished. Deety had told me that Gay would sound almost alive if Zebbie used her full potential… but Gay sounded more alive, more alert, than she had in Oz.
“Assumption confirmed,” Zebbie answered. “Execute!”
For ten minutes – one hundred thirteen shifts – we had a “slide show” of universes from commonplace to weird beyond comprehension, when suddenly Gay told herself “Hold!” and added, “Ship ahoy!”
“Private Yacht Dora,” she was answered. “Is that you, Gay? What took you so long?”
I said, “Astrogator, I have the conn.” I was startled and scared. But a captain commands – or admits she can’t cut it and jumps overboard. A captain can be wrong – she cannot be uncertain.
Gay was saying rapidly: “Captain, I am not transmitting. I advise asking for Dora’s captain. I have transmitted: ‘Yes, this is Gay, Dora. I’m not late; we took the scenic route. Pipe down, girl, and put your skipper on.’ Captain, the mike is yours; they can’t hear me or any other voice inside me.”
“Thank you, Gay. Captain Hilda, master of Gay Deceiver, hailing Private Yacht Dora. Captain of Dora, please come in.”
In our central display appeared a face. We do not have television. This picture was flat rather than 3-D and not in color, just the greenish bright of radar. Nevertheless, it was a face, and lip movements matched words. “I’m Captain Long, Captain Hilda. We’ve been expecting you. Will you come aboard?”
(“Come aboard?”! So this is what comes of running around the universes in a modified duo, without so much as a pressure suit.) “Thank you, Captain Long, but I can’t accept. No air locks.”
“We anticipated that, Captain. Dora’s radius-nine-oh hold has been modified for Gay Deceiver. If you will do us the honor, we will take you inboard. Your wings are raked back, are they not? Hypersonic?”
“Yes.”
“I will move slowly, become dead in space with respect to you, then reorient and move to surround you as gently as a kiss.”
“If the Captain pleases – It is my duty to advise her if I see a mistake in prospect.”
I barely whispered. “Zebbie, you’re advising me not to?”
“Hell, no,” he answered aloud, secure in the knowledge that his voice would be filtered out. “Do it! What do we have to lose? Aside from our lives. And we’re sort o’ used to that.”
I answered, “Captain Long, you may take us inboard.”
“Thank you, Captain. The Dora will arrive in – I’m sorry; what time units do you use?”
Deety interrupted: “Gay, let my voice through. Captain Long -“
“Yes. You are not Captain Hilda?”
“I’m Deety. We call our units ‘seconds.’ These are seconds: one… two… three… four… five… six … seven… eight -“
“Synchronized! We call ours ‘Galactic seconds’ or simply ‘seconds’ but about three percent longer than yours. Dora will be almost touching your bow in… fifty-seven of your seconds.”

Spooky – Blackness blotting out stars, getting bigger. As it began to surround us, Jacob switched on forward grounding lights; we were entering a tunnel – being envaginated by it – with great precision and no apparent power – and it was clear that this enormous sheath was designed to fit us, even to alcoves for Gay’s doors. Shortly we were abreast them – cheerful to see that they were lighted. Oddest, we now seemed to be under gravity – perhaps midway between that of Earth-zero and Mars-ten.
“Outer doors closing,” came Captain Long’s voice. “Closed and sealing. Pres sure adjusting. Captain, we use nitrogen and oxygen, four to one, plus carbon dioxide sufficient to maintain breathing reflex. If content or pressure does not suit you, please tell me.”
“The mix described will suit us, Captain.”
“Don’t hesitate to complain. Pressure equalized. Debark either side, but I am on your starboard side, with my sister.”
I squirmed past Deety in order to introduce my family. Just as well, it gave me a chance to see them first. None of us can be shocked by skin but we can be surprised. But I’ve been practicing not showing surprise since grammar school as a major defense of my persona.
Here were two shapely young women, one with four stripes on each shoulder (painted? decals?), the other in three stripes – plus friendly smiles. “I’m Captain Long,” said the one with four stripes.
” – and her mutinous crew,” echoed the other.
“Commander Laurie, my twin sister.”
“Only we aren’t, because -“
” – we’re triplets.”
“Mutinies are limited to the midwatch -“
” – so as not to disturb passengers, of which -“
” – we have two more. Knock it off, Laurie, and -“
” – show them to their quarters. Aye aye, Cap’n.”
“Hey! Don’t I get introduced!” From all around came the voice that had hailed us.
“Sorry,” said Captain Long. “That’s our untwin sister, Dora. She runs many of the ship’s functions.”
“I run everything,” Dora asserted. “Laz and Lor are purely ornamental. Which one of you jokers shut off Gay?”
“Dora!”
“I retract the word ‘jokers.'”
“It would be kind,” Captain Long told me, “to let them chat. Our thought processes are so much slower than hers that a talk with another computer is a treat.”
“Deety?” I asked.
“I’ll wake her, Captain. Gay won’t go off and leave us.”
Captain Long’s mouth twitched. “She can’t. Those outer doors are armor.” I decided not to hear. Instead I said “Captain, your ship is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Let us show you to your quarters.”
“We planned to be away only two hours.”
“I don’t think that is a problem. Dora?”
“Time-irrelevant. They left home four-minus standard seconds ago; their planet is on a different duration axis. Neat, huh? For protein-type purposes they’ll get home when they left; I won’t even have to figure interval and reinsert them. Couple of weeks, couple of years – still four-minus seconds. Laz-Lor, we’ve lucked again!”
Gay’s voice (also from all around us) confirmed it: “Captain Hilda, Dora is right. I’m teaching her six-dimensional geometry; it’s new to her. When they are home – not just time-irrelevant – they march in Tau duration with Earth-Prime on ‘t’ axis – one we never explored.”
Jacob jerked his head up, looked for the voice. “But that’s prepos -“
I interrupted. “Jacob!”
“Eh? Yes, Hilda?”
“Let’s complete introductions, then go to the quarters the Captain offered us.”
“Introductions can be considered complete, Captain Hilda. ‘Deety’ has to be Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter; the gentleman you called ‘Jacob’ must be your husband Doctor Jacob J. Burroughs. Therefore, the tall handsome young man is Doctor Zebadiah J. Carter, Doctor D.T.’s husband. Those are the people we were sent to fetch.”
I didn’t argue.
We followed a curving passageway, me with the Captain, her sister with my family. “One question, Captain?” I inquired. “Is nudity uniform in your ship? I don’t even have captain’s insignia.”
“May I give you a pair of stickums?”
“Do I need them?”
“As you please. I put these on just to receive you. People wear what they wish; Dora keeps the ship comfortable. She’s a good housekeeper.”
“What are your passengers wearing?”
“When I left the lounge, one was wearing perfume; the other had a sheet wrapped as a toga. Does your planet have dress taboos? If you will define them, we will try to make you feel at home.” She added, “Here are your quarters. If they don’t please you, tell Dora. She’ll rearrange partitions, or convert double beds into one giant bed, or four single beds, or any combination; we want you to be comfortable. When you feel like coming out, Dora will lead you.”
As the door contracted Jacob said, “You’ve proved your theories, Hilda. We’ve fallen into another story.”

Chapter XL

“Is there a mathematician in the house?”

Deety:
That suite had one bath – pardon me; “refresher” – bigger than three ordinary bathrooms. Hillbilly and I might be there yet, bathing and trying new gadgets, if Pop and Zebadiah hadn’t used brute force.
“Captain Auntie, what are you going to wear?”
“Chanel Number Five.”
“Clothes, I mean.”
“‘Clothes’? When our hostess is wearing skin? Jane brought you up better than that.”
“Wanted to be sure. That you’ll back me up with Zebadiah, I mean.”
“If Zebbie gets irrational, I’ll pin his ears back. If Jacob is ashamed of his skinny runt, he will be wise not to say so. Gentlemen, are you going to chicken? I mean: ‘Which way are you going to chicken?”
“Jake, they’re picking on us again.”
“Ignore them, comrade. Here are blue briefs your size. Hey! – with a stuffed codpiece! I’ll wear them myself.”
“Jacob!”
“Listen to the woman. Naked as a peeled egg, planning to meet strangers – and snapping at me for wanting to boast a little. Time was, my small and sultry bride, that a gentleman never left his chambers without a codpiece equal to his status.”
Auntie countered with: “Jacob, I spoke hastily. Shouldn’t the second-in-command wear a larger codpiece than the pilot? ‘ – equal to his status,’ you said.”
“But Allah took care of Zeb. Surely you’ve noticed, beloved?”
My husband butted in. “Jake! No barroom betting! Wear the blue; I’ll take these red ones.”
Zebadiah couldn’t get into the red briefs; the blue pair was too big for Pop. They traded. Same story. They traded back – each pair was too small. By great effort they got them on – they fell off.
Pop chucked his aside. “Dora!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please connect me with your captain.”
“I was just funning! You wouldn’t tell on me – would you?”
Aunt Hilda took over. “He won’t tell, Dora. Are you and Gay getting acquainted?”
“We sure are! Gay’s been more places than I have-and I’ve been everywhere. She’s a smart girl!”
“We think so, thank you. What should our men wear?”
“I hold ambient at twenty-seven and deck pads a degree warmer; why wear anything? But for fetishists I supply minilaplaps of opaque tissue. In the ‘fresher, cubby nine-bee. Better get them to a therapist before those symptoms get infected. Good therapists where we’re going.”
I went looking for stowage 9-b; Aunt Hilda went on talking. “Where is that, Dora?”
“Please address such questions to the Captain. As housekeeper I can tell you anything. As astrogator I must refer questions – I mean they made me put a choke filter on that circuit! Is that fair? I ask you! I’m older than the twins.”
“It depends on the ship,” Aunt Hilda said, carefully not answering. “We each do what we do best; age is not a factor. Ask Gay.”
“Oh, she’s hooked in.”
“Sure am, Cap’n Hilda honey, through Dora’s ears – and eyes! Say, you look just like your voice – that’s a compliment.”
“Why, thank you, Gay!”
I interrupted: “Dora, are these laplaps?”
“Of course. But while we’re all here – You don’t need two ‘freshers in a ship that small. Gay needs the space for a Turing mod I’ll help with. So if the fetishists will clear their gear out of Buster Brown and – ” Dora broke off suddenly: “The Captain will be pleased to receive the Captain and ship’s cornpany of Gay Deceiver in the lounge at her convenience. That means ‘Right now.’ Follow me – little blue light.”
I had been trying on a green laplap. They didn’t weigh anything. Like wrapping fog around your hips. I snatched it off and wrapped it around Zebadiah: “That’s the nearest to nothing you’ll ever wear, Zebadiah, but it does the trick.” (I don’t blame men for being shy. Our plumbing is out of sight, mostly, but theirs is airconditioned and ofttimes embarrassingly semaphoric. Embarrasses them, I mean; women find it interesting, often amusing. My nipples show my emotions, too – but in the culture in which I grew up nipples don’t count that much.)

The little blue light led us around, then inboard. This “yacht” was large enough to get lost in. “Dora, can you see and hear in every part of the ship?”
“Of course,” the blue light answered. “But in the Commodore’s suite, I can scan only by invitation. R.H.I.P. Lounge straight ahead. Call me if you want me. Midnight snacks a house specialty. I’m the best.” The little light flicked out.
The lounge was circular and large; four people were gathered in one corner. (How does a circle have a corner? By arranging contours and cushions and nibble foods and a bar to turn it into a chummy space.) Two were the twins; they had peeled off the stickums which left no way to tell them apart.
The others were a young woman and a man who looked fortyish. He wasn’t the one wearing a sheet; the young woman was. He was wearing much the same as our men but more like a kilt and in a plaid design.
One twin took charge: “Commodore Sheffield, this is Captain Hilda, First Officer Carter, Chief Pilot Burroughs, Copilot Deety Carter. You’ve all met my sister but not our cousin, Elizabeth Long.”
“Now introduce us over again,” ordered “Commodore Sheffield.” (“Commodore Sheffield” indeed! Whom did he think he was fooling?)
“Yes, sir. Doctor Jacob Burroughs and his wife Hilda, Doctor Zebadiah Carter and his wife Doctor Deety Burroughs Carter. Doctor Elizabeth Long, Doctor Aaron Sheffield.”
“Wait a half,” my husband interrupted. “If you’re going to do that, I must add that Captain Hilda has more doctorates than all the three of us, together.”
Captain Long looked at her sister: “Lor, I feel naked.”
“Laz, you are naked.”
“Not where it matters. Commodore, do you still own that diploma mill in New Rome? What are you charging for doctor’s degrees? Nothing fancy, say a Ph.D. in theory of solid state. One for each of us.”
“How about a family discount, Ol’ Buddy Boy?”
The “Commodore” glanced at the overhead. “Dora, keep out of this.”
“Why? I want a doctor’s degree, too. I taught them solid state.”
He looked at the young woman in (half out of) the sheet. “Does Dora have a point?”
“She does.”
“Dora, you get the same treatment as your sisters. Now shut up. All three are declared special doctoral candidates, B.I.T., required residence and courses completed but writtens and orals as tough as you think you are smart. That diploma mill – Certainly I own it. It’s for suckers. You three must produce. Two regents being present, it’s official. Dora, tell Teena.”
“You betcha, Buddy Boy! ‘Doctor Dora’ – won’t that be neat?”
“Pipe down. Friends, these twin sisters could have several doctorates by flow, had they chosen to bury themselves on a campus. They are geniuses -“
“Hear, hear!”
” – and the Long family is proud of them. But erratic, insecure, unpredictable, and you turn your backs at your own risk. Nevertheless they are my favorite sisters and I love them very much.”
They looked at each other. “He acknowledged us.”
“It took him much too long.”
“Let’s be big about it.”
“Both sides?”
“Now!” – they bowled him off his feet. He was standing – they hit with the same vector, with a quick assist from their “sister” Dora (she cut the gravity field for two tenths of a second), and sent him in a complete back flip. He bounced on his arse.
He seemed undisturbed. “Beautifully timed, girls. Pax?”
“‘Pax,'” they answered, bounded to their feet, pulled him to his. “We’re proud of you, Buddy Boy; you’re shaping up.”
I decided to kick it over, learn why we had been kidnapped. Yes, “kidnapped.” I got to my feet before he could sit down. “And I am proud,” I said, dropping a deep court curtsy, “to have the honor of meeting the Senior… of the Howard Families.”
Thunderous silence –
The woman in-and-out of the sheet said, “Lazarus, there was never a chance of getting away with it. These are sophisticated people. They have what you must have. Drop your deviousness and throw yourself on their mercy. I’ll start it by telling my own experience. But first -“
She got to her feet, letting the sheet drop. “Dora! May I have a long mirror? An inverter if possible – otherwise a three-way.”
Dora answered, “Teena can afford such stunts as inverters – I can’t; I have a ship to run. Here’s your three-way.” A partition vanished, replaced by a three-way mirror, lavish in size, taller than I.
She held out her hands to me. “Doctor D.T., will you join me?”
I let her pull me to my feet, stood with her at the mirror. We glanced at ourselves; she turned us around. “Do you all see it? Doctor Hilda, Doctor Carter, Doctor Burroughs? Lazarus, do you see it?”
The two she did not address answered. Laz (perhaps Lor) said, “They look as much alike as we do.” The other answered, “More.” “Except for – ” “Shush! It’s not polite.”
Lazarus said, “I always have to step in it to find it. But I never claimed to be bright.”
She didn’t answer; we were looking at ourselves in the mirror. The resemblance was so great as to suggest identical twins as with Lapis Lazuli and Lorelei Lee – Yes, I had known at once who they were. Captain Auntie did, too; I’m not sure about our husbands.
Those are nice teats – I can admit it when I see them on someone else. It’s no virtue to have this or that physical asset; it’s ancestry combined with self-obligation to take care of one’s body. But a body feature can be pleasing to the owner as well as to others.
Same broad shoulders, same wasp waist, same well-packed, somewhat exaggerated buttocks.
“We’re alike another way, too,” she said. “What’s the fourth root of thirty-seven?”
“Two point four-six-six-three-two-five-seven-one-five. Why?”
“Just testing. Try me.”
“What’s the Number of the Beast?”
“Uh – Oh! Six sixty-six.”
“Try it this way: Six to the sixth power, and that number in turn raised to its sixth power.”
“The first part is forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six and – Oh, that’s a brute! It would be one and a fraction – one-point-oh-three-plus times ten to the twenty-eighth. Do you know the exact number?”
“Yes but I had a computer crunch it. It’s – I’ll write it.” I glanced around – at once a little waldo handed me a pad and stylus. “Thanks, Dora.” I wrote:
10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056.
“Oh, how beautiful!”
“But not elegant,” I answered. “It applies to a six-dee geometry and should be expressed in base six – but we lack nomenclature for base six and our computers don’t use it. However – ” I wrote:
Base six: 101010 = 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.
She looked delighted and clapped. “The same number,” I went on, “in its elegant form. But no words that I know by which to read it. That awkward base-ten expression at least can be put into words.”
“Mmm, yes – but not easily. ‘Ten thousand three hundred and fourteen quadrillion, four hundred twenty-four thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight trillion, four hundred and ninety thousand five hundred and thirty-five billion, five hundred and forty-six milliard, one hundred and seventy-one million, nine hundred and forty-nine thousand, and fifty-six. But I would never say it other than as a stunt.”
I blinked at her. “I recognize that nomenclature – just barely. Here is the way I would read it: ‘Ten octillion, three hundred fourteen septillion, four hundred twenty-four sextillion, seven hundred ninety-eight quintillion, four hundred ninety quadrillion, five hundred thirty-five trillion, five hundred forty-six billion, one hundred seventy-one million, nine hundred forty-nine thousand, and fifty six.”
“I was able to follow you by reading your figures at the same time. But base-six is best. Is the number interesting or useful as well as beautiful?”
“Both. It’s the number of universes potentially accessible through my father’s device.”
“I must talk with him. Lazarus, shall I tell my story now? It’s the proper foundation.”
“If you are willing. Not shy about it.”
“‘Shy’!” She went over and kissed him – a buss en passant but one in which time stops. “Old darling, I was shy before I found out who I am. Now I’m relaxed, and as bold as need be. New friends, I was introduced as Elizabeth Long, but my first name is usually shortened to a nickname – ‘Lib.’ And, yes, I’m Dr. Long. Mathematics. My full name is Elizabeth Andrew Jackson Libby Long.”
I was more braced for it having swapped some casual mental calculation with her. I have this trick of letting my features go slack. I don’t have to think about it; I’ve been doing it since I was three when I found that it was sometimes best to keep thoughts to myself.
I did this now and watched my family.
The Hillbilly looked thoughtful, and nodded.
Zebadiah prison-whispered to me: “Sex change.”
Pop tackled it systematically. “I recognize the second, third, and fourth names. You were once known by them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have the nickname ‘Slipstick’?”
“Yes, and, before that, ‘Pinky.'” She ran a hand through her curls and smiled. “Not pink but close enough.”
“Now you are a woman. There is no point in guessing; you mentioned a story to tell.”
“Yes. Dora, how about a round of drinks? Lazarus, how’s your supply of those narcotic sticks?”
Pop said, “None of us smokes.”
“These are neither tobacco nor bhang – nor addictive. They produce a mild euphoria. I am not urging you; I want one myself. Thanks, Lazarus, and pass them around. Now about me –
“I was male nearly eight hundred years, then I was killed. I was dead fifteen hundred years, then I was revived. In renewing me it was found that my twenty-third gene pair was a triplet – XXY.”
The Hillbilly said, “I see. With Y dominant.”
I added: “Twin, Aunt Hilda is a biologist.”
“Good! Aunt Hilda – May I call you that? As my twin does? – will you help me with the hard parts?” Lib smiled and it was my smile – a happy grin. “The Y was dominant but the double dose of X bothered me and I didn’t know why. I did well enough as a male – thirty years in the Space Navy of Old Home Terra as a result of an officer taking an interest in me and getting me an appointment to its Academy. But I lacked command temperament and spent most of my service as a staff technical officer – I rarely commanded and never a large ship.” She grinned again. “But today, as a self-aware female instead of a mixed-up male I do not hesitate to command.
“To go back – I was never easy with boys or men. Shy, solitary, and regarded as queer. Not the idiom meaning homosexual… I was too shy. Although it probably would have been good for me. I was a ‘missing Howard’ in those days – after the Interregnum – and it was years after I entered the Navy that the Families found me. I married then, into the Families. Most XXY people are infertile – I was not. In the next seventy years I had twenty-one children and enjoyed living with my wives, enjoyed sex with them, loved our children.
“Which brings us to the escape from Earth led by Lazarus. I was a bachelor, both my wives having remarried. Friends, Lazarus was the first man I ever loved.”
“Lib, that has nothing to do with the story! I didn’t know you were in love with me.”
“It has everything to do with my story. Off and on, for eight centuries, we were partners in exploration. Then I was killed – my own carelessness. Eventually Lazarus and his sisters cremated me by tossing me into the atmosphere of Old Home Terra in a trajectory that would cause ashes to impact near where I was born. Lazarus, they don’t seem surprised. Do they disbelieve me?”
“Certainly we believe you!” I interrupted. “But what you’ve told us isn’t news to us. What we don’t know is how you are now alive and female. Reincarnation?”
“Oh, no! Reincarnation is nonsense.”
I found myself irritated. Reincarnation is something I have no opinion about, since a housecleaning I gave my mind after we lost Mama Jane. “You have data?” I demanded.
“Deety, did I step on your toes?”
“No, you didn’t, Lib. I asked if you had data.”
“Well… no. But if you assume the truth of the proposition, I think I can show that it leads to a contradiction.”
“The negative-proof method. It’s tricky, Lib. Ask Georg Cantor.”
Lib laughed. “Okay, I will attempt to have no opinion until someone shows me verifiable data, one way or the other.”
“I was hoping you had data, Lib, since you’ve been dead and I haven’t. Or don’t recall having been.”
“But I don’t recall being dead, either. Just a whale of a blow in the back… then dreams I can’t remember… then someone asking me patiently, again and again, whether I preferred to be a man or a woman… and at last I tracked clearly enough to realize that the question was serious… and I answered, ‘Woman’ – and they made me answer that question at least once a day for many days – and then I went to sleep one night and when I woke, I was a woman… which did not astonish me nearly as much as to learn that fifteen centuries had passed. Being a woman seemed completely natural. I’ve had five children now – borne five, I mean; I had sired twenty-one… and one was put into me by one of my own descendants. Lazarus, when are you going to knock me up?”
“When the Greeks count time by the Kalends.”
“Libby honey, when you want to swing that – if you aren’t joking – check with me.”
“Thanks, Dora; I’ll remember. Lazarus, you will have to explain the paradox; I was just a puppet.”
“Isn’t it bedtime? We’re keeping our guests up.”
“Captain Hilda?” Lib inquired.
“Deety is in charge of time.”
“Lib, I don’t know ship’s time yet. I gave you our seconds; we have sixty seconds to a minute; sixty minutes to an hour; twenty-four hours in a day. Primitive, eh? Is your time metric?”
“Depends on what you mean, Deety. You work to base ‘ten,’ do you not?”
“Yes. I mean: No, I work to base ‘two’ because I’m a computer programmer. But I’m used to converting – don’t have to think about it.”
“I knew you used ‘ten’ when I made a guess as to what you meant by ‘six to the sixth power’ and you accepted my answer. We now work to base-one-hundred-twenty for most purposes – binary one-one-one-one-zero-zero-zero.”
“Five-factorial. Sensible. Fits almost any base.”
“Yes. We use it for routine work. But in scientific work we use base-three, because our computers use trinary. I understand it took Gay and Dora several milliseconds to interface.”
“We aren’t that slow!”
“My apologies, Dora. For some work we use a time scale that fits trinary. But for daily living, our clock is just like yours – but three percent slower. Our planet’s day is longer.”
“By forty-two of your minutes.”
“You’re quick, Deety. Yes.”
“Your computers must be three-phase A.C.”
“You are quicker than I was two thousand years ago. And I was quicker then.”
“No way to tell and any computer makes us look like Achilles’ tortoise. We had dinner at eighteen. Gay entered Dora about an hour and a quarter later. So for us it’s about half past twenty, and we usually go to bed between twentytwo and twenty-three if we get to bed on time which we never do. What time is it in the ship and what is ship’s routine?”
The others had let me and my new twin chatter. Now Lazarus said, “If this madhouse has a routine, I’ve never found it.”
“Ol’ Buddy Boy, you don’t have a routine. I run this joint on the bell. Deety, it’s just – bong! – twenty-one… and Lazarus never went to bed that early in all his evil years. Buddy Boy, what are you dodging?”
“Manners, Dora.”
“Yes, Pappy. Deety, he’s dodging the chicanery with which he fooled even himself… because he must admit the triple chicanery he wants to rope you in on – and it takes Gay because I’m not built for it. Until today I never heard of ‘t,’ Tau and Teh. I thought ‘t’ – that you call Tau – was all there was. Aside from paratime in an encapsulation surrounded by irrelevancy such as I am taking us through.
“But back to the corpse caper – Lib got herself killed about eight hundred Post Diaspora. Lazarus slaps her – him – into a tank of LOX, and places him-her-it in orbit, with a beacon. Comes back quick as he can – and can’t find Libby’s cadaver. Fourteen centuries later my sister Teena, then known as Minerva, sees what should have been obvious, that any irrelevant ship, such as yours truly, is a time machine as well as a starship. A great light dawns on Lazarus; the corpse pickled in LOX is missing because he picked it up earlier. So he tries again, more than a thousand years later and five years earlier – and there it is! So Lazarus and I and Laz-Lor go to 1916 Old-Style-or-Gregorian, Old Home Terra, and bury Lib from the sky into the Ozarks where she – he – was born – which was pretty silly because we chucked her into those Green Hills about a century before she was – he – he was born. A paradox.
“But paradoxes don’t trouble us. We live in paratime, Laz-Lor are acute cases of parapsychology, we operate under paradoctrines. Why, take your family – four doctors. A double pair o’ docs.”
“Dora!”
“Pappy, you’re jealous. But I’ll say this for Lazarus: He’s slow but he gets there and has believed all his life that any paradox can be paradoctored. Happens he had lots of time to think after he chucked Lib to a fiery grave because he stayed in that primitive era and got his arse shot off and this caused a long convalescence.
“It occurs to him that, if he found the corpse through going back to shortly after he placed it in orbit, he might learn something interesting if he went back just before he put Lib’s remains in orbit. So when he’s well again, he does so, with his whole first team, headed by Doctor Ishtar, the greatest in the business, and I’m outfitted as a hospital with everything from microtomes to cloning capsules.
“So we go there and wait – we don’t land. Along comes Lazarus in the clunker that he and Lib used to risk their lives in, and Pappy comes out in a pressure suit and detaches the LOX tank, and Lib is buried in space, waiting for judgment day. We respect Pappy’s griefjust long enough for him to get out of the way, then I take the tank inside me. Ish gets to work, along with many others. Lots of live cells suitable for cloning. Brain intact. Dead but intact – okay, as all Ish wants are the memory configurations.
“In the course of this, Ishtar learns that the late lamented had the potential to go either way – which is why the Families’ best telepathic hypnotist is sent for and keeps asking this clone: When you wake up, what do you want to be? Man or woman?”
“It was much later, Dora. I was already awake.”
“Lib hon, you ask Ish. You had to decide long before you woke. Ish and her hormone artists had to work on you while you were still labile. Matter of fact, you never answered at all; the telepath kept reporting on your emotional state whenever you imagined yourself male, and your state when you imagined yourself female. Ish says that it made you happy to think of yourself as female.”
“That’s true. I’ve been ever so much happier as Elizabeth Long than I was as Andy Libby.”
“That’s it, folks. How Ish turned a mixed-up male into a happy female, fully functional and horny as Howard females always are.”
“Dora! We have guests.” Lazarus glowered.
“All married. Deety is youngest. Deety, did my bluntness shock you?”
“No, Dora. I’m horny enough to be a Howard myself. And terribly interested in how the great Slipstick Libby turns out to be my twin and female.”
“Female without surgery – none of those fakes done with a knife. But even Ish couldn’t have done it had not Lib supplied XXY, so that Ish could balance the clone either XX or XY by careful attention to endocrinal glands. Or could she? Must ask. Ish is genius-cubed, smarter than most computers. Lazarus can now explain his next sleight-of-hand – slightly illegal.”
“Hey!” I protested. “How about the corpse jettisoned into the Ozarks, Dora? Who was that?”
“Why, that was Lib.”
“Lib is right here. I’ve got my arm around her.”
That computer went tsk-tsk-tsk. “Deety. Doctor Deety. I just finished telling you that the Lib you are cuddling is a clone. After they drained every memory out of that frozen brain, what was left was dog food. Lib got slashed in the spine by the local equivalent of a cave bear. Ripped out her – his – backbone. Once Ish was through with it, Laz froze it again, we took it back and placed it in orbit, where we found it later – to our great surprise.”
“How could you be surprised when you put it there yourselves?”
Dora announced, loudly, “Is there a mathematician in the house?”
“Stop it, Dora. Thank you for recounting my saga; I learn a little every time I hear it.” Lib turned toward me and said softly, “Biological time versus durational time, Twin. Follow the entropy arrow through the loops of biological time and you will see that Lazarus was honestly surprised at every step even though he had – will-had – rigged every surprise. No grammar for it. Deety, I understand that you have studied semantics. Shall we try to devise a grammar for space-time complexities in six curved dimensions? I can’t contribute much but I can try to punch holes in your work.”
“Love to!” I wasn’t fooling. My twin is so sweet that maybe Deety is fairly sweet herself.

Chapter XLI

“A cat can be caught in almost any trap once – “

Jacob:
If A, then B. I trust I am a rational mathematician, not one of the romantics who have brought disrepute to our calling through such inanities as defining “infinity” as a number, confusing symbol with referent, or treating ignorance as a datum. When I found myself in the Land of Oz, I did not assume that I had lost my reason. Instead it prepared me emotionally to meet other “fictional” characters.
Stipulated: I may be in a locked ward. But to assume that to be factual serves no purpose other than suicide of personality. I shall act on what my senses report. I am not the bumpkin who said on seeing a giraffe: “There ain’t no sich animal.”
I find myself in bed with my lovely wife Hilda in sumptuous quarters of star yacht Dora as guests of the utterly fictional “Lazarus Long.” Is this a reason to try to find the call button in order to ask a still-more-fictional nurse for a nonexistent shot to end this hallucination? This is an excellent bed. As for Hilda – Solomon has reason to envy me; Mahomet with all his houris is not as blessed as I.
Tomorrow is soon enough to unravel any paradox. Or the Day After Tomorrow. Better yet, Not This October. After The End of Eternity may be best.
Why disturb a paradox? As Dora pointed out, Hilda and I are a pair o’ docs ourselves… with no wish to be disturbed, and most certainly not to be unravelled.
Since Hilda married me, I have not once taken a sleeping pill.
No one called us. I woke up feeling totally rested, found my wife in the fresher brushing her teeth with, Yes, Pepsodent-removed brush from mouth, kissed her, placed brush back in her mouth. When she finished brushing her teeth, I asked, “Seen the kids?”
“No, Jacob.”
“So. Dora!”
“No need to shout; I’m sitting on your shoulder. Would you like breakfast trays in bed?”
“Have we missed the breakfast hour?”
“Professor Burroughs, breakfast hour in me starts at midnight and ends at noon. Lunch is at thirteen, tea at sixteen-thirty, dinner at twenty, snacks and elevenses at any time. Dinner always formal, no other meal.”
“Hmm – How formal is ‘formal’?” Hilda now had more wardrobe – but Beulahiand is not high style.
“‘Formal’ means formal dress of your culture or ours, or it means skin. No casual dress. As defined by the Commodore: ‘Whole hawg or none.’ Amendment: Jewelry, perfume, and cosmetics are not proscribed by the no-casualdress rule. Ship’s services include sixty-minute cleaning and pressing, and a variety of formal dress of New-Rome styling, washables for the convenience of guests who do not travel with formal dress, prefer to be dressed at a formal meal, and do not choose to dine alone.”
“Very hospitable. Speaking of washables, we found everything but a dirty-clothes hamper. I have a laplap to put in.”
“But that’s a washable, Doctor.”
“That’s what I said. I’ve worn it; it should be washed.”
“Sir, I am not as fluent in English as in Galacta. By ‘washable’ I mean: Step into a shower while wearing it; it will go away.”
Hilda said, “We’ll take a dozen gross.”
“Captain Hilda, ‘dozen’ and ‘gross’ are not in my memories. Will you please rephrase?”
“Just a side remark to my husband, Dora. What are New-Rome high styles today?”
“‘Today’ I must construe as meaning the latest I have in stock. Styles follow the stock market. In evening dress, men are wearing their skirts floor length with a slight train. Bodices are off one or both shoulders. Bare feet or sandals are acceptable. Colors are bright and may be mixed in discordants. Weapons are required – may be symbolic but must be displayed. Ladies, of course, follow the cycle out of phase. Skirts are hardly more than ruffles this season, worn quite low. If tops are worn – not required this season and some ladies prefer cosmetics in flat colors – if worn, the teat windows may be either open or transparent. Transparents having quarter-lambda iridescence are popular this cycle, especially if one teat is bare without cosmetics while the other sports a changing-iridescent transparency.” The computer’s voice changed from a well-modulated adult female voice to that of an eager little girl:
“I hope somebody picks that; I like to look at it! How about Doctor Deety and Doctor Lib, one shiny on her left teat, the other shiny on her right, and place them side by side. Neat, huh!”
“It would be spectacular,” I agreed. (And they would look like clowns! Still, Deety might go along. The child likes to please people, even a computer. Perhaps especially a computer.)
“You old goat, would you like a skirt with a slight train?”
“Hilda!”
“Dora, do you have formal washables in my husband’s size? What measurements do you need?”
“I have the Professor’s measurements, Ma’am. I will fetch an assortment to your quarters sometime after noon when you are not sleeping or otherwise engaged. An equivalent assortment for you, I assume?”
“If you wish, Dora. I may not wear that style.”
“Captain Hilda is an excellent composition herself. I’m an expert engineer; I know good design when I see it. That’s not flattery; Laz-Lor tell me that I should learn to flatter. I’m not sure I have the circuitry for it. Perhaps I can learn it from Gay.”
“You sure can, Dorable; I’ve been flattering my four charges seems like forever.”
“Gay, have you been listening?”
“Mad at me, Aunt Hilda?”
“Never angry with our Gay Deceiver. But it’s polite to let people know you’re present.”
“But – Dora has eyes and she lets me look.”
“Captain Hilda, Gay is with me all the time now. Do you forbid that? We didn’t know.” Dora had slipped into her little-girl voice and sounded stricken.
Time to intervene – “Gay, Dora – Hilda and I don’t mind. I’ll tell Deety and Zeb; they won’t mind.”
“Jake, you’re my pal!”
“Gay, you’ve saved our lives many times; we owe you any fun we can offer. But, Gay, with Dora’s eyes and ears you’ll see and hear things not seen by your radars, not heard unless we switched you on. Do either of you have the word ‘discretion’ in your perms?”
“No, Jake. What does it mean?”
“I’ll explain it,” Dora said eagerly. “It means we see and hear but pretend not to. Like last night when -“
“Later, Dora. Over your private circuits. What ship’s time is it and are we late for breakfast? I don’t see a clock.”
“I’m the clock. It is ship’s time nine-oh-three. You are not last for breakfast. Commander Laz is sleeping late; she didn’t go to bed right after the mutiny. Captain Long – that’s Lor – ate on the bridge – a crude insult to my watch-standing but she’s good company. The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin. The Doctors Deety and Zeb and Lib are just starting.”
“How are they dressed?” asked my Hilda.
“In serviettes. Doctor Lib is wearing ‘Jungle Flower’ in cologne and powder and perfume; she likes strong ones. Doctor Zeb seems to have forgotten to use any but his own scent is rather pleasant. I can’t place what Doctor Deety is wearing but it has both musk and sandalwood. Shall I formularize it by symbols?”
“It’s ‘Blue Hour’ and I’m startled; my stepdaughter doesn’t need a scent. Neither does Lib, darn it. Jacob, are you ready?”
I answered at once. I had taken care of this and that while the computers chattered, including trying a depilatory tricky until I learned how to block it off – my sideburns were missing. Zeb dressed in a serviette – Libby Long the only one not of our family – and Lib used to be male. A good time to rub blue mud in my belly button – “I’m ready.”
Hilda noticed my decision by not noticing it. The blue “Tinker-Bell” light appeared, led us to a small dining room, where we encountered a Long-Family custom – did not realize it because it matched a ceremony of our own: Lib saw us, came over, kissed Hilda, kissed me – briefly but with time-stop. Then my daughter was kissing me good-morning while Zeb kissed my wife. We swapped as usual; Deety kissed Hilda – and Zeb took my shoulders, hissed into my ear, “Stand still” – and gave me the double Latin kiss, each cheek.
Did my blood brother think I would let him down in the presence of one not of our family? Our custom had started after our double elopement. While Zeb and I usually used the Latin symbol, four rapid pecks, once at Snug Harbor we had missed the fast timing, hit each other mouth to mouth – didn’t pull back but didn’t stretch it out. We declined to make anything of it – although I was aware of the break in taboo and he was, too.
Two mornings later I was last in; Zeb was seated with his back to me. He leaned back and turned his head to speak to me; I leaned down, kissed him on the mouth firmly but briefly, moved on and kissed my daughter not as briefly, moved on and kissed my wife thoroughly, sat down and demanded, “What’s for breakfast?”
After that the only invariant was: “What’s for breakfast?” Zeb and I used either Latin pecks or busses on the mouth – brief, dry, symbolic, initiated by either of us. It meant that we were closer than a handshake; it held no sexual significance.
So I was disgrunted that Zeb thought it was necessary to warn me. Let me add: Women are my orientation and Hilda my necessity. But I tried the other way with my high school chum our graduation week. We were experimenting to find out what the shooting was all about – planned but date subject to opportunity – which turned up that last week of school. A two-hour examination, no other school that day; a half hour of tennis, sudden realization that we were free and that his parents’ flat was empty and would remain so until late afternoon. Der Tag!
We gave it a fair trial. We bathed first and thoroughly. We were not shy or afraid of each other. We were not afraid of getting caught – doors locked and bolted, chains on, S.O.P. by his parents’ rules. We liked each other and wanted it to work.
Total failure – Got up, had peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches with milk, discussed it as we ate. Neither of us upset, not disgusted, no bad breath or similar hazards – but no results.
Brushed our teeth again, washed each other – gave it a second try. So much calisthenics. No “morals” about it, willing and eager to add it on. Not for us – so we killed all evidence and got in three more sets of tennis.
That’s how it is with Zeb and me. I love him dearly – but I love him for what he is – while fully empathizing that my daughter thinks he is the greatest lover since – Well, the greatest.
But if Zeb ever makes a pass at me, I will do my amateur-acting best to make him feel that this is what I have been waiting for all my life.
I’ve been trying to say why I was miffed. Never mind, I shall make it clear to Zeb that I will never let him down.
About that Long-Family custom – “Long” is not the name of a Howard Family; it is a group of Howards who live together and who added “Long” (the pseudonym most used by Lazarus) to their regular names. It’s a commune, an extended family, a serial family, a god-knows-what. There is probably no word for it in any language and at least two computers are full members. They come and go and raise children and only the family geneticist (Doctor Ishtar) is sure of parentage and who cares? I suspect that they are all ambi in sex but no outsider could guess – and I am an outsider.
But of this I am certain: When Long meets Long for the first time any day, they kiss – and it’s no Latin peck.
I learned that I could have anything I wanted for breakfast. This should have been enough to tell me that we were being set up for the tale. I’m getting ahead of my story, as I know things about the Long Family that I read in a book that you may not have read. This ship Dora came from a planet many parsecs from the Earth-analog of that universe, from a time over two thousand years in my future looked at one way… or a time totally irrelevant to mine through not having duration axis in common.
Yet I could have anything: Post Toasties, hens’ eggs any style, bacon, ham, sausage, breakfast steak, toast, orange marmalade, Concord grape jelly, buckwheat cakes – and not one of these foods is from Tertius, home of the Long Family.
Pepsodent in our ‘fresher – As I was contemplating a beautiful golden waffle with one bite of it melting in my mouth, Lazarus Long walked in… and a voice in my head played back: “The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin.”
Add that Lazarus was dressed as were Zeb and I save that he did not yet have a napkin.
Working hypothesis: Lazarus had listened in on every word between husband and wife.
Second hypothesis: “Dora, tell me when they get up, tell me when they arrive in the breakfast room – if they do, but offer trays as usual. If they eat in the breakfast room, let me know how each is dressed.”
The first hypothesis defines a grave social offense; the second outlines information a host or hostess is entitled to know. How do I find out which is which? Answer: I can’t, as Lazarus Long will give me the answer that profits him and that computer is loyal to him, not to me.
As soon as Lazarus finished kissing Lib Long, he was grabbed by Deety and kissed… then he caught Hilda’s eye, glanced at me and sloooowly bent to kiss her, giving her and me, severally, time to make that tiny gesture that says No – and did kiss her because I depend on Hilda’s instincts and will never tell her No in such circumstances, or greater or lesser. Hilda put her hand back of his neck and thereby controlled the kiss and made it long – and I tore up the first hypothesis and marked the second one “Q.E.D.” Hilda’s instincts about people are infallible; I think she is a touch telepathic.
As may be, we would now help him if possible.
To Zeb and me he simply said, “Good morning” – his instincts are reputed to be infallible, too.
I agreed that it was a “good morning” while noting to myself that it was a symbol without a referent save for social connotation (morning? In an irrelevancy?) but added sincerely, “Lazarus, this is the best waffle I ever tasted.”
“Then please tell Dora.”
“Dora, did you hear what I said to the Commodore?”
“I surely did, Professor Jake! Six more?”
I felt my waistline-firm and many centimeters trimmed off. “Six more is what I want -“
“Right away!”
“But half of one is all I dare eat. Deety, the next time we go to Oz, will you ask Glinda whether or not there is a magic for gluttons – me, I mean – to permit them to eat as much as they want while three fourths of it disappears?”
“I’m sure she could do it; I’m equally sure that she would not. She’s an ethical witch; you would not be able to convince her that your purpose was worthy.”
“You are depressingly logical, my dear.”
Lib said, “Professor, you have actually been to the Land of Oz? Really and truly?”
“Really and truly. Dora, is Gay on the line?”
“On deck, Jake” – Gay’s voice.
“Has anyone been in to see our portside annex?”
“How could they? Captain Hilda has not authorized it.”
“But – Hilda?”
“No, dear. Sorry to be blunt, Commodore and Doctor Lib, but I won’t authorize an open door because there are too many things that must not be touched. But I will be delighted to escort guests into Gay Deceiver almost anytime including right now; I’ve finished eating.”
“I accept!”
“Then come along, Elizabeth. Anyone else?”
Lazarus said, “Dora, shove my breakfast to the back of the stove; I’ll eat it later.”
“A jelly omelet? I’ll eat it myself.”
“Do that, Dorable. Captain, I’m ready.”
Laz-Lor showed up together, did not want to be left out. We ended up quite a crowd: eight humans, two computers.
Hilda stopped us at Gay’s starboard door. “Friends, again I must be blunt. As you cross the sill of that door, you are leaving Star Yacht Dora and entering an independent command, the Gay Deceiver, even though Dora totally surrounds Gay. Inside that door, I command, responsible to no one, unlimited in authority. Captain Lor, do you understand and agree with the legal theory?”
Captain Lorelei glanced at her sister, looked unhappy. “Captain Hilda, I do agree. Therefore I can’t come aboard. I can’t abandon my command.”
My wife looked terribly distressed. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Lazarus Long interrupted. “Captain Hilda, I’m sorry another way. I don’t agree with your legal theory. I have had more than two thousand years more experience with law than my sister has… all sorts of law in all sorts of cultures. I’m not speaking of justice; I’ll leave that to philosophers. But I know what legal theories work with humans, and what ones have been attempted, then abandoned because they could not be made to work. This situation is not new; it has occurred thousands, millions, of times: a larger vessel with a smaller vessel nested in it. The solution is always the same, whether it concerns starships, fishing boats, aircraft carriers, whatever. The smaller vessel is a separate command outside the larger vessel, but when it is inside the carrier vessel, it is legally part of it.”
My darling did not answer. She was picking out me, Zeb, and Deety by eye as Lazarus talked. As he finished she said briskly, “GayDeceiverOpenStarboardDoor. Man the car, prepare for space.”
I’m proud of our family. Zeb zipped past me to the farthest seat – which left me room to dive for mine as Deety was picking up Hilda bodily, shoving her inside, crowding in after her, turning and pulling her feet clear of the doorframe – yelping, “GayCloseDoors!”
I was belting in but looking to the right, where the action was. Lazarus Long grabbed the door while calling out, “Hey, wait a moment!”
He realized his mistake in time to keep his fingers. I had argued with Zeb when I discovered, during refitting, that he had removed the interlocks that prevent that sort of accident. He answered my protest: “Jake, when I tell those doors to close, I want them to close. If, in closing, one chops off a man’s head, you can assume that I think he looks better that way.”
Lazarus saved his hand but was knocked off his feet by the door – and I saw a bit of why he had lived so long. Instead of trying to check his fall, he gathered himself into a ball and took it on one buttock.
“Report!”
“Copilot belted checking seal!”
“Chief Pilot belted all systems go. Door seal being rechecked.”
“Navigator belted, ready.”
“Starboard door seal okay!”
“GayBounce!”
We were in free fall. No stars – total darkness.
“Astrogator. Advise.”
“I don’t know, Captain. We’ll have to ask Gay whether or not she can backtrack. Any backtrack. Beulahland, or any spot in her perms. I’m lost.”
Suddenly the stars came out. “Dora, calling Gay Deceiver. Come in, Gay.”
“Don’t answer. Zebbie, advise again. What happened?”
“I’m guessing. They cancelled encapsulation rather than risk losing us. They must be awfully anxious.” Zeb added, “The only thing we have that you can’t buy at the corner drugstore is Jake’s space-time twister. How they knew of it and why they want it I do not know.”
“Dora, calling Gay. Gay, please talk to me. Aren’t you still my friend? I know our bosses had a silly fuss – but we didn’t. Aren’t you ever going to speak to me again? I love you, Gay. Please don’t be mean to me.”
“Captain Hilda, may I please say hello to Dora and tell her that I am not angry at her? She’s a sweet girl, she really is. Captain, she let me use her eyes.”
“Let me speak to her first.”
“Oh, thank you! Gay, answering Dora. Come in, Dora.”
“Gay! You had me so scared. Don’t go away again, please. The Commodore wants to apologize to your boss. Will she talk to him?”
“Captain?”
“No. I’ll speak to Dora’s Captain, however.”
A cartoon of Lorelei’s features displayed on our central screen. “Lor speaking, Captain Hilda. My brother is terribly sorry and wants to apologize. My sisters and I are dreadfully upset and want you please to come back. I don’t claim any command over your ship despite the silly things my brother said. Lib has a message for you, too. She says that, topologically, there is no difference between you being inside us or us being inside you. Either way, we each surround the other.”
“I don’t see it topologically, Captain; I see it pragmatically. But please thank Elizabeth for me. I have this message for Lazarus Long. A cat can be caught in almost any trap once; but that cat will not be caught in the same trap twice.”
“The message is delivered.”
“Then it is time to say good-bye. Captain Lorelei, I cannot honestly thank you as kidnapping is not hospitality even when it is luxurious. But I don’t think that you or your sister – sisters – meant it that way. I blame it on that deceitful, devious brother of yours. Please tell your sisters and Libby good-bye for us and say that I am sorry we had to leave.”
“Captain, wait! There is something I must do first.”
“Captain Lor, I must warn you I have you in my gunsights.”
“What? Oh! We are unarmed. Not anything like that. I’ll be back quickly. Perhaps you would like Dora to sing? But please don’t go away!” The face in the screen pulled away.
“What kind of songs do you like, folks? I know lots of songs. One-Ball Reilly; and the Green Hills and On Guard Christmas So’s Yours and Santa Carolita and Mademoiselle from Army Tears and the Pawnshot song and The Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flagpole and Mary O’Meara and Soldier, Ask Not and just tell me what you like, and – here comes Sister. Captain Lor.”
“Captain Hilda, thanks from my heart for waiting. Can you record?”
“Gay, recording mode. Go ahead.”
“I have placed my brother under arrest and confined him to quarters. I, Captain Lorelei Lee Long, Master of Star Yacht Dora, affirm for use in any court that I have no authority over yacht Gay Deceiver and will never attempt to assert authority over Gay Deceiver no matter what circumstances and, furthermore, I now place myself, my crew, and my ship Dora under command of Captain Hilda Burroughs, henceforth commodore of both ships, this assignment of command irrevocable by me or my sisters, and revocable solely by Commodore Burroughs at her sole discretion. End of message. Hilda, won’t you come home? Laz is crying and I don’t know what to do. We need you. Buddy Boy never did tell you why. But we do! May I tell you?”
“Go ahead, Lor.”
“To save our mother’s life!”
(I said, softly, “I’ll be damned.”)
My wife hesitated, then said, “Is Elizabeth Long there?”
“Yes, yes! She’s been listening – she’s crying, too – and I would be but I’m Captain and can’t.”
The smudged faces changed. “Lib Long speaking, Commodore.”
“Libby, Captain Lorelei has told me something not only hard to believe but, if she is cloned from her brother as I have read, she may have his talent for lying. From what I know of you, I don’t think you ever learned how to lie.”
“Commodore, it is true that I never learned to lie convincingly. So I gave it up a long time ago.”
“Very well, Lib. Is Lazarus Long in fact confined and under arrest?”
“Yes, to both. His door won’t open and Dora has been instructed not to let him out until you permit it.”
“What’s this about saving her mother’s life? If they are clones from a man the age Lazarus is alleged to be, their mother must have died a couple of millennia back.”
“It’s as complex as my case, Commodore, but quite different. The twins have host-mothers. But Lor was speaking of the genetic mother of herself, her twin sister, and Lazarus Long. She was reported dead more than two thousand Old-Home-Terra years ago. But there is some hope that the records were confused and that it may be possible to save her. It can’t be done without your help and the help of the Gay Deceiver. I don’t think the chances are good, even so. But without your help – well, I would have to try to devise such a drive as Gay is reported to have – and I don’t think I can.”
“Wait a moment, Libby. Gay, cut transmission from cabin; keep circuit ready. Can you find your way unassisted back into your berth in Dora? Did you get it into your perms?”
“I did. I thought I might want to find Dora someday. Are you displeased with me? I know it wasn’t authorized. But I didn’t three-times it! I can wipe it.”
“Gay Deceiver. New program. New parking spot. Code word ‘Dora Long.’ I tell you three times.”
“Hilda, I hear you three times!”
“Gay Deceiver. ‘Dora Long.’ Execute!”
The stars went away and lighted alcoves were at our doors.

Chapter XLII

“You’re a figment of imagination.”

Zeb:
“Hear that, Laz? You’re a figment of imagination.”
“No, Lor. You are a figment; I’m a fig.” (What she said was “fica,” and Deety suppressed a giggle. I pinched her and told her in family tap code that she had a dirty mind – which she ignored, being proud of it rather than otherwise. It was a long time later that I learned that Laz had used a Galacta word – but the ancient pun still applied.)
Jake reiterated patiently, “Laz-Lor, the key point of Commodore Hilda’s theory is that we are all equally figments of imagination. ‘Reality’ thus becomes a null sythbol.”
Deety shook her head emphatically. “Stick to geometry, Pop. Or stamp collecting. Leave symbology to symbologists – such as your favorite daughter. I’m real, I am! Smell me.”
“No doubt you could use a bath. So could we all; it’s been an adrenaline day. But that’s the other side of the coin, Deety. ‘Imaginary’ and ‘Real’ turn out to be identical. Consider this chow bench. On one level of abstraction it is mathematical equations. At the level just below that it is a swirling nothlngness, with mass-energy a rare event. But on the gross level abstracted by my senses I can place this drink on it with utter confidence that it will not sink through this near vacuum.”
My father-in-law matched his words by placing his highball on the snack bench; it sank out of sight.
Jake looked tired. “Not my day. Dora, did you do that?”
“Yes and no, Professor.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“You placed it on a take-away spot and that part of me was on automatic and took it away and sterilized it. I’m sorry, sir, and here’s your fresh drink.”
It was indeed a busy day. No one had been waiting at our parking berth, but three young women arrived at a dead run while Sharpie was swapping seats with Deety – our brand-new commodore planned to be first to step into her new ship. The starboard door opened; Sharpie stepped out, a dignified procession of one -and was hit from three sides by three young women, each managing to laugh and cry at the same time. But Sharpie enjoys everything and her aplomb has never been shaken. She kissed them, let them kiss her, petted them and told them to calm down, everything was all right. “Dears, I never intended to stay away; I simply refused to let the great Lazarus Long put one over on Sharpie. Where is he now?”
“Shut up in the flag cabin, Ma’am. Commodore.”
“Captain Lor, lock him up elsewhere; the flag cabin is mine.”
“Aye aye, Commodore.”
“How long will that take? Seconds, I mean; not hours.”
Lor spoke rapidly to Dora in a language I almost understood. I leaned to my right, spoke to my wife. “Spanish. Some sort.”
“Italian,” Deety answered.
“Will you settle for Latino? No! – I remember now: Galacta. We’ll have to learn it. But it sounds easy.”
Lor reported, “Flag cabin will be ready for you by the time you reach it, Commodore.”
“Very good. I expect to use it primarily as an administration office; flag remains in Gay Deceiver. That is appropriate, since Dora is unarmed whereas Gay Deceiver is an attack ship, an armed privateer – heavily armed, for her size.” Sharpie smiled. “A few days ago, in another universe, we destroyed an entire air army. We don’t have fancies such as artificial gravity; we belt down and fight in free fall. Gay Deceiver is stripped for speed and armament; Dora is just the opposite. The two complement each other beautifully.”
I wondered why Sharpie was blathering – but she always has reasons. I think she reads minds.
I’m certain that Laz-Lor do, with each other. They looked at each other, then:
“The flag of an armed privateer – “
” – is the Skull-and-Cross-Bones -“
” – is it not? Do we take prisoners -“
” – or cut their throats?”
“Which would you rather do? Captain Lor, please do all the talking; these whipsaw conversations are hard to follow. By the way, no more ‘midnight mutinies.’ Lor, you remain captain until further notice.”
Again they looked at each other.
“We like to swap off.”
“Calling it ‘mutiny’ is just a joke.”
“No one asked your preferences. My chief of staff and second-in-command of the flagship is the only one who does and must advise me. If you have opinions to offer, see him. Answer my question. Captain Lor.”
“We’ll do what you order. But our brother who was our father at the time taught us never to kill if we could possibly avoid it while teaching us all sorts of ways to kill and made us practice. When we were growing up we always wanted to be pirates. Then we grew up and decided that it could never be and tried to forget it.”
Sharpie said, “I think I’m making you tongue-tied by forcing you to filter it through one set of vocal cords. So cancel that order; you two are unique. We operate just the way Lazarus taught you; so far we have killed only once – to repel an attack on us. That air army – We timed it, caught them with their flying machines on the ground, burned the machines, burned their fuel – and thereby stopped an invasion… without killing anyone. But we are always ready to kill. Lor, that’s why I warned you a few minutes ago. It would have broken Gay’s heart to have to destroy Dora. Skull-and-Cross-Bones? No way to fly one but, if you want to hang one in the lounge, I grant permission. Why did you decide not to become pirates?”
That same preliminary glance –
“Babies -“
“Laz has three, I have four – “
” – because Lor has one pair of twins -“
” – and we try to be pregnant at the same time -“
” – and time it to fit our plans -“
” – and Brother’s plans if you ever let him out of hack.”
“How old are you two? I’ve been thinking of you as about Deety’s age but you can’t be. Just one of you answer, please; it’s a simple question.”
They conferred mentally an unusually long time. At last Captain Lor said slowly, “It isn’t quite simple. We will get Dora and Athene to integrate it for us… if data are complete; they may not be. But answering in Old-Home-Terran years and meaning our own biological time, Laz thinks we are about forty-eight and I think we are a couple of years younger. It doesn’t matter because Ishtar will tell us when to rejuvenate, which won’t be soon, as we aren’t yet close to menopause.”
“Does it have to be at menopause?”
“Oh, no, just makes it easier and you never have to stop making babies. But Ishtar’s mother went years past menopause and had decided to die… and changed her mind and looks younger than we do and has had more babies than we have. This time around, I mean.”
“How often do men need it?” Sharpie asked. Jake looked up and said, “I won’t need it for another six weeks, Hilda. Maybe seven.”
“Shush, dear. Laz-Lor, be careful around my husband. When he’s in rut, it takes heavy chains to restrain him. So never mind that question; he doesn’t need to know and, for me, it was intellectual curiosity of a biologist. Perhaps it s best to ask Doctor Ishtar.”
“Yes, Commodore, that would be best. We aren’t biologists; we’re ship handlers.”
I leaned forward. (Sharpie was keeping us in the car; why I didn’t know – then.) “Commodore! I’m required to advise you.”
“Yes, Zebbie.”
“You are going to need a new chief of staff, a new second-in-command, and a new astrogator because I will be on the binnacle list in a wet pack if you don’t have Laz-Lor answer that last one. It is not ‘intellectual curiosity’ to me.”
“Why, Zebbie dear, I have reports that your curve is such that it will be many, many years before you can possibly have other than intellectual interest.”
(If it were not for upsetting Jake, I would paddle that pert little arse!)
Deety said, “Hear, hear!” I placed my hand over her mouth and got bitten. Sharpie said, “Captain, we have here another paradox – Doctors Carter and Burroughs, each unreasonably insecure. Elizabeth, you’ve been a man; give them the male angle.”
“Commodore, I wasn’t very successful as a male. I simply took antigeria whenever Lazarus did. But I can report his thumb rule.”
“Yes?”
“When a man looks at a new and attractive woman and decides that he is too tired, it’s time. When he doesn’t even look, push him over and bury him; he’s failed to notice that he’s dead.”
The ship’s computer said something in that not-Spanish; Sharpie answered, “Graz, Dora. I’ll come now.”
Lor said, “Ma’am, we didn’t know you knew Galacta.”
“I don’t. But I will a week from now. I knew what I would say in your position, and you said it; I could tell from cognates. You told Dora to get him out pronto, because the Doña was on her way. Then get his personal belongings when I would not be inconvenienced. So I stalled. Zebbie, will you come with me? Jacob dearest, will you decide whether or not we should give up our suite with the Carters? And what to move out of Gay? We will be in Dora at least a week, possibly longer.”
“Commodore, we depart for Tertius tomorrow midday, ship’s time.”
“I do not recall ordering that, Captain Lor.”
The twins looked at each other – and said nothing.
Sharpie patted Laz’s cheek. “Don’t look so thunderstruck, girls” – girls? – seven years or so Sharpie’s senior and seven babies between them – “On reaching Tertius, place us in orbit, following local rules. But no messages from ship to ground unless approved by me in writing. Come now!”
As Sharpie left with me in tow, she told Deety that she was on her own but please get out Jacob’s Army blues and my Aerospace dress, and ask Dora about cleaning and pressing.
Jake said, “Hey!” before I could, and Sharpie said, reasonably, “I won’t put you into a long skirt, sweetheart; you would feel that I had coerced you into drag. I thought perhaps you two were bored with civilian dress – and I shall continue the custom concerning dressing for dinner – either formal dress or formal skin. Nothing in between.”
Upon reaching flag cabin Sharpie dismissed Laz-Lor, waited until we were private, then clung to me. “Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight! Calm me down.” The little thing was shaking.
“Maybe I had better get Jake,” I suggested, while holding her and petting her gently – and solving aerodynamic empiricals in my head to keep from noticing how much skin such a tiny woman can spread over one.
“No, Zebbie. Jacob would fuss over me like a mother hen and give me advice I don’t want. Either I boss this job without my husband telling me what to do… or I can’t cut it. If I fail, I will fail on my own – not as Jacob’s puppet. But I can cry on you and tell you things I wouldn’t tell my own toothbrush.”
She added, “When I send you out, find Jake and have him teach school to everybody. That’ll keep him busy and happy and out of my hair. And everybody else, too. Have both computers record his lectures.”
“Lectures on what?”
“Oh. Too many details. The plenum of universes and the Number of the Beast. Pantheistic multiple solipsism, or why the Land of Oz is real. The quantum mechanics of fairy tales. Even the care and feeding of Black Hats. He’ll probably want to take people into Gay… but you must be present; don’t delegate it. Jacob can go along and lecture but it’s Zebbie’s sharp eye that will see to it that nothing is touched.”
She patted my chest. “You’re such a comfort. Now I’m going to dig out this ship’s papers and you’re going to help because I don’t know what to expect. Or where to find them. Certificate of ownership, I suppose, and registration, and ship’s manifest whatever that is. What else and where should I look?”
“A log. Crew list, passenger list. Health inspection, maybe. Other inspections. Bureaucracy and red tape tend to follow the same patterns everywhere. Maybe no paper papers; that looks like a computer printout over there. Mmm – Insist on English; the originals are almost certainly in Galacta.”
“I’ll try it. Dora.”
“Listening, Commodore Hilda.”
“Print for me, in English, the ship’s official papers. Ownership, registration, manifests, and so forth. You know the list. Retrieve soonest.”
“I am not authorized to do this, Ma’am.”
“‘Not authorized’ by whom?”
The computer did not answer. Sharpie said, “Stick around, Zebbie; there’s going to be trouble. Do you have any weapons?”
“Where? Look at me. How?”
“I don’t know but you’re clever about such things. Dora!”
“Your orders, Commodore?”
“Get me Captain Lor! In person, not voice. I want her here on a dead run – right now! Out!”
(I did have a weapon. I had palmed an item as I left Gay. But never admit a holdout.)
Laz-Lor arrived, breathing hard, seconds later. “You sent for us, Ma’am?”
“I sent for Captain Lor; I did not send for Laz. Out. Pronto!”
Laz had her mouth open to speak. She got out so fast the door was only partly dilated; she dived through.
“Dora! Repeat to Captain Lor every word that you’ve heard, every word you’ve said, since I entered this cabin.”
The computer started with Sharpie telling Laz-Lor they could leave… then surprised me with: “Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight. Calm me down.”
I started to speak, Sharpie shook her head. Dora droned on, right through Hilda’s order to repeat back all the computer had heard or said since we came in.
The computer stopped; Sharpie said, “Dora, you told me this morning that you could not scan in here without permission.”
“That is correct, Ma’am.”
“Who gave you permission?”
The computer did not answer.
“Captain Lor, did you or your sister tell this computer to spy on me and to refuse to answer certain questions?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Then it’s your brother Lazarus. Don’t bother to lie; I didn’t ask, I told you. Fetch your brother to me, under arrest. Move!”

Chapter XLIII

To Pull a Hat Out of a Rabbit –

Smith:
I had had trouble convincing my sisters that I must be “arrested” and “confined.” I had made an idiotic mistake and now must be “punished.” Lor had even less enthusiasm for placing herself and our ship under the command of a stranger.
Once they accepted it, I could depend on them. We did not let Lib in on the caper; she has no talent for creative lying. Far better that she believe whatever she said.
Laz and Lor were outwitting their elders by the time they were six, a process I encouraged by walloping them whenever I caught them. They learned. They also have my talent for looking stupid, plus one I have but seldom can use:
They can turn tears on and off like a faucet. (I have not found many cultures in which this advantages a male.)
Once this was settled, I arrested myself by helping Dora’s waldoes move my most personal gear next door. Then I lay down and listened through Dora to what was going on in the flag cabin.
And discovered that I had outsmarted myself. I have never tried to teach Dora to lie; a dishonest computer is a menace: one that is a pilot would be a lethal disaster, sooner or later. Sooner.
But I hadn’t figured on this narrow little broad asking for my papers so quickly. Nor did I guess that Dora had told her that my cabin could be scanned only by my order.
When I heard the situation start to deteriorate, I got up quickly and put on one of my Scottish outfits. Advantages: I look bigger, taller, more imposing. The costume calls for two weapons worn publicly. These I never use. But the costume is so draped and full that one may hide weapons for a half squad- then never show them save in extremis.
So I was ready when Lor came busting in, almost incoherent. “Brother, is she mad! Watch yourself!”
“I will, Lor. You’ve done a swell job.” I kissed her. “Now march me in under arrest.”
So we did. I halted ten paces from Mrs. Burroughs and saluted. She said to Lor, “You may leave” – waited until Lor had left, then said, “Instruct your computer not to see or listen in this space.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Dora.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Back to normal for my cabin. No see ‘um, no hear ’em until I tell you to.”
“Chinchy!”
“Dora!”
“Aye aye, Boss. Mean!”
“She’s a bit childish but she’s a good cook. And a fine pilot.”
“And you’re a bit childish. Prisoners do not salute, prisoners do not wear arms. Captain Carter, confiscate his weapons. Keep them as souvenirs or destroy them.”
Long years as a slave taught me to put up with anything without a squawk. That doesn’t make it pleasant.
“Smith.”
I didn’t answer. She added, “I mean you, Woodie!”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Lean over, grab your ankles. Captain, frisk him.”
Carter knew how, I soon no longer had tools for a half squad – but felt better when he ended having missed one. He was in uniform-of-the-day, but he was big, in training, and carried himself in a way that made me think of Black Belts.
“Those are yours, too, Zebbie, although you might share them. Deety mentioned something about not having a throwing knife. How’s the balance on those?”
She was not speaking to me but I had to try to gain control of the psychological gauge. “One and a half turns at eight meters, Ma’am. I make them myself. But it’s too heavy a knife for a lady. I would happily make one to fit Doctor Deety’s hand and strength.”
“I imagine that Doctor Deety is stronger than you are, Woodie. I think you’ve gone a bit soft. Someday we’ll check it. Take off your clothes.”
With my weapons gone, other than the one, I welcomed the order. Clothes are no asset in unarmed brawl; the other man can use yours against you. And I was sweating; Dora keeps the ship right for skin. I peeled quickly.
“Shove them down that,” she said, pointing.
“Uh, Ma’am, that’s a destruction oubliette.”
“I know. Next time you won’t try to impress me by sartorial elegance. Furthermore it was intentional insolence. Pronto!”
I shoved them down pronto. “Grab your ankles again, Woodie. Captain Carter, need we give him an enema to make sure he hasn’t hidden one more weapon? I don’t care to check by touch without a rubber glove, and I won’t ask you to.”
“Madam, I give you my word – “
” – which is worth nothing. Let it go, Zebbie. Join the class and keep an eye on our interests.”
The big man looked me over. “I don’t like to leave you alone with him, Commodore.”
“Thank you, Zebbie. I’m safe. I was safe when he was armed but he was being insolent so I spanked him. Run along; he doesn’t dare touch me.” She added, “Or do you have a premonition?”
“No. But I get them just barely in time.”
“I couldn’t ask for more. But I feel a prophecy. Woodie is going to be a lamb about everything. Now go, dear.”
He left, giving me a look that promised death if I harmed her. I wanted to tell him that I had never found it necessary to harm a woman in more centuries than his wife had years.
“Well, Lazarus, how do we work this out?”
“Work out what, Ma’am? You have the upper hand.”
“Oh, piffle! You have the upper hand; you know it. As long as the ship’s computer obeys you, rather than me, my ‘authority’ is a fraud. I escaped once by a fluke; you won’t let it happen twice. But I stuck my head back into the trap because I think we have something to trade, to our mutual profit.”
“I hope so, Ma’am. Please go on.”
“You want your mother rescued. I plan to do it if it can be done. For which you will toe the mark. We need a holding company. I will own fifty-one percent of the voting stock. Not of the profits; there will be plenty for all. But I control.”
“Madam, you’re way ahead of me. I don’t know what you have in mind.”
“Money. Money and power. Whew! I just got downwind; you sweated into that heavy costume. Go in there, take a tub bath, hot and soapy. I’ll sprawl on the chaise longue and we’ll talk business. Are you really trying to rescue your mother, or are you simply looking to cut yourself in on Jacob’s invention? We can make a deal, either way – but I must know. Don’t hold out on me; I tend to get annoyed. Then someone else pays. You, in this case.”
She took my hand and led me into the ‘fresher while I answered her key question and thought about the rest. No more lies; she had caught me in one thrown together hastily and too complex; my grandfather would have been ashamed of it. So – nothing but the truth. But how much truth and what truth?
“Rescuing my mother is priority one, sine qua non. Business aspects are secondary.”
“You were going to say that business aspects didn’t matter to you – and I would have stuffed it down your throat.”
I stalled while I adjusted the bath’s controls. “Ma’am, I always think about business angles. But I would go broke and start over to make this rescue.”
“Will you sign such a contract? We rescue your mother; you sign over all your wealth to me? No cheating, no holdout?”
“Is that what it takes?”
“No. It would not be equitable and that would compel you to cheat. Any contract must profit both of us. But rescuing your mother appeals to me – to all my family; I’m the least sentimental of us-and we would tackle it if there were not a fiat dollar in sight. Pour le sport. That nice warm feeling – whether it’s a kitten, a baby bird, or an old woman. But there is money in this… and sport… and opportunities beyond imagination. That sound of water splashing: does that interfere with Dora’s hearing?”
“No, she filters it out.”
“Is she listening?”
I instantly answered, “Yes.” I’ve lived a long time in part by being a cat not caught in the same trap twice – as she had underlined. I placed in my permanent memory, nine times nine, never to lie to this woman again. Evade, avoid, keep silent, be elsewhere. But don’t lie to her. A born Grand Inquisitor. Telepathic? Must ask Laz-Lor.
“I’m glad you said Yes, Lazarus. Had you said No, I would have broken off negotiations. I’m not telepathic – but you may find it inadvisable to lie to me. We must change the computer situation – part now, part later. You didn’t give her the right code words.”
“That’s right. ‘Chinchy’ and ‘mean’ equal -“
” – Roger Wilco, but reversed meaning.”
“Eh? That’s a deep-down memory. Yes. Hmm – I must insert that phrase into Galacta. Useful.” The water was just right, with deep, fragrant suds. I stepped down into it, picked a seat that let me lounge. “I should have said to Dora – Shall I tell Dora now?”
“With a modification. I want the equivalent of a simple telephone, so that I can call anyone, anyone can call me – and the same for you. But kill the snoop circuits throughout this suite.”
“No trouble. We can call out at any time; that is a safety feature, permanent. As for calling in, I usually limit it to the twin commanding; she’s entitled to disturb me, if needed. If not needed – well, neither Laz nor Lor enjoys being called ‘stupid,’ especially by me.”
I changed the orders to Dora and did not cheat; Mrs. Burroughs and I were now truly in private, although anyone could reach us – voice only. “What next, Ma’am?”
“Some permanent changes for Dora, now that she can’t hear us. Tentative plans for your mother’s rescue. Then we talk business. Is there a seat in that pool where I won’t drown?”
“Oh, certainly. When Laz-Lor were your size, they often bathed with me – I’ve had as high as six in this tub although that’s a bit cozy; it’s a four-adult design. Here, let me help; you can’t see through these suds.” Helping Hilda Burroughs reminded me of handling Laz-Lor at the same size, prepubescent… but I was acutely aware that this small, warm, slick body was postpubescent by many years and I got a twinge that I was pleased to have figleafed by suds. “Feel under you – find the seat? Temperature suit you?”
“Luxurious. On Tertius refreshers are social rooms, are they not?”
“Yes. Over the years I have found that nude cultures, or those with no taboos about nakedness, tend to make bathing a social event. Ancient Romans. Ancient Japanese. Many others.”
She answered, “Whereas cultures with strong body taboos equate bathing rooms with outhouses back of barns. Disgusting.” Mrs. Burroughs looked disgusted. I noted this as I had thought it would be necessary to get them used to skin before exposing them to the easy-going ways of Tertius… lest I jeopardize my mother’s rescue. I had instructed Laz-Lor to hold us in irrelevancy until all of them, with no urging, accepted the comfort of complete bareness in perfectly tempered conditions, and simply forgot about bodies qua bodies. This does not mean to forget yin-yang… but it has long been known to all but legislators, judges, and other fools that a scrap of clothing fig-leafing whatever may be taboo (taboos vary endlessly and each is a “law of nature”) is far more stimulating than is no clothing.
(Warning to time-travellers: To assume that the taboos of your native culture are “natural” and that you can’t go too wrong behaving by the rules your loving parents taught you is to risk death. Or worse. If you think death has no “worse,” read history.)
To return to pretty little Mrs. Burroughs: To be enjoying a bath with her a few minutes after she had had me subjected to personal indignity was the second most surprising thing about her. The most surprising thing I was still learning: This fragile little doll with the muscles of a kitten was the toughest bitch kitty I have ever encountered.
Understand me, I admire her. But I want to be on the side she is on. “What changes in Dora do you want, Ma’am?”
“Lazarus, I’m ‘Ma’am’ to strangers and on formal occasions. I don’t consider bathing all that formal; my friends call me Hilda. Or by nicknames. Even pet names. But not ‘Ma’am.'”
My answer got me splashed. She went on, “In attempting to hornswoggle me, you gave me, through your accomplices, a phony command and rank – while retaining control of the computer necessary to make it real. I require that you carry out your contract. Now. By reprogramming Dora to me as her sole boss, with the program locked so that you can’t change it. Me and me alone.”
She smiled, leaned toward me, and placed a hand on my knee under water. “That’s why I insisted on privacy – for Dora’s sake. She’s self-aware and seems quite vulnerable. Lazarus, I don’t mind anyone in this ship hearing anything I’ve been saying. But I don’t discuss surgery when it is likely to upset the patient.” She leaned forward. “Scratch between my shoulder blades – pretty please?”
I welcomed time to think, while requiring her to coach me – higher, lower, a little to the left, ah, right there …
“Hilda, I’m not sure it can be done. I did reprogram Dora so that her loyalty in crisis is to Laz-Lor. But it took me years and was not done by circuitry or by programming Dora is so thoroughly a self-aware personality that it is necessary to win her love in order to gain her lovalty”
“I find that believable. Lazarus, let’s see you pull a hat out of the rabbit.”
“You mean -“
“I meant what I said. Any second-rate magician can pull a rabbit out of a hat. Can Lazarus Long pull a hat out of a rabbit? Watch this space next week. It’s your problem, Lazarus; you created it. I won’t make a second contract with a man in default on his first. Do you want your back scratched while you think? You scratched mine deliciously.”
I accepted by leaning forward. Hilda is telepathic though perhaps not in words. She knew which spots and how hard and how long.
And when to stop. She dropped her hand as I straightened up… and her hand brushed against me and stopped. “Well! Truly I did not intend to be provocative, old dear.”
I put an arm around her; she did not pull away but continued, “I won’t refuse you. I have not given a man reasonable cause to call me a tease since I was twelve. But wouldn’t it be sensible to table this until after we have rescued your mother and set up our business structure? If you find – then – that you are interested, you will let me know. If you do, I ask that you cooperate with me in saving my husband’s feelings and face. And… I am… having trouble saying this – Damn it! Please stop and tell me the plans for rescuing your mother.”
I stopped, allowed a hand’s width to separate us. “Have you forgotten the hat and the rabbit?”
“I’m afraid I did. Very well, you’ve won this round; we attempt to rescue your mother. I waive the broken contract – but we do no further business. Just the rescue, then we leave.”
“I thought you promised me a second chance – later?”
“What? Lazarus, you’re a bastard.”
“I’m not but the term has no meaning on Tertius. Here’s the ‘hat.’ You designate me your flunky – any title – for this ship. My sole function will be to be in earshot – through Dora or otherwise – to insure that your slightest wish is carried out. Night or day.”
“Making me a privileged figurehead, still vulnerable to your whim. The hat won’t fit.”
“Very well – second hat. We ground on Tertius; I move Dora into another ship – she accepts that; it has happened before. I sign this ship over to you with a new computer of the same capacity, programmed for ship’s routine but unawakened. You let it awaken to your personality. You’ll be its mother.”
“That’s better. Close but not on. Lazarus, you and I are going to be in business together a long time. I won’t take your ship. Instead you’re going to build me a ship, a tender for Gay Deceiver but moved by a Burroughs continua device – the first such ship built by Burroughs & Long, Ltd., a subsidiary of Carter Engineering Company. Another subsidiary is Carter Computers, which may assemble computers but primarily will build Burroughs Time-Space twisters under some innocuous name, and sell them only inside our complex setup – much more complex; we’ll work on it together. But our biggest subsidiary will be Libby & Smith, Real Estate. That one rebuilds solar systems.”
“What!!”
“Talk to Zebbie and Jacob. We’ll organize Black Hat Safaris, Pty., too, but it may be a dummy for a while. We’ll have an emporium in New Rome, imports from many universes. Uh… The Pawnshop, of course, with the Hook Joint above it. Ultra expensive imported styles up there, modelled by New Rome’s most beautiful hetaerae. Private rooms for private viewings. This one is a gift to Laz-Lor, save for the ten percent that is voting stock of which I vote my usual control, through you. The twins can do as they please with it; our leash will be slack. Probably they will do their own importing, with a resident manager. But they might work in it some, just to know the business.”
“Which business?”
“Both. They are grown women, Lazarus; you must not try to run their lives. The overall holding company, run by you and me, usual split with my one percent advantage, is a nonprofit corporation supporting Ishtar’s clinic. We funnel whatever is needed into the clinic, holding down the book profits elsewhere, but paying whopping salaries and consulting fees. My husband is chief scientist in one part while consultant by fee elsewhere, with Elizabeth – Lib – his mirror image elsewhere. Lazarus, we must have Deety work on it; she has the finest head in our family for manipulation of this sort – I’m just her awed pupil.”
“And I’m just your awed pupil!”
“Piffle again. Lazarus, from what I’ve read of you, your sole weakness lies in a delight in cheating for its own sake; Deety treats it as an intellectual art. One thing more – No, two things. Can you persuade Dora, as a favor to Ol’ Buddy Boy, to go along with the hoax until we deliver your mother to Ishtar? Make it a mammoth joke, under which she takes orders from me because she wants to be in on the fun. Take you out of arrest, of course; wipe it from her memory.”
“It was never in her memory; Lor put her in non-recording mode while the hooraw was on.”
“Good! Can you persuade her to call me ‘Commodore’ while you use some fancy title?”
“Hilda, I’m your chief of staff for this ship; Zeb is chief of staff, flagship. Dora doesn’t really understand ranks; I can tell her that ‘chief of staff’ is one notch senior to God. No problem. As long as she can see that you and I are buddy-buddy.”
“And we are!”
“It’s reassuring to hear that. Hilda, I underestimated you so badly that I’m still in a state of shock. What’s the last item?”
“Rejuvenation for all of us for as long as you – Ishtar – can stretch non-Howards.”
“I can promise that; I’m Board Chairman of the Clinic. But – Ishtar is not a magician. What’s the average age of death for your parents, grandparents, any ancestors you know about?”
“My family, both sides, are considered long-lived – although I lost my parents in a car crash. The others I don’t know about except that Deety’s mother died of cancer, much too young.”
“We can handle that.”
“Is longevity on Earth – our Earth, not yours – of interest? Same length of year as Old-Home-Terra; Deety and Lor checked.”
“Of course!”
“These figures apply to North America. Some other places are higher, some lower, some no data. Females. Menarche at thirteen plus-or-minus nine percent. Menopause at fifty-six to sixty-seven plus-or-minu -“
“Stop there! Average age of death, female?”
“One hundred seventeen. But males average eight years less. Sad. My own family averages higher, but only a few years. I don’t know about Jacob but he mentioned once that his great-grandfather got himself killed, in an odd fashion, at ninety-seven. He -“
“Enough. I must report this. By definition, all of you are ‘Missing Howards.'”
“But, Lazarus, that’s simply the average on Earth – our Earth, now that I know that there are thousands of analogs.”
“Doesn’t matter. Different universe, different time line – not my problem. Here you are a Howard. You four and all your descendants.”
Hilda smiled happily. “That’s cheerful news to a woman six weeks pregnant.”
“You?”
“And Deety. Same time and doesn’t show yet. Lazarus, I was tempted a while ago to tell you… because I was tempted. Now, now! Down, Rover! Outline to me how we rescue a woman dead for many centuries.”
“Hilda, someday I’m going to get you drunk.”
“Want to bet?”
“Never with you. There is mystery about my mother’s death. She appears to have been killed accidentally at a relatively young age, for a Howard. Just short of a hundred. I was notified as her purse I.D.’s named me as ‘next of kin’ – and I bawled like a baby for I had been planning to pay her a visit on her century day, July 4th, 1982. Instead I attended her funeral, flying to Albuquerque two weeks early.
“Nobody there but me. She was living alone under her maiden name, she and my father having separated thirty years earlier. But apparently she hadn’t listed her last address change with the Howard Foundation, hadn’t notified her other children. Howards are like that; they live so long that kinship is not enough reason to stay in touch. Closed casket and cremation – authorized by stuff in her purse; I never saw her body.
“But there was no doubt as to her I.D.’s and so forth. In my world, 1982 was a time when you couldn’t sneeze without carrying a thick pack of cards all, in effect, saying that you were you. I was feeling it because I was seventy later that year and looked thirty-five. Embarrassing. I had plans to drive south from Albuquerque, cross the border, and not come back until I had bought a new passport to match a new name.
“Hilda, it was over two thousand years later, in preparing for my first time trip, that I learned that my mother was not listed in the Archives as dead but simply as ‘record missing.'”
“The matter troubled me. A few years ago – my time – Laz-Lor took me back. Didn’t ground; a missile chased us and scared Dora silly. But I got a motion picture that seems to show the accident. There is a blur on the frames just before the first one that shows what I think is the corpse. Can you guess the size and shape?”
“Shan’t try, Lazarus.”
“As near as I can measure on a film a centimeter square, shot with a telephoto lens from too high because Dora was crying and wanting to go home, it is the size of that berth Gay Deceiver is in. Hilda, I think I photographed you rescuing my mother before you did it.”
“What? Lazarus, that’s -“
“Don’t say impossible. The Land of Oz is impossible. You’re impossible. I’m impossible. Who invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism? You did.”
“I wasn’t going to say ‘impossible.’ Now that you know that I’m pregnant, you will realize why I want to try to rescue your mother right away, before my belly starts growing where the seat belt crosses it. Her name was Marian? Marian Johnson Smith?”
“Maureen Johnson.”
“That proves that the real Lazarus Long stood up. It bothered me that there might be a series of analog-Lazarus-Longs like analog-Earths.”
“Wouldn’t bother me. That’s their problem.”
“But it would destroy the theory I worked out that would account for my sitting here in a pool of water in a time-travelling flying saucer with a fabulous man – both ways! – when I know he’s a fictional character in a book I read years back. That makes me a fictional character, too, but that doesn’t trouble me as I can’t read a novel with me in it, any more than you could read the one I read about you.”
“I came close to doing just that.”
“Don’t be mysterious, Lazarus.”
“I like wild stories. Used to read every one I could find in the Kansas City Public Library. On another time trip I picked up a magazine of a type you may never have seen. Read one installment of a serial. Ridiculous. Four people traveling in space in an airplane. At the end of that installment they are hailed by a flying saucer. Continued next month. Hilda, how do you think Dora was able to be at the right place at the right time when Gay Deceiver popped out of nowhere?”
“Where is that magazine?”
“Down the same destruction oubliette that recently received my best fake Scottish chief costume. If I had not learned long ago to dispose of casual fiction once I had read it, Dora would never be able to lift. Hilda, you explained it yoursel -“
“Hilda? Do you hear me” – her husband’s voice.
Her face lit up. “Yes, Jacob?”
“May I see you? I have a problem.”
I barely whispered, “I’ll get out,” and started to stand up. She pulled me back down. “Of course, Jacob dearest. I’m in the flag cabin. Where are you?”
“In our suite.”
“Come straight here.” She whispered to me, “Do we have a deal?” I nodded; she stuck out her hand; we shook on it. “Partners,” she whispered. “Details later. Maureen first.”
Her husband answered, “Hilda, I don’t know my way. And it’s a private matter.”
“Then you must come here, Jacob; this is the only private place in the ship. I’ve been talking business with Lazarus Long – business so private we had to talk here. No more trouble, dearest man, and we each get what we want. Come join us, we need you.”
“Uh… can he hear me?”
“Certainly. We’re having a bath together. Come join us. I want you to know all about the deal before we tell the children. I may need support on parts where we traded quid pro quo.”
Silence – “I’d better call back later.”
I said, “Doctor Burroughs, you want to talk privately with your wife; I will get out. But please understand that social bathing is as commonplace on my world as offering a friend a drink is on yours. I am here because the Commodore invited me and I assure you she is quite unharmed.”
Burroughs replied in a pained voice, “I know that custom and have utter faith in Hilda’s social judgment. Yes, I do need to speak to her… but I don’t mean to be surly. I’ll come up, or down, or across, and say hello. Please don’t leave before I get there. I’ll ask my way.”
“Dora will show you. Step into the corridor and wait. She’ll find you.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Dora, special.”
“Yes, Pappy?”
“Find Professor Burroughs. Lead him here. By the longest route. Slow march.”
“Aye aye, Pappy.”
I said hurriedly to Hilda, “I may know what this is; let me check. Lib?”
“Yes, Lazarus?”
“Are you alone?”
“In my stateroom alone. And lonely.” Lib added, “And upset.”
“So? Did you put the question to Professor Burroughs?”
“Yes. Lazarus, I had perfect opportunity. The one place Dora can’t see or hear. Inside Gay Deceiver’s space warp and – “
“Chop it, Lib! Did he turn you down?”
“No. But he didn’t say Yes. He’s gone to discuss it with his wife. That’s why I’m jittery.”
“Turn on the soother. I’ll call you back. Off.”
Hilda asked, “What’s the matter with Elizabeth?”
“I’ll make it short as even the longest route can’t take long. Lib is terribly anxious to have a child by the mathematician – your husband – who formulated the equations for six-dimensional positively-curved space. She thinks – and so do I – that they might produce a mathematician equal to, or even greater, than Lib or your husband. But she should have let Ishtar arrange it. She jumped the gun; I don’t know why -“
“I do! Elizabeth!”
Lib was slow in answering. “This is Elizabeth Long.”
“Hilda Burroughs here. Elizabeth, you come straight here. Flag cabin.”
“Commodore, are you angry with me? I meant no harm.”
“Dear, dear! You come to Mama Burroughs’ arms and let me pet you and tell you that you’re a good girl. Now! How far away are you?”
“Just around the curve. A few meters.”
“Drop everything and hurry. Lazarus and I are in the ‘fresher. In the pool. Come join us.”
“Uh, all right.”
“Hurry!”
Hilda asked, “How do I let them in? Run dripping and do it by hand? I noticed that our door lets anyone out but can’t be opened from the outside without help.” She added, “For that matter how do I get back in?”
“Dora knows you belong here. For the rest – Dora, admit Libby Long and Professor Burroughs.”
“Aye aye, Pappy. Lib – here she comes. Dr. Jacob Burroughs I’m fetching. How soon?”
Hilda said, “Two minutes.”
Lib hurried in, still unsmiling. Did smile when Hilda put her arms around her, smiled and cried at the same time. I heard Hilda crooning, “There, there, dear! It’s a wonderful idea; she’ll be the world’s greatest mathematician. A cute baby – something like Deety, something like you. Jacob! In here, darling! If you are wearing anything, chuck it; we’re in the pool.”
Seconds later the pool was filled to its rated capacity, Hilda with arms around both of them – kissed her husband, kissed Lib, said sternly to them, “Stop looking as if you were at a funeral! Jacob, this is what Jane would want – and it is what I want. Elizabeth, you aren’t crowding me out; I’m pregnant now. I’ll have my baby six weeks before you have yours. I’ve decided to ask Doctor Lafe Hubert to deliver my baby. Who are -“
“Hilda! I haven’t delivered a baby for over a century.”
“You have seven months in which to brush up. Doctor Lafe, are you refusing to attend me?”
“No, but – Jake, if Hilda will have her baby at the Clinic on Tertius, she will be in the hands of the most skilled obstetricians in this universe. Which I am not. I’m rusty. I -“
“Doctor, I think Hilda would settle for your holding her hand and standing by to help if needed. I think my daughter would like that, too. She may have her baby the same day as Hilda.”
“Sir, I will be honored. But I want to say something about this proposed baby, a cross between two all-time great mathematicians. I know that your world places value on monogamy. Howards do not; they can’t. But this need not violate your values. If you will make a deposit at the sperm bank at -“
“What?” Hilda Burroughs looked shocked. “Lazarus, are you talking about syringes and things like that. Done to Elizabeth?”
“Why, yes, I -“
She chopped me off. “Babies are not made with syringes! Babies are made with love! With little moans of happiness between two people who know exactly what they are doing and want to do it. Elizabeth, are you fertile today?”
“I should be. It’s time.”
“Then kiss me and tell me you want to do this. If you do.”
“Oh, I do, very much!”
There were kisses and tears all around. I got pulled into it, found myself kissing the prospective father. I gave him a chance to duck but he didn’t.
Our busy little stranger was still playing ringmaster. “Lazarus, what is that guest room across the cabin? Pastel colors?”
“Aurora Room.”
“Beloved husband, wrap a towel around this sweet, frightened child, take her there, lock the door behind you and make her happy. This suite is the only totally private place in this ship. If I lay eyes on either of you in less than one hour, I shall burst into tears. That doesn’t mean you can’t stay longer. I hope that you will come to dinner … but you are welcome to Aurora Room after dinner. Sweetheart, you must give her at least one chance each of the next three days; a woman’s timing can vary from her norm. Now git! Pick her up and carry her.”
Lib wouldn’t let Jake carry her. But she leaned into his arm. As they left the ‘fresher, she looked back with a happy smile and threw us a kiss.
Hilda caught it and ate it. Then she said to me, “Help me out, please, dear.”
I lifted her out, sat her on the edge, climbed out myself. She patted the padded deck, said, “I think this is better than that chaise longue. If we happen to be caught it wouldn’t embarrass me and should not embarrass you; in these circumstances Jacob would be relieved rather than upset.” She smiled, eased her sweet thighs, put up her arms. “Now?”
“Yes!”
“Anything you want, including back rubs. Lazarus, does it excite you knowing what is going on a few meters away? It does me!”
“Yes! But I don’t need it – Hilda, you’re superb!”
“Not in looks, certainly. So I try hard with what I have. Sold myself three times – did my best to make my contract-husbands each feel that he had received full value… then married dear Jacob for love and am trying still harder with him. He is good – I mean he is good all through. I hope Elizabeth appreciates him. You’ve had her?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after the change?”
“Both. I miss the ‘before,’ appreciate the ‘after.”
“Then why won’t you knock her up?”
“That’s a family joke. She had her first child by me, is now making the rounds of our family, more or less. Woman, you are not here to talk! – I’m almost there!”
She looked delighted. “I’m climaxing steadily; let ‘er rip!” – and bit my chin.
An indefinitely long time later that need not be detailed, we were resting in each other’s arms, enjoying that delicious peace of the ebbing tide. Hilda saw them first, raised her head:
“Jacob beloved! Did you! Lib – Did my sweetheart put a baby in you?”
“Did he! Hilda, you do that every night? Little bitty like you? Less than two hours and darling Jacob has worn me out.”
“I’m a hollow mockery, dear. Built for it. Tell her, Jacob.”
“My darling is adaptable, Libby dear. Lazarus, did Hilda treat you nicely?”
“I died happy.”
“He’s not dead” – Hilda made a long arm, cupped a handful of water, threw it in my face, giggled. The suggestion she added I rejected with dignity – as much dignity as one can manage when two women are tumbling one into a tub of water… while one’s male comrade stands by and laughs.

Chapter XLIV

” – where do we get the corpse?”

Zeb:
“The question,” said my wife Deety, “is where do we get the corpse? With timing that precise, Gay can make the pickup. But a corpse has to be left behind. Lazarus, not only do your movies show it, but you remember Maureen’s death; you went to her funeral. It’s got to be a fresh corpse of an elderly woman that the cops will accept as Maureen Johnson.”
Six of us – Deety, me, Jake, Sharpie, Lazarus, and Libby – were seated around our kitchen dining table at “New Harbor” (our wives accepted that compromise) in Beulahland, trying to make plans for the “snatch.” “Snatch” in the literal sense if the rescue of Maureen Johnson were to succeed.
Lazarus had a motion picture that showed that we would succeed (had succeeded) (were about to succeed) at a precise time and place and date on an analog of Earth-zero one quantum away on ‘t’ axis.
Easy! Success guaranteed. Can’t miss. Do it blindfolded.
But suppose we did miss?
The frames showed that a roadable had passed through the space where Gay had been (would be?) grounded, and, in so doing, ran over (would run Over) (will run over) (is, was, and forever will be running over) the dumped corpse. Suppose the timing or placement was offjust a touch. On his first time travel (1916-1918 Old-Home-Terra), with Dora piloting, Lazarus had missed not by a split second but by three years.
Lazarus had pointed out that it was his fault, not Dora’s; he had fed her imperfect data – and we had jumped on him from five sides: It was not a question of “whose fault” but the fact a mistake could be made. Or could it?
Four mathematicians, one mathematical engineer (yeah, I include me, as resident expert in Gay’s responses), and one intuitionist all disagreed.
Hilda was certain that nothing could go wrong.
I am a firm believer in Murphy’s Law: Given any possible chance, it will go wrong. Anything.
Libby had been wholeheartedly converted both to Jake’s six-axis plenum of universes to the awful Number of the Beast but also to Sharpie’s multiple solipsism, and asserted that they were two sides of the same coin; one was a corollary of the other and vice versa. Combined, they (it) constituted the ultimate total philosophy: science, religion, mathematics, art, in one grand consistent package. She spoke of a “ficton” being a quantum of imagination/reality (“imaginary” being identical with “real” whatever that is) as casually as a physicist speaks of photons. “Could a mistake be made? Yes. And would create a new universe. Jacob, you spoke of the empty universes your family had visited. One by one they fill as fictons are created.” She added, “But a mistake was not made; we snatched Maureen safely. We ourselves create the fictions-fictons-ficta that will make it real.”
She was euphoric. I attributed it to excitement over the coming adventure. I was mistaken.
Lazarus, a highly competent mathematician although not the unique that Jake is or Libby, was in this case not a calm abstractionist; his mood was grim determination to win or die trying – causing me to recall how he got his arse shot off.
Jake turned out to be a determinist (he himself being one universe’s prime example of utter, rambunctious free will!).
Deety is a pragmatic mathematician, unworried by theory. Oz is real, she is real, “fictons” don’t interest her. “Don’t fret, Lazarus. We can do it, Gay can do it – and we won’t do it until Gay is certain of her program.”
This discussion had started midafternoon in Dora. Sharpie had worked out her difficulties with Lazarus (to my enormous relief; were those two to wind up on opposite sides in anything more serious than Parcheesi, I yearn to be elsewhere – say Timbuktu under an assumed name); she, Jake, Lazarus, and Libby were in the flag cabin, arguing, when Sharpie had Dora page Deety and me.
There were endless matters on the agenda (including the preposterous notion that we four were ‘Missing Howards’ and that Lazarus was registering us as such. I’m not sure I want to live a thousand years or even two hundred. But I am sure of this: a) I want to live quite a piece; and b) I want to be alert, healthy, and active right up to the last. Not like my great-grandfather who had to be spoonfed at a hundred and five, and could not control his secretions. But the Howards have got that whipped: you stay young as long as you wish, then die by choice when you feel you’ve had your full run.
(Yes, I was willing to be a ‘Found Howard’ since it included Deety, plus little Deeties ad infinitum.)
Lots of other business, all of it postponed (including the problem of “Black Hats”), in order to deal with rescuing Maureen Johnson.
We were still discussing knotty aspects when Lor’s voice said: “Commodore?”
“Yes, Captain?” Sharpie had answered.
“Ma’am, I hesitate to disturb you -“
“Quite all right, Lor. The Captain must always be able to reach me.”
“Uh, Ma’am, Dora told me that she was forbidden to call you. She has for you a variety of New Rome styles for women and men, a military uniform for Doctor Jacob, and one for Doctor Zebadiah, and evening formals for Doctor Elizabeth and Doctor Deety – and she’s not sure where to send any of them.”
“Send all the clothes to the flag cabin, please.”
“Yes, Ma’am. They should be appearing in your delivery cupboard now. Do you know where that is?”
“I’ll find it. What are you and your sister wearing tonight? Or is it a secret?”
“It’s not a secret; we just haven’t decided. But there is still an hour and thirty-one minutes till dinner.”
“Time enough to pick out pretty clothes. Or will you wear formal skin tonight? That takes anywhere from two seconds to two hours, does it not? Off.”
Sharpie used an unusually rough expression of disgust, which told me that she now included Lib and Lazarus in her inner circle. “Woodie, do you know any exceptionally strong cuss words? I detest the thought of wasting time pretending to be festive when we have so much to settle, especially our procedures for Maureen.”
Deety looked at Libby. “You and I are kind o’ stuck with a promise, too. How about some new cuss words from you, too?”
“Deety, I have no literary talent. But I would like to hear some soul-soothing cussing. We ought to stick with this, with snacks to keep going and sleep when we must, until it’s perfect. Three hours or three days or three weeks.”
I said, “We shall!”
Sharpie shook her head. “Zebbie, you can skip dinner. I can’t. Lazarus should appear, too.”
He agreed. “I’m afraid I must. But, Commodore, I must advise you that your flag chief of staff should be present, too, for esprit de corps.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Libby and Jacob, being passengers, could skip.”
Lib shook her head. “Deety and I made a reckless promise.”
Not being a genius myself, it’s kind of fun to make a roomful of ’em look silly. I stood up. “No! We will not let a dinner party interfere! We can settle it within three days. But if you all are going to chase rabbits – What’s the matter with you, Sharpie? Getting stupid in your old age?”
“Apparently I am, Zebbie.” She said to Lazarus, “Please issue orders cancelling dinner. We’ll stay with this until we finish it. There are beds and lounges whenever anyone needs to nap. But we won’t adjourn. Three hours or three weeks. Or longer.”
“Don’t cancel dinner, Sharpie.”
“Zebbie, you have me confused.”
“Beulahland is on a different time axis.”
Five minutes later we were in our old farmhouse. We hadn’t stopped for clothes as we would have wasted twenty minutes, whereas the idea was to save time on that axis, use time on this axis. We stuck Lazarus and Libby back in the after space, with the bulkhead door dogged open, so they could see and hear, but required them to use the web straps, and cautioned them that the lumps under them were loaded firearms.
The only thing not routine was that we would be making rendezvous later with a moving ship, something we had done before only from bounce range in the same space-time. So I had asked Gay whether she was sure she could do it. She assured me that she could, because she wasn’t concerned with the ship’s vector; she would return the instant she left.
I turned to Commodore-now-Captain Sharpie. “Ready for space, Captain.”
“Thank you, Astrogator. Gay Deceiver. Beulahland. Execute. Gay Deceiver, open your doors. All hands, unbelt. Disembark. Gay, it’s sleepy time. Over.”
“Goodnight, Hilda. Roger and out.”
Our passengers were dazed – they all are, first time. They stood outside our barn, looking at the setting sun, acting like zombies, until I shooed them inside. Although Beulahland does not have body taboos, they wear clothes most of the time, and six naked people outdoors in a clump as the chill of the evening was coming on was odd. I like a low profile.
Once inside, Libby said, “Feels like Arkansaw.”
Lazarus replied. “Feels like Mizzoura.”
“Neither,” I told them. “It would be the State of Washington if it weren’t Beulahiand, and what ought to be Puget Sound is about a kilometer over that way.”
“It still feels like home. Lazarus, I’m happy here.”
At that moment I decided we would never give up New Harbor. Apparently we were going to be citizens of Tertius, or maybe New Rome on Secundus, or both (commuting is no problem when light-years mean nothing), on another time axis. We could take a rest from city life anytime and have it cost not one day’s work on Tertius. Contrariwise, only such time would pass on New World as we spent there.
Hmm – Maybe we could sell vacations. Or extra study time for that student who has his big exam, the one he must pass, tomorrow morning. Sell him room and board and transportation and three weeks not in the calendar. At a slight markup, of course.
I built a cheerful fire in the fireplace, and Lazarus washed dishes, while Libby insisted on proving that she could cook on a wood range, even though she had learned centuries ago by her time scale, as a gangling boy. Yes, Elizabeth can cook.
We ate and sat around and talked, puzzling how to be sure of Maureen. Not make that one tiny mistake, It was then that Deety brought up the matter of the dead body. You’ve seen how accurate Gay can be but where do we get a freshly-dead corpse to replace Maureen?
Lazarus told her to forget it, “I provide the corpse.”
“That’s not a good answer, Lazarus.”
“Deety, don’t worry. It’ll be dead and I will dump it.” I said, “Lazarus, I don’t like that answer a damn bit.” “Nor do I,” Jake seconded.
“Nor I,” agreed Sharpie. “Woodie, you’re asking us to make a snatch – a hanging offense many places, bad trouble anywhere. We don’t mind the technicality; saving an old woman’s life isn’t the sin kidnapping is. But what about this freshly-dead corpse? We don’t deal in murder.”
Lazarus glowered.
Libby said hastily, “If I assure you that it is all right, will you let it go at that?”
“No,” pronounced Sharpie, “Woodie must come clean.”
“All right, all right! I own this corpse. No murder or any other crime involved. Now will you quit riding me about it?”
“Jake?”
“I don’t like it, Zeb.”
“I don’t, either. But we needn’t do anything. We go limp. He may not last long in a culture that ‘balances.'”
“Possible. But that’s his problem.”
Sharpie said quickly, “Did either of you promise him a ride back to my ship?”
“Whose ship?”
“My ship, Woodie. Gentlemen?”
“I didn’t promise him. Did you. Jake?”
“No. Did you, Deety? Hilda?”
“Not me, Pop.”
“Nor me, Jacob. Woodie, earlier today I thought you had seen the light. Conceded, ‘I am but indifferent honest’ myself. But even pirates need to feel safe with their shipmates. You and I shook hands as partners. You don’t seem to understand what that means. However I’m not going to abandon you here. You’d be balanced in a week. Dead. Or worse. So we’ll take you back. By the way, it is impossible to steal Gay Deceiver. Yes, I know you once stole a ship enormously bigger than Gay. But not as well protected.”
“Lazarus! Tell them.”
“Lib, I was waiting for the Commodore to finish. That corpse wasn’t murdered because it was never alive other than as a vegetable.” Lazarus looked embarrassed.
“About thirty years ago we started a medical school on Tertius. A one-horse deal, more of a branch of the clinic. But genetic engineering is taught, and student genetic surgeons must practice. Ordinarily a clone that goes bad is killed and frozen and its tissues studied. A clone that takes – shows no fault, no deviation – is either cared for and allowed to develop if its genetic source wants a spare body and will pay for it. Or, more likely, a healthy clone is purely a laboratory exercise – an ethical medical school requires supervised destruction during the first pseudo trimester, before quickening shows in the wave form.
“Neither student nor tissue donor is likely to be upset by this quasi-abortion, as the student is almost always herself the donor – if it bothers her, she’s in the wrong vocation.
“If the student is not the donor, emotional upset is hardly possible. The student thinks of the clone as a quasi-living histological specimen the usefulness of which is at end – and the tissue donor can’t be upset, being unaware of it.”
“Why so, Lazarus? If anybody is tinkering with my cells, I want to know about it, I do!”
“Deety, that tissue may be years, even centuries, old; the donor may be parsecs away. Or still warm and the donor just leaving the building. Or anything in between. A sperm-and-ova bank insures the future of the race; a tissue bank insures the future of the individual. But somebody has to pick up the check; it’s a tanstaafl situation. A few of the very wealthy – and neurotic – always have a quickened but unawakened clone in stasis. I’m wealthy but not neurotic; I don’t have a reserve clone.”
I caught sight of Libby’s face as Lazarus made that last statement – her mouth twitched in a half smile about to become (I think) a snicker, had she not suppressed all expression. No one but I caught it.
I made note to ask her about it later – then I remembered what the mouse told the cat and decided not to.
“But I do what any prudent Howard does; I have tissue on deposit. One may do this either of two ways: Pay high … or pay much lower and sign a release on half the donation for research and instruction.” He grinned. “I’m stingy. My tissue is available to medical students.”
He went on, “Not all medical schools are ethical. I can think of at least three planets where – ” Lazarus looked directly at my wife. “Deety, you raised this issue. While I can think of three planets where one can buy any sort of monster, I can think of at least thirty where, for a much lower fee, I could simply say, ‘I want that one'” – he pointed at Sharpie – “and the answer would be, ‘It’s a deal, Mac. How freshly dead and when do you want delivery?”
Sharpie looked around behind herself as if to see at whom Lazarus had pointed.
“That’s the cheapest way -“
“Then you weren’t pointing at me!” Sharpie interrupted. “Woodie, it’s not polite to point. For a moment you had me worried. I’m never cheap – highpriced, always.”
“So I found out, Commodore. Deety, that’s cheapest, and safe for the buyer in the places I have in mind. But how can I convince you that I never gave even a moment’s consideration to that method? You seem to know a lot about me – more than I know about any of you. Is there anything that you have ever read or heard, anything that I’ve said or done, that would cause you to think that I would murder or contract for a murder – same but nastier – in order to further my own ends? I’m not saying that I have never killed. A man who has lived even half as long as I have has found himself more than once in a kill-or-be-killed situation. But the best way to deal with such a situation is not to get into it. Anticipate it. Avoid it.”
Lazarus Long stopped and looked sad, and for the only time of my acquaintance with him, looked his age. I do not mean he suddenly looked decrepit. But he had an aura of ancient sorrow. “Professor Burroughs, if it would do any good, I would junk all my plans, accept being forever stranded here, for the privilege of taking a twenty-pound sledge and smashing your space-time twister.”
I was shocked (damn it, I like good machinery). Jake looked hurt, Deety and Sharpie looked stunned.
Jake said tightly, “Lazarus… why?”
“Not to hurt you, Professor; you have my highest respect. You are one of three: the man who invented the wheel, the man who discovered how to use fire – and you. But, in making this supreme discovery, you have accomplished something I had thought impossible. You have made interstellar war logistically practical. Interstellar? Intergalactic – interuniversal!”
Lazarus suddenly straightened up, threw off his gloom, grinned. “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men can’t close Pandora’s Box again. Once it hits the fan, the only thing to do is sweep it up, package it, and sell it as fertilizer. Hilda has plans along that line. But I’m going to have to start thinking in military terms again. Figure out how to defend my home place against what appears to be that Ultimate Weapon much talked about but never achieved. I am glad to say that Hilda plans to keep it a close-held secret as long as possible; that may buy us time.”
He turned his attention back to my wife. “Deety, I have never murdered, I never will. The nearest I ever came to it was once being sorely tempted to strangle a five-year-old boy. I admit that the thought has often passed through my mind that this character or that would look his best as the centerpiece of a funeral. But can I convince you that I have never acted on such thoughts? Think hard, please – all that you know of me. Am I capable of murder?”
Deety doesn’t dither. (Remember how we got married?) She jumped up, hurried around our kitchen table, and kissed Lazarus – and stopped hurrying. It was a kiss that calls for a bed, or even a pile of coal – had there not been urgent business before the house.
Deety broke from it, sat down beside him, and said, “Tell us how we get this unmurdered fresh corpse. It’s clear that we’re going to have to go pick it up – in Gay. So we must know.”
Libby said gently, “Lazarus, this is what you have been avoiding. May I tell it?”
“Thanks, Lib. No, you would pretty it up. I -“
“Pipe down!” said Deety. “Elizabeth, give us the straight word. Briefly.”
“Very well. The medical school of B.I.T. is as ethical as you will find. My sister-wife Ishtar is director of the rejuvenation clinic and chairman of the board of the medical school, and still finds time to teach. I have never seen Maureen Johnson as I was born about two centuries after she was. But she iS Supposed to resemble Laz and Lor – unsurprising; she is their genetic mother, since they were cloned from Lazarus.”
“Oh! I see. There is still a third clone from Lazarus. Female?”
“A spoiled one, Deety. Ishtar tells me that it is difficult, rather than otherwise, to get a bad clone from Lazarene tissue… so it is especially suitable for induced mutation experiments. She orders the destruction of these experiments when they have served their purpose.”
“Deety said to make it brief,” growled Lazarus.
Lib ignored him. “But, while Ishtar checks on the students, no one checks on her. For twenty years Ishtar watched for a clone that would look human but not be human. So deficient in forebrain that it could never be anything but a vegetable, unaware. She told me that her students had unknowingly provided her with dozens to work on. Usually they died too soon, or never developed human appearance, or had some other fault that made them unusable. But several years ago she succeeded. I testify that this thing looked like Laz and Lor as it passed through the stage of its forced development… and also that it looked like an older version, wrinkled and hair streaked with gray, when it died two Tertian years ago -“
“Huh? ‘Fresh corpse’!”
” – and was quick-frozen at once. I testify to something else. Friends, in becoming a woman I acquired an interest in biology that I had not had, as a male. While I teach math at B.I.T., I am also staff mathematician to the clinic and have studied a bit of human biology. When I say that this spoiled clone was never alive in any real sense I speak as the mathematical biologist who checked its monitors’ records daily. It always required full metabolic support; we monitored everything. The surprising thing is that Ishtar could keep it alive long enough to let it appear to age. But Ishtar is very skillful.” Libby added, “Lazarus would not only have become upset in telling this, but he could not have told it first hand as Ishtar refused to permit Lazarus to see this spoiled clone or any records on it.”
“A willful woman,” said Lazarus. “In three seconds I could have told Ish whether or not this thing looked enough like my mother to be useful. Instead I must depend on the opinions of people who have never laid eyes on my mother. Damn it, I am owner of record of the clinic and Chairman Regent of all B.I.T. Does that count with Ishtar? Hilda, my senior wife is as tough a case as you are… and looks as little like it as you do.”
“So? It will be interesting to see what happens when I am your junior wife,” Sharpie answered at her pertest.
“Are you going to be my junior wife?” Lazarus swung around and looked at her husband. “Jake?”
“I don’t think I have a vote,” my blood brother answered easily.
“I’ll automatically be your junior wife if we are invited to join the Long Family which we damn well ought to be if we make this work!” Sharpie said indignantly.
“Wait a half!” I put in. “If we are invited to join the Long Family – a tall assumption if I ever saw one – Deety would be junior. Not you, you elderly baggage.”
“Hillbilly can be junior if she wants to be. I don’t mind.”
“Deety,” I said, “are you serious? I’ve been trying to point out to your stepmother that you don’t push your way into a family.”
“I wasn’t pushing, Zebadiah,” my wife answered. “I want us to stay on Tertius at least until we have our babies, and possibly make it our home; it seems to be a pleasant place and should be free of ‘Black Hats’ – no skin taboos. But that doesn’t mean that the Longs have to have us in their laps.”
“I intend to nominate you, Zebadiah,” Libby told me. “All four of you. And I hope you four accept. But, Deety twin, you know what I’m attempting. With your father.”
“Yes, I know. I’m cheering for it.”
“Your husband must hear this. Deety, I still have that Y chromosome in every cell even though it has been so inhibited by hormone balance that I don’t notice it. You and I could try for a mathematical-genius baby, too.”
“Huh! Which one of us supplies the penis?”
“Ishtar does. Neither of us would be host-mother, the way it would be done. But any of my sister-wives would supply womb room if she didn’t happen to be pregnant. Or the host-mother could be a stranger we would never meet and the child’s family-parents strangers, too – all handled by Ishtar who always reads the relevant genetic charts before approving anything.”
“Zebadiah?”
I said without hesitation, “It’s up to you, hon. I’m in favor of it; it makes sense. But don’t lose track of the child. Elizabeth, I want to adopt the baby ahead of time. Hmm – Bottle baby… but the formulas are probably better now. Not here-now. Tertius there-then-now.”
“‘Bottle baby’? Oh! No longer done; a baby needs to suckle. But there is usually spare milk around the Longs’. If I’m lactating I always have excess; I turn out to be a good milch cow despite that extra chromosome. But Deety can nurse our child if she wishes to; causing a woman to come fresh with milk without bearing a child is a minor biochemical manipulation today – Tertian-today. Professional wet nurses do it regularly and are likely to be in that vocation because they love babies but can’t have ’em themselves for some reason.”
“Sounds good.” (What sounded best was this: a baby Deety is a wonderful idea – but a baby Deety who is also a baby Libby is sure to be wonderful squared. Cubed!)
“While I’m on this and no one here but family – Jacob, there is no reason not to create a third mathematical supergenius by crossing you with your daughter.”
I was looking at my wife, thinking pleasant thoughts about baby Deety-Libby, when Elizabeth dropped this bomb – and Deety shut down her face. It’s not an unpleasant expression; it’s a no-expression, a closed door, while Deety sorts out her thoughts.
So I looked at Jake, in time to see his face shift from surprise to shock. “But that’s -“
“Incest?” Libby supplied. “No, Jacob, incest is a social matter. Whether you bed your daughter is none of my business. I’m speaking of genes, of still another way to conserve mathematical genius. Ishtar would scan your charts most carefully and would resort to chromosome surgery if there was the slightest chance of double dosage of a bad allele. But you and your daughter could see Ishtar on different days and never know anything about the outcome. Your genes are not your property; they come from your race. This offers opportunity to give them back to the race with your highest talent reinforced… without loss to anyone. Think about it.”
Jake looked at me, then at his daughter. “Deety?”
She added no-expression voice to no-expression face – but directed her answer to me: “Zebadiah, this is necessarily up to you and Jacob.” I’m not sure that anyone but Sharpie noticed that she had not said “Pop.”
Deety added at once with total change in manner, “First things first! Maureen’s rescue. All of you are stuck in a rut of time sequence. Oh, the minor problem of keeping clear of Dora and the missile both times. Routine.” (And I was hit by a satori.)
Lazarus answered, “But Deety, I promised Dora never again to take her anywhere near Albuquerque.”
Deety sighed. “Lib?”
“Frames one-thirteen through seven-seven-two, then seven-seven-three through one thousand and two?”
“Precisely. And precisely it must be, too. I’m timing it by that yellow open roadable approaching from the other direction. What are you using?”
“The same one. Easy to spot and its speed never varies.”
Lazarus said, “Jake, do you know what they are saying?”
“Yes and no. They are treating it as two problems. But we lack three seconds of time enough to dump one and snatch the other. Those – traffic lights, you called them? – leave that intersection clear by a measured interval, clocked by your camera.”
Sharpie suddenly grinned; I nodded to her to take it. She did. “Deety and Libby are saying that we do it twice. First, we rescue Maureen. Then we come back and dump the corpse.”
I added, “But the second time we don’t ground. Jake, I’m going to ask you to move over – Deety moves to my seat. We’ll dump the dead meat so that it hits the ground between frames seven-seven-two and seven-seven-three. I’ll be on manual and hovering. I need to know where Dora is and where that missile is and need to be sure of the acceleration of gravity, Earth-Prime. Because that corpse will already be falling, right over our heads, while we are making the snatch. Close timing. Mmm – Gay can fly herself more precisely than I can. I think that Deety and I will write a program… then I’ll be on override-suspenders and belt.”
Jake added, “Zeb, I see the procedure. But, if we are hovering for the drop while we are also on the ground, why aren’t we shown in the photographs?”
“May be in some of them. Doesn’t matter. Deety, when do we do this? Cancel. Sharpie? Your orders, Captain?”
Deety and Sharpie swapped glances. Then they sounded like Laz-Lor, with Sharpie leading. “Now to bed. It’s almost midnight in our biological time, slightly later in local time.”
“We do both jobs after breakfast,” Deety responded. “But sleep as late as we can. Be sharp and on our toes. ‘Minds me. Just one ‘fresher, quite primitive. But the two in Gay are as available here as anywhere; since they are actually in Oz. Six people, three pots, not difficult.”
“And three beds,” added Sharpie. “Jacob, kiss us goodnight and take Lib to bed. Master bedroom and good luck! Use my toothbrush, Lib hon – anything else you need?”
“No. A good cry, maybe. I love you, Hilda.”
“If I didn’t love you, Elizabeth, I wouldn’t be Madam of this joint. We’ll cry together the day Ishtar tells us you’ve caught. Now shoosh! Scat! Kiss us and go to bed.”
As they headed upstairs Sharpie said to me, “Zebbie, give Deety a pre-amnesty so that she can try out Lazarus and find out whether she wants to be junior wife.”
I tried to look amazed. “Deety, haven’t you tried Lazarus yet?”
“You know darn well I haven’t! When have I had time?”
“From a woman who specializes in programming time machines that is a silly question. Lazarus, she’s already knocked up, so don’t fret about it. One warning: She bites.”
“The best ones always do.”
“Hush. Kiss us good-night, dears. Zebbie, open the couch in the living room; that’s where you’re going to keep me warm.”
“But who’s going to keep me warm? A skinny little runt like you?”
Sharpie bites.

Chapter XLV

A Stitch in Time

Jake:
We popped out one klick H-above-G over Albuquerque, Earth-Prime, and Gay tilted her nose down. A last-minute change put my daughter Deety at copilot, while I sat left rear, nominal navigator. Deety can use verniers as accurately as I, did not expect to use them at all, did need to be able to see the yellow roadable – and has this clock in her head.
Elizabeth Long was in the after compartment, strapped down but not on lumps of ordnance. Rifles, pistols, bed clothes for the control compartment, anything else that could be moved easily to reduce clutter, had been shifted into our space warp, as had Lazarus Long.
Doctor Ishtar had warned Lazarus not to let his mother recognize him, as the shock to her might be harmful, even fatal. While Lazarus had been trying to figure out how to make the snatch using Dora, he had planned on wearing disguise. But hiding in our Land-of-Oz addition was simpler-especially as Ishtar was almost as anxious that Lazarus not see his mother, not see his mother’s pseudo corpse – this I learned from Elizabeth in the night.
So I showed Lazarus the everlasting picnic basket, advised him to use bed clothes to make a shakedown and sleep if possible as there would be time to kill, and supplied him with books – but don’t come out until I open the door! Then did not mention that I was locking him in.
I was relieved to have only a nominal job. I was not sleepy despite a short night – I was bemused.
I was falling in love with – had fallen in love with – Elizabeth Long. No less in love with Hilda – more in love with her than ever! I am learning that love does not subtract – it multiplies!
As Gay tilted down I reached over and touched Hilda’s hand. She smiled and threw me a kiss. I’m sure she had a sweet night; she has loved Zeb as long as she has known him. “As a loyal chum,” she tells me – but Hilda holds to the Higher Truth that it is better to be kind than to be frank. It did not matter either way; Zeb is my blood brother beloved by me, perfect husband for my daughter, and, if not Hilda’s lover in the past, then he surely was now – and it troubled me not at all. On awakening I had discussed it with Jane before I opened my eyes – Jane approves and is delighted by Elizabeth.
My daughter had an unusual night, too. If the myths are true, Lazarus is more than one hundred times as old as Deety. This gulf may not matter to him – but Deety takes everything seriously.
Apparently it had done her no harm; at breakfast she was bright-eyed and bubbly. All of us were euphoric and eager to get on with it.
Zeb was saying, “That’s it! Got it in the gunsight – got the range, Smart Girl?”
“Got it nailed, Boss!”
“Keep it so. Deety! Yellow roadable?”
“Just spotted it. Gay, count down! Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Now!”
We were diagonally in that intersection; Gay’s portside door was popping open. I heard Zeb say, “Oh, my God!” He was out of the car, kneeling, picking up a body, kicking a cop in the stomach, and throwing that body to me, as he scrambled inside and shouted, “GayBounce!”
Gay bounced. Gay is not supposed to lift with a door open and “Bounce!” means ten klicks. She bounced one klick, finished closing her door, waited while Zeb checked the seal – completed the bounce. I am now a believer.
I was passing this little old lady back to Elizabeth, and looking for resemblance to Lazarus when I heard Zeb moan, “I didn’t get her purse, I didn’t get her purse!”
“What of it?” said Deety. “It’s where we want it. Gay Deceiver. Tertius Orbit. Execute.”
A beautiful planet –
Zeb was saying, “Lib, can you coach us? Or are you too busy?”
“Not that busy. Maureen fainted but her heart is strong and steady, and I have a strap holding her. Is Gay on frequency?”
Deety reported, “Right on. Go ahead, Lib.”
The next I can’t report; it was in Galacta. Then Elizabeth said, “We’ll be passing over Boondock in three minutes twenty-two seconds. Roof of the clinic is designated. Shall I come forward and point it out?”
“Can you handle yourself in free fall?” Zeb asked.
“I’ve some experience. Eight centuries.”
“My big mouth. Come forward.”
In four or five minutes we grounded on a flat roof in a wooded part of a moderately large city. I saw a figure in a white coverall, plus two others with a wheeled stretcher – and only then did I recall that none of us had dressed. Hilda had asked; Lazarus had vetoed, Elizabeth had concurred.
So I found myself bare to my ears, bowing over a lady’s hand and saying, “I am honored, Doctor Ishtar.”
She is indeed beautiful – a Valkyrie sculptured from cream and marshmallow and honey. She smiled and kissed my hand.
Elizabeth said something in this other language; Ishtar smiled again and said, in careful, fluent English, “In that case, he is one of us” – took my head in her hands and kissed me thoroughly.
Ishtar so distracted me that I did not notice that Maureen had been handed out – awake but dazed – been rolled away, and was gone. All of us were thoroughly and carefully kissed, then Elizabeth discussed matters with Ishtar in Galacta. “Ish says that she has been slowly warming the thing. It is now at four degrees Celsius. She would like more time but will bring it to thirty-seven degrees Celsius in six hours if she must.”
Deety said, “How about twenty-four hours?”
Ishtar was pleased at this, agreed that she understood that the substitute must be dressed in the patient’s (client’s) clothing, agreed that the space we were in would be kept clear – and asked, “What’s that pounding noise?”
Elizabeth explained that it was Lazarus. “He is in a magic space warp about where we were standing. He knows that he is supposed to remain there, but he changed his mind – and has just discovered that he is locked in.”
Ishtar’s smile suddenly became a grin, as quickly left. “A magic space warp? Lib, I want to hear about that.”
“You will.”
We climbed back inside, Deety told Gay “Twenty-four hours” – and we stepped out again. Ishtar was lying on a pad, taking the sun… this time as bare as we were – and I was still more impressed.
“Right on time,” she said, standing (taller than I am) and, as always, smiling. “The substitute is waiting, and I have had time to examine and talk with the client. She is in good shape for her age, understands in part at least what has happened, and is undismayed by it. Please tell Lazarus that, if he returns to Tertius soon, he will not be admitted to this building for seventeen months. The client is most firm: she will not see Lazarus until I have completed rejuvenating her.”
“Lib,” said my daughter Deety, “seventeen what sort of months? I want to set an exact rendezvous – and Gay’s time calibration is not Tertian but Earth-Prime and Earth-zero. Old Home Terra.” With Elizabeth as interface the three agreed on an exact time. Then Elizabeth again discussed something in that language.
Ishtar nodded. “No problem, I have seen that picture. And a hooded cape is even less trouble.”
So we left.
Dropping that pseudo corpse was routine but I was glad to be quit of it (I had swapped seats with my daughter). Then we were back on Tertius.
“Always prompt,” said Ishtar – and I was astounded to see that she was quite pregnant, close to birthing … when I had seen her, slender for her height, two minutes earlier. “And we are on time, too. Maureen, my friends and yours.” She named us.
Maureen Johnson spoke to us first in Galacta, shifted to English when she realized that we did not know the common tongue. Yes, she does look like Laz and Lor – but prettier. A woman of beauty and great charm. I find that I am growing accustomed to perfect ladies who embrace, bare body to bare body, on meeting a fully-vouched-for stranger. She thanked each of us and made us believe it.
“Still pounding?” Ishtar inquired.
“It has been less than five minutes for him, Ish,” Elizabeth explained. “But you know his temper; perhaps we had better leave. Home soon, I think.”
So we left again, with Maureen squeezed between me and my wife, with a package and a cloak in her lap. We were back inside Dora at once. Elapsed time: zero seconds. We still had an hour and twenty minutes to prepare for dinner. I found that I was hungry, even though breakfast was three hours ago, biological time – almost all of it spent in Beulahland, programming for the caper, as all three phases took only a few durational minutes, mostly on a rooftop in Boondock.
Maureen put on the cloak, a hooded cape, and carried the little package. “Silly but fun,” she said. “Where do we go now?”
“Come with me,” Hilda told her. “Beloved, you can let Woodie out as soon as Dora tells Gay that I have reached flag cabin. When he yelps, tell him that we were too busy to play games with him… and the next time he wants a favor from me he can crawl on his knees. Pounding indeed! Tell him that I am extremely tired and am going to nap until just before dinner and he is not to call me or to come to the flag cabin between now and dinner without suffering my extreme displeasure and a punch in the nose from you. All of you come up to flag cabin as soon as you wish but try not to be seen by Woodie. You’ll probably find Maureen and me in the lounging pool.”

Chapter XLVI

“I’m gifted with second sight.”

Deety:
When the Hillbilly stages a production, she doesn’t stint. By protocol decreed by Lazarus Long, dinner in Dora is formal, but with wide latitude in “formal” – casual dress being the only thing utterly verboten. Dinner is preceded by a happy hour where one can sip Coca-Cola or get roaring drunk.
Aunt Hilda changed all that for this night. No happy hour but be on time – two minutes before twenty o’clock, ship’s time. No one permitted to eat in her/his quarters – a command performance.
No options in dress – Commodore Auntie decided what each would wear, where each would sit. I said, “Commodore Hilda honey, aren’t you kind o’ throwing your weight around? What there is of it?”
She answered, “Yes, I am, Deetikins, for this occasion. But before you criticize, ask your husband whether or not I ever permitted one of my parties to flop.”
“Don’t need to ask him. Why, at your last one, our old Buick blew up. Never a dull moment.”
“I didn’t plan that. But we got husbands out of it; let’s not complain. Before you deliver my message to the twins, tell me this. Is it safe to let them in on our secret?”
“Hillbilly, I tell Zebadiah anything even though someone – you, for example – has asked me not to.”
“Deety, I thought we had a ‘You’ll-keep-my-secrets-and-I’ll-keep-your-secrets’ agreement?”
“We do. But telling Zebadiah gives you two covering for you instead of one. About Laz-Lor – remember that they are his wives as well as his clones.”
“Hon, you were always a wise one. All right, we keep it secret. Tell them what to wear – and please understand that I’m hiding behind you to avoid argument; it’s a favor I appreciate. Sending up sword and saber is a favor to your husband and to your father but I thank you on their behalf if they forget. Send the blades to your suite; they’ve decided they can dress more easily without women underfoot.”
“A canard,” Pop said, just back of my neck. “The women don’t want us underfoot.”
“I knew it was one or the other, Jacob,” Aunt Hilda agreed. “But Dora has already taken your uniforms to our suite and your swords will -“
” – be there, too, and I can recognize a fact when I fall over it and have never been happier, my love, than I have been since you took charge of my life and started telling me what to decide.”
“Jacob, you’re making me teary.”
“Jake! Can you hear me?” – Lazarus’ voice and Aunt Hilda used family sign language; Pop nodded and answered promptly:
“Certainly, Lazarus – what’s on your mind?”
“I’m faced with the impossible and need help. I received an order – you, too, I think – to dress in military uniform at dinner. The only uniform I have aboard is in the flag cabin and – say, are you in the flag cabin?”
Aunt Hilda shook her head. Pop answered, “I’m in our suite, dressing for dinner. Hilda needed a nap. I told you.”
“You certainly did, sir. I’m allergic to being punched in the snoot. But – Well, if you would use your influence -“
“If any.”
“If any, to get me that uniform twenty minutes before dinner” – Aunt Hilda nodded – “or even ten, you would save me the horrible dilemma of deciding which order to break.”
“Don’t decide to break the one telling you not to disturb Hilda.”
“I didn’t even consider breaking that one! And it’s not your fist in my snoot. Jake… she terrifies me. I don’t understand it. I’m twice her mass and all muscle; she couldn’t possibly hurt me.”
“Don’t be certain. She has a poisoned fang. But calm yourself, comrade. I guarantee delivery by nineteen minutes before the bell at latest.”
“Jake, I knew I could depend on you. Let me know when you want a bank robbed.”
I gave Maureen a special hug before I left to carry out my orders. I knew what the Hillbilly was doing: rigging it so that she could have a quiet hour in which to get acquainted with Maureen. I didn’t resent it; I would have rigged it for me had I been able.
I curved down the corridor, whistled for Lib to let me in, stopped dead and whistled another sort of whistle. She was dressed, if “dressed” is the word. “Wheeeewhoo!”
“Like it?”
“I can’t wait to get into mine. It is the most indecent outfit I’ve ever seen, with no other purpose than to excite lewd, libidinous, lascivious, licentious, lecherous, lustful longings in the loins of Lotharios.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of clothing?”
“Well… aside from protection – yes. But I’m beginning to realize that a culture with no body taboo has to go much farther in styling to achieve that purpose.”
It was a “dress” with a “skirt” that was a 10-cm ruffle worn low. The material was silky stuff in pastel green. The bodice had no back but the front came clear up to the neck – with cutouts for each teat. The designer did not stop there. Lib’s left teat was bare – but her right one was barer yet: a transparent film that clung and was covered with rainbow iridescence that moved in endless patterns with every jiggle – and jiggle we do no matter how firm. Elizabeth is as firm as I am but hers quivered enough to swirl that iridescence just from breathing.
Whew!
If both had been bare, or both iridescent, it would not have done a quarter as much. It was the contrast that would make ’em howl at the Moon.
My dress was exactly like hers save that my right teat was the bare one.
Lib got me into it, then I hurried to the bridge, with a hope-promise to be back ten minutes before the hour to have her touch up my eyebrows and lashes. I’m not much for cosmetics (neither is she) but our lashes and brows hardly show without help and this was a formal occasion.
One of Dora’s blue fireflies led me to a lift that took me to the bridge, where Dora had told me I would find Laz and Lor. Laz spotted me first, made a yelling noise while patting her lips, which I took to mean enthusiasm. Those kids – correction: women close to Pop’s age but they feel like kids – Laz-Lor are as female as I am and recognize what incites the lovely beast in men. They liked my dress.
I liked that bridge. Reminded me of Star Trek; pointed ears would not have surprised me. Or Nichelle Nichols backed by colored lights. “This place makes my mouth water. Maybe someday a guided tour? Pretty please!”
Captain Lor said, “Certainly – “
” – but how about a swap as – “
” – we haven’t even been inside – “
” – Gay Deceiver and Dora says she -“
” – is wonderful and when this job is -“
” – done and we’ve rescued Mama Maureen there -“
” – won’t be anything to stop us once Dora -“
” – is safe on the ground at Tertius. Huh?”
“Certainly,” I answered… gleefully as now I knew that our 17-hour absence in zero seconds had not been noticed. To Lor and Laz the snatch was still in the planning stage. Apparently Ol’ Buddy Boy had not yet told his sisters. Had not yet worked up a set of lies, probably, that would account for his being locked in the bathroom while the rest of us did the job.
“At the earliest opportunity,” I went on. “Want to take a ride in Gay?”
“Oh, my! Could we?”
“Not for me to say. But I can tell you what works. Cuddle up to the Commodore. Pet her, be sweet to her. Ask her if she will let you call her ‘Aunt Hilda’ when you’re off duty; that will please her. She’s a cat; pet her and respect her feelings and she purrs – push her and she scratches.”
They glanced at each other. “We will. Thanks.”
“De nada, chicas -“
“You’ve learned Galacta!” (In chorus – )
“What? No. Probably a phrase that carried over. But I was sent here on duty and I’ve been chatting instead. Commodore’s compliments to the Captain and the Commodore requests that Captain Lorelei Lee Long and First Officer Lapis Lazuli Long join her at dinner at twenty o’clock and, as a favor to the Commodore, please dress in the same fashion as Doctors Libby and Deety – and that’s me and I’m wearing the fashion you are to wear.”
Captain Lor answered, “Certainly we’ll be there; we never miss dinner and -“
” – always dress formally and I don’t -“
” – mean bare skin. Skin is for working or -“
” – sleeping. But we treat dinner in the Dora as a -“
” – formal party and that calls for the works. Formal evening -“
” – dress and jewelry and cosmetics and perfume and we are about -“
” – to bathe and change, but we can’t dress the way you are -“
” – because our dresses are already picked out and -“
” – it’s too late to start over!”
I said, “Look, chums, you brought this on yourselves by urging Lib and me to dress this way. Neither of us was enthusiastic but we promised. The Commodore learned what Libby and I expected to wear, and decided that four of us, all about the same size and coloration, would look wonderful in matching green dresses. So Lib and I are to be opposite you two, balancing you, and the men are required to wear uniforms so as not to compete with us four. All clear?”
They got their stupid look which actually is a cover for stubborn determination. Lor said:
“The Captain sends her respects to the Commodore and regrets -“
“Hold it! Does this ship have a lifeboat?”
“Yes,” answered Lor, “but -“
“But you are master of this ship. Yes, I know. And I’m gifted with second sight. I see only two viable futures for you. Did you get your pirate flag up in the lounge?”
“Yes, we did, but -“
“If you’ll tell me what lifeboat and where, I’ll get the flag to you before twenty. I see you starting out in that lifeboat to be pirates. Or I see you at dinner in dresses of any green cloth you can find, cut hastily in this style and pinned together. No jewelry. No cosmetics that show. I don’t think you can fake this iridescent stuff but that stick-on transparent wrapping, used instead, would show that you had tried. The Commodore never rejects anyone for failing; what she despises is not trying. Send your answer via Dora. I can’t be your messenger boy; I have work to do before dinner, now only forty-seven minutes away. Will the Captain excuse me?”
I got out fast. I didn’t believe for one second that a ship stocked like the Dora, run by identical redheads, could fail to have endless formals in green – including this style or close to it. By now the twins were frantically consulting their brother via Dora, and from what I heard him say to Pop, I thought Lazarus would tell them that it was safer to jump ship and change their names than it would be to tangle with the miniature buzz saw – but if Dora couldn’t fake something that would at least show a hard try, he would sell her off as spare parts and install one of those new-model “Susan Calvin” positronic brains that everybody said was the coming thing for smartships.
I said Hello to Gay, then tried to reach under the instrument board and find the catch by touch.
I got out of the car in order to stand up in the ship’s passageway and took off my deliciously indecent dress. Then I was able to fold, bend, and staple, to open the stowage. A saber and a sword – no belts. “Gay.”
“What, Deety?”
“I’m looking for two sword belts. Category should be personal possessions, miscellaneous, weapons, belts for weapons.”
“Deety, they are supposed to be with the sword and saber. Many things were moved into the Land of Oz today; I heard you all talking about it. But no changes were read into my inventory. I’m sorry.”
“Smart Girl, it’s not your fault. We should have told you.”
“Deety, I’ve rolled the dice. The curve says that the most probable place is on hooks in Sunbonnet Sue’s wardrobe.”
They were.
I was starting to leave, after telling Gay she was a Smart Girl, when she said, “Deety, your father is calling. Dora has him on hold, through me.”
“Thanks, Gay; thanks, Dora. Pop?”
“Deety, are you still in Gay?”
“Just outside the starboard door.”
“Can you lay hands on my automatic and the web belt that goes with it?”
“Saw both three minutes ago.”
“Will you please remove the clip, check the chamber to be sure it’s empty, then bring belt and pistol when you fetch our toadstickers?”
“Anything for a steady customer.”
I left with belt and sword slung over one shoulder, saber and belt over the other so that the belts crossed between my teats, and with the web belt with holster and pistol interwoven through the others because it was far too big for my waist. This left my hands free to carry my dress, one hand being almost clean enough.
Pop said: “What took you so long? I promised Lazarus I’d get this stuff to him on time. Now I’m going to have to dogtrot. In Army blues.”
I told him I had stopped off at the pool hall and playing off the match game had taken a while. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have problems, too.”
Elizabeth wiped me down with a damp towel, dried and powdered me and drew my eyebrows and touched up my lashes and clucked over me, all in nine minutes, then most carefully put my dress back on me. “Ordinarily one does not take off a washable and put it back on – just wear it until you shower it off. A drop of water will go through this material like acid. Better skip the soup.”

Place cards showed us where to dine. But at two minutes before the hour the Hillbilly had not arrived, so we were standing. Laz-Lor came in, sat down – in dresses identical with mine and Lib’s, perfect fit, nothing improvised. Their brother spoke quietly to them; they stood up. Lazarus was dressed in a very old-fashioned army uniform, breeches with rolled leggings, a tunic with a stock collar, and Pop’s pistol at his side.
All but Pop’s stuff looked brand-new; I concluded that Lazarus had had it tailored.
Just as my head ticked twenty o’clock, a bugle (Dora) sounded attention. At least it had that effect on the men and Libby, so I stood straight. Laz-Lor looked at their brother and did so, too.
The wardroom has three steps leading down into it from each of its archway doors, with a little platform at the top so that you don’t fall on your face. Pop and Zebadiah marched up those steps, faced each other (and I thought how beautiful Zebadiah looked in dress uniform; I had never seen him in it). Pop snapped, “Draw! Swords!” Instead of coming down, they crossed blades in an arch. Lazarus looked startled and drew pistol, placed it smartly across his chest.
This archway was closed by drapes; we had come in from the other side. A drum and bugle (Dora again) sounded a ruffle-and-flourish; the drapes lifted from both sides – and here was the Hillbilly, standing tall (for her) and straight, with her perfect ice-cream skin gleaming in flood lights against a background of midnight blue. She was so beautiful I choked up.
Dora’s invisible band played The Admiral’s March as our tiny Commodore marched proudly down the steps toward us. (It could have been The Admiral’s March; Pop admitted later that he hummed to Dora the march played for generals and told her to fake it.)
Aunt Hilda did not sit down when she reached the head of the table, she stood near her chair instead. Nor had my father and my husband left their places, they simply brought their swords down. As soon as Hilda stopped and faced in, Pop commanded, “Corporal Bronson! Front and Center!”
Lazarus jerked as if he had been struck, holstered his pistol, marched to the far end, making sharp corners in passing around the wardroom table. He halted, facing Hilda – she may have given him some sign.
Dora hit two bugle notes; Aunt Hilda sang:
“Shipmates, beloved friends, tonight we are greatly honored!”
Four ruffles-and-flourishes, as the drapes lifted and parted, and again lights picked out bare skin, this time against a forest-green backing: Maureen in opera-length black stockings, green round garters, dark shoes with semi-high heels, her long red hair down her back.
Maureen was not “standing tall”; she was in the oldest and most graceful of sculptor’s poses: left knee slightly bent, weight slightly more on her right foot, chest lifted only a little but displaying her full teats, nipples heavily crinkled. Her smile was happy.
She held pose while that march concluded, then, in the sudden silence, held out her arms and called: “Theodore!”
“Corporal Bronson” fainted.

Chapter XLVII

“There are no tomorrows.”

Zeb:
Sharpie shouldn’t have done it to Lazarus. For a veteran of sixteen wars and Koshchei alone knows how many skirmishes and narrow escapes to be placed in a position where he is so shocked that blood drains from his head and he collapses “ain’t fitten.”
Deety agrees but asks me if I could have refrained from staging Mama Maureen’s return that way, given the chance? Well, no, had I Sharpie’s imagination – but it still would not have been “fitten.”
Not that he was hurt by it. Sharpie, all forty-three kilos of her, checked his fall. She was watching Lazarus, saw him start to collapse, closed the gap and grabbed him around the waist, did her best.
Sharpie saved him from hitting his head on the wardroom table. I would bet long odds that everyone was looking at Maureen except Sharpie. Sharpie had staged it – and the producer was interested in the effect on the one for whom it had been staged.
She had staged it even to the extent of getting Libby to ask Ishtar to obtain costume – shoes, hose, and round green garters to match a photograph, plus a hooded cape to keep our ubiquitous snoop Dora from knowing that we had an extra aboard. Sharpie had figured this way: that “French photo” snapshot of Mama Maureen (yeah, I call her that too – she’s the most motherly person in any world… and the sexiest. Don’t mention the last to Deety) (Deety knows it – Deety) – that snapshot was still in existence unless destroyed by machinegun fire in 1918, Earth-Prime.
Which it would not be… because Lazarus “got his arse shot off” as his sisters describe it. Not literally true, it was a belly wound more than bullets in his arse that came that close to finishing him. But all the wounds were low.
Where does a man in combat carry his most cherished possessions? In a breast pocket, usually the left one. I always have and I’ve never heard a veteran deny this.
It might be worth it to faint in order to wake up surrounded by Maureen, Hilda, Laz-Lor, Elizabeth, and my own reason for being. Jake and I could have played several hands of gin before anyone bothered with us. So I asked Dora for drinks and snacks for Jake and me, as it seemed uncertain as to when dinner would be served. Or if.
I heard Sharpie say, “Maureen, we must get this heavy uniform off him. Dora keeps this ship tropical. I should never have ordered uniforms for men while we women are comfortable.” They started peeling him.
I said, “Jake, school’s out.” I had sweated through my number-one uniform – might never wear it again but I’m sentimental about it. Jake was in as bad shape. Once you get happy with skin any clothes make you feel like Rameses II.
We peeled down and handed our clothes and swords to one of Dora’s waldoes and told her to hand them to Gay – including Jake’s pistol, belt, and holster, which I retrieved without anyone noticing me. Jake and I were Chinese stage hands; “Corporal Ted Bronson” was getting all the attention.
Dora pointed out that Gay was locked. I said, “If one of her doors were open, could you lay this gear on a seat?” Yes, she could. “Then do it,” I said. “Let me talk to Gay.”
We eventually had dinner, with everybody “formal” but Maureen. She retained her “casual” clothing long after everyone else was in formal skin. But not until I got pix of the Four Disgraces. Libby and Deety wanted to go shower, too, when Jake and I decided that, having discarded uniforms, we should shower in fairness to Dora’s airconditioning. I asked them and Laz-Lor please to wait until I staggered down (we had encountered a force-four sea, with white caps) to Gay for Jake’s Polaroid.
Turned out not to be necessary; Dora could take color and 3-D, still or motion, any angle, and light as needed, just as she had lighted the posing (which she had photographed, too, I learned later).
Maureen and Jake directed while “Corporal Bronson” and I sprawled Nero-style on lounges intended for Lib and Deety. Sharpie sat between us and dropped grapes into our mouths.
Jake tried to make the poses “artistic.” Mama Maureen agreed with everything Jake said, then did it her way. The results may have been artistic. But I know that those pix would give a skeleton one last case of raging tumescence.
Meanwhile Dora was singing and playing, urging us to eat – tasty tidbits eaten with tongs; I was reminded of the best in Oriental cuisines – and plying us with fine wines. Dora seemed to have a vast repertoire, some of which (to my surprise) was familiar. When Judy Garland sings Over the Rainbow, who can miss it? – Dora used Judy’s voice. I recall, too, Enjoy Yourself; It’s Later Than You Think. Most of them I did not know.
Dora announced Tomorrow’s Song – I thought that was what she said. Lazarus and Maureen held hands all through it and it was not a song that would fit the title I thought I had heard. I got straightened out when the song ended to dead silence and Maureen said to Lazarus, “Theodore, Ishtar was going to rearrange the watch list but Tamara vetoed it. She did it for you, dear man, and for me – but Tamara is anxious to see you.”
“Tamara always knows what she’s doing,” Lazarus answered.
“Yes, Tammy always knows what is best,” agreed Mama Maureen. “Tell me, Theodore, do I still make you think of her?”
Lazarus looked upset. “Uh, I don’t know. You don’t look like her… but you feel like her. And you look more like Nancy than you look like yourself.”
“Yes, I know. None of our family was willing to wait; you’ve been away from home too long. Be patient, and when I look like me to your eyes, tell us, and Galahad will hold my cosmetic age at that. Are you going to do as you promised me, so long ago, take Tammy and me to bed together? Perhaps I should add, Theodore, I am now wife to your co-husbands. I don’t ask that you marry me. Although I think Tammy will be shocked if you don’t. But I shan’t make it difficult, either way. I will hold to any pretence you wish. I did for Brian; I shall for you.”
Maureen was neither shouting nor whispering; she was simply bringing him up to date on things he needed to know. Lazarus started to answer, his expression oddly mixed, when Elizabeth cut in: “Lazarus -“
“Eh? What, Lib?”
“Message to you from Ishtar. To be delivered when needed, and now is the time. Ish read both your charts with her computer set for maximum pessimism. She also had them read at New Rome without identification other than her own file numbers. She has this message for you … in answer to the answer you will make. She says to tell you that you are an uncivilized primitive, ignorant of science, especially genetics, oversentimental, almost pathologically stubborn, retarded, probably senile, superstitious, and provincial… and that she loves you dearly but will not permit you to make decisions in her area of authority. In vitro or in utero, the cross will take place. Let me add that Maureen was not given a choice, either.”
“So? You can tell the big-arsed bitch that I agree with every word she says, especially the part about ‘senile,’ and that I gave up all hope of arguing with her tyrannical ways fifty years ago and that I love her just as dearly – outside her clinic – and that Maureen will tell her how such things will be handled; I don’t have a vote.” He turned toward me, looking past Sharpie’s pretty toes. “Zeb, here is the wisdom of the ages: Men rule but women decide.”
“Elizabeth, do you think I am anything like Tamara?”
“Mmm – Never thought about it. Yes, you both have that all-mother feeling. Uh, would you mind taking off costume? It distracts me from looking at you.”
“No trouble, Elizabeth. I don’t like round garters except as advertising.” Mama Maureen kicked off her shoes, took off the garters, carefully rolled down her hose in a manner interuniversal – stood up and stood easily, not posing.
“Turn around slowly. Mmm – Maureen, you do look like Tammy… or vice versa; it’s probably your genes in her. Am I descended from you? Does anyone here know? Lazarus?”
“You are, Lib. But not through me. Through my sister Carol. ‘Santa Carolita’ believe it or not – which would surprise Carol as she was no saint. But your descent through Carol was not proved until long after you were killed, when the Families’ records were being revised through computer analysis and a deeper knowledge of genes. No saints in our family, are there, Mama?”
“None that I know of, Woodrow. Not me, certainly. You were a little hellion; I should have spanked you much oftener than I did. Mmm… your father was as close to being a saint as any in our family. Brian was wise and good – and tolerant.” She smiled. “Do you recall why we separated?”
“I’m not sure I ever knew. Mama, my recollections of that era are much sharper for my trip there as ‘Ted Bronson’ – the other is a long time back.”
“In my sixties I stopped having babies. About the same time your brother Richard was killed. War. His wife, Marian Justin of the Hardy family, was with us, with their children, and Brian was back in uniform, a recalled colonel, on a desk job in San Francisco. When Richard was killed in 1945 we all took it hard but it was easier in that so many of us were together – Brian, and my youngest children, and Marian, and her children – five; she was thirty-one.”
Mama Maureen, free of stockings and shoes, sat in lotus across from Hilda and accepted a plate from Dora’s helpers. “Woodrow, I encouraged Brian to console Marian the only way a widow can be helped; she needed it. When that war was over, Marian needed a visible husband; her waistband and the calendar could not be reconciled. When we moved from San Francisco later that year, it was easy for Marian Justin Smith to become Maureen J. Smith while I became, with the aid of hair dye, her widowed mother – no one knew us in Amarillo and females were not yet compelled to have I.D.’s. So Marian had the baby as “Maureen,” and only with the Howard Families Trustees was the correct genealogy recorded.” Maureen smiled. “We Howards were easy about such things as long as it was kept inside the Families – and I am happy that we are even easier about it now.
“On our next move I moved out and became Maureen Johnson again, fifteen years younger since I did not look late seventies, and a Meen-ah-sotah Yonson, Woodrow, rather than a southern Missouri Johnson. A grass widow with round heels.” Mama Maureen chuckled. “Howards married only to have babies. My production line had shut down but the equipment was there and the urge. By the time you darlings” – Maureen’s eyes swept the wardroom – “rescued me, I had trimmed thirty-five years from my age and added thirty-five men to my memories. In fact, when you picked me up, I was on my way to a motel rendezvous, a widower of sixty who was willing to believe that I was sixty when in fact I expected to reach my Century Day in a fortnight.”
I said, “What a dirty shame! I wish you had been coming back from the motel when we picked you up.”
“Zebadiah, that’s sweet of you but it’s not a shame. We were getting bored with each other. I’m sure he read my obituary with as much relief as grief. I’m just glad you got me – and I’m told that you did most of it.”
“Gay Deceiver did most of it. The car you rode in both ways. But we almost didn’t pick you up. Things went wrong, badly. I knew that it was going to – Deety, can you tell her?”
“Mama Maureen, Zebadiah has forerunners of dangers. They are not long range; they are always just barely in time. I don’t know what happened this morning but -“
“‘This morning?'” Maureen looked extremely puzzled.
“Oh.” My wife went on, “It was ‘this morning’ to us. You arrived here at eighteen-forty and a few seconds, ship’s time. During that instant we spent fifteen hours on another planet, we made two trips to your native planet, two more trips to your new home planet, and you spent seventeen months on Tertius and we brought you back here – and it all happened today. Not just today but at that exact instant: eighteen-forty and thirteen point three seconds. Laz and Lor didn’t know that we were gone; even the ship’s computer didn’t know we were gone.”
“I did so!” Dora objected. “Gay was disconnected for nineteen microseconds. You think I don’t notice a gap like that? I asked what happened and she told me that it was a power fluctuation. She fibbed to me! I’m sore at her.”
Deety looked thunderstruck. “Dorable, Dorable! It wasn’t Gay’s fault. I asked her to keep our secrets. I made her promise.”
“Mean!”
“I didn’t mean to be mean to you, Dorable – and we did let you in on it as quickly as we could. We couldn’t have staged the tableaux if you hadn’t helped. Be angry with me if you must… but don’t be angry with Gay. Please kiss and make up.”
I don’t know how computers hesitate, but I think I caught the briefest split second. “Gay?”
“Yes, Dora?” – the Smart Girl’s voice through Dora’s speakers.
“I don’t want to be mad. Let’s forget it, huh? Let’s kiss and make up. I will if you will.”
“Yes, yes! Oh, Dorable, I do love you.”
“You’re both good girls,” said Deety. “But you are both professional women, too, and work for different bosses. Dora, you are loyal to your family; Gay is loyal to her family. It has to be that way. Dora, if your sister, Captain Lor, asked you to keep a secret, you wouldn’t tell Gay, would you? Because she might tell me… and I would tell Zebadiah… and then the whole world would know.”
(Would, huh? My dear wife, I had a clearance two stages above “Q” – so secret it does not have a name. Never mind, I’ll take the rap.)
(Yes, I know, my husband, I once held the same level of clearance. But dealing with balky computers is my profession. Computers are supergenius-level children and must be dealt with on their own level. Okay, maybe, huh? – Deety)
“Gosh!”
“You see? Captain Lor, does Dora have any secrets of yours? Or of your brother’s? She can tell them to Gay and Gay can tell them to me and I always tell everything to my husband and – “
Lazarus interrupted. “Dora! You tell tales out of school and I’ll beat your ears off with an ax! It’s all right for you two to chum together and play games. But you start swapping secrets and I’ll call in Minsky’s Metal Mentalities, Incorporated, to measure that space.”
“Male computers. You can’t scare me, Ol’ Buddy Boy, you wouldn’t trust your dirty neck to a male computer. Stupid.”
“My neck isn’t dirty; that’s just where the collar of my uniform rubbed it.”
“Dirty neck and a dirty mind. But don’t worry, Ol’ Buddy Boy; Dora Long doesn’t tell secrets. I now see that Gay had to keep secrets, too – I just hadn’t thought about it. But you were mean to my sisters.”
“Me? How?”
“You knew about this caper; you didn’t need to get it from Gay. You knew all about it; you were there. But you held out on your own twin sisters -“
“Most unfairly, Mama Maureen – “
” – as if we were untrustworthy, and if we’re -“
” – untrustworthy, why can we be trusted with a ship and -“
” – the lives of everyone on board? We’re glad you are here -“
” – for yourself, but maybe now that you are here, you will -“
” – protect us from his tyranny. Mama Ishtar doesn’t, and Mama Hamadryad just laughs at us, and Mama Minerva takes his -“
” – side, everytime. But you – “
“Girls.”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I made a promise to myself years ago that when my children grew up, I would not interfere in their lives. I should have punished Woodie more frequently when he was a child, but he is no longer a child -“
“Then why does he act like one?”
“Lorelei Lee! It is rude to interrupt.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“No harm done. But from what I was told at home, you two are not only my daughters but are also Theodore’s wives. Wives of Lazarus. And equally wives of his co-husbands. Is this not true?”
“Yes, Mama. But he’s pretty chinchy about it.”
“If you mean ‘chinchy in bed,’ it may depend on how you treat him. I did not find him so, when I was his mistress, many years ago – centuries ago by some odd scale that I do not understand. You heard me say that I am now wife to your co-husbands – including Lazarus if he will accept me. But I am certainly, if you will accept me, sister-wife with you two. So I had better stop being your mother. Nay?”
“Why? Grammy Tammy is mother to Ish and everybody -“
” – and we have three mamas in our family now and everyone of them is our -“
” – sister-wife, too; Ish and Hamadarling and Minerva and now -“
” – we have Mama Maureen and we are both delighted that we are your sister-wives but -“
” – you can’t get out of being our mama because we’ve been waiting for you all our lives!”
Dora echoed: “And I’m their sister so you are my mama, too!”
“Theodore, I think I am going to cry. You know my rule. I mayn’t weep in front of my children.”
I stood up, the whole gangling length of me. “Ma’am, I’d be honored to take you to some quiet place where you could cry on me all you please.”
Seven – I think it was seven protein types and two computers – jumped on me. The essence was: “You can’t take Maureen away from her own party!” – with ugly overtones of lynching.
The wind had freshened to force six, so I took liberal doses of champagne to insure against seasickness. After a bit I napped; it had been a busy day and I still was not over the shock of seeing a large freighter roadable about to take Gay’s door off before I could close it and bounce. That was when I kicked the cop in the stomach. Ordinarily I don’t kick cops; it makes one conspicuous.
Then a piercing voice was saying: “Flag Chief of Staff Carter’s presence on the bridge is requested by the Commodore,” and I wondered why the silly son of a bitch didn’t comply, so that the noise would stop. Then something cold was poking my tender bare ribs. “That’s you, Doc. I’ll help you. Relax.”
I was relaxed. Past tense. Some of Dora’s waldoes aren’t too gentle – or maybe these weren’t people waldoes but for cargo; I admit that I’m fairly large for a growing boy.
In the lift I decided that the Beaufort scale was at least eight, more likely nine. Nevertheless we got to the bridge. Right out of Hollywood, a whole dome of displays and clocks – all moving slowly widdershins. Yet Gay made do with just an instrument board. I heard Sharpie say, “My God, look at him!”
Deety was saying something about we can shift seats if necessary to Lor while Laz was saying Drink this.
I said firmly, “I do not drink. Beshides I been dring; yr fashe is all blurry.”
It must have been Laz and Lor who pinned me from both sides, each with an arm lock and a nerve pinch; Deety wouldn’t do that to me.
Sharpie was holding my nose and Laz was pouring it down my throat; it fumed and bubbled. Then – Well, there must have been a stowaway; Deety wouldn’t do that. Not to me.
They let go of me when I finished swallowing. I left the ship, made a fast inspection circuit, checked the Milky Way, and returned to a precision grounding. My ears fell off but it didn’t seem military to stoop over and pick them up. Besides, Sharpie is playful.
“Flag Chief of Staff reports to the Commodore as ordered.”
“How do you feel, Zebbie?”
“I feel fine, Ma’am. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“I suppose not; you’ve had a nap.”
“I did drop off. Dreamt I was in the Tasmanian Sea in a small vessel. Very uneasy body of water.” I added, “Aside from that nightmare, now gone, I’m in top shape. Orders, Ma’am?”
We gave everybody the two-dollar tour, including the bathrooms in the Land of Oz. Libby, Deety, and Jake waited outside, the place being crowded. Sharpie ruled that Laz could relieve Lor to allow Lor to look first, then Lor took back the captaincy so that her sister could see. The fairyland bathrooms made the biggest hit. I concede that the time-space twister is not impressive. Then the twins thanked Hilda and left.
“Attention, please,” said Hilda. “If you wish, we will show how we operate. Lazarus may use the astrogator’s seat while Deety makes responses from the cargo space. Elizabeth will go back there, too, as she has ridden in Gay Deceiver. Deety, before you move aft, show Maureen and Lazarus how we squeeze a passenger into the rear seats; I’ll scootch over.
“This car operates in several modes. As a roadable it is fast, comfortable, easy to handle, rather hard to park, and is usually parked with wings raked back as they are now, the hypersonic configuration. If we intended to drive it in the air, the wings would usually be extended for maximum lift. When operated by the Burroughs Continua Device, wing rake does not matter, but the chief pilot may choose to anticipate where he will arrive and rake accordingly.
“Since it has a computerized autopilot – Hello, Gay!”
“Hello, Hilda, mind if I listen?”
“Not at all, dear. Have you met everyone?”
“Yes, Hilda, and, since I’ve seen them through Dora’s eyes, I place all of them by their voices.” Gay added, “Dora is listening through me; she’s going to record your demonstration. Is that all right?”
“Certainly. Dora, since you are recording, I’ll make it as realistic as possible. Gay Deceiver. Close doors. Execute.” I was at chief pilot, Jake at copilot; his door closed, I started checking the seal on mine.
“All hands, prepare for space. Copilot.”
“Verniers zero, starboard door seal checked, seat belt fastened.”
“Report incomplete. Is your belt fastened tightly? Maximum accelerations? Friends, this car is powered to engage as a fighter; the driver may find himself upside down. Full demonstration, please, Jacob. Cinch it in.”
“Copilot reports seat belt tight for maneuvers.”
“Thank you, Jacob. Chief Pilot.”
I answered in my best cadet-boning-smart voice: “Portside door seal checked. Power pack on line point-eight-nine, two packs reserve at one-point-oh, juice at capacity, all systems go, seat belt cinched tight for max gee maneuvers.”
“Astrogator.”
“I’m not in my proper seat. Lib and I are fastened down like Siamese twins, tight. No loose gear. Annex checked and secure; all doors locked ‘cept bulkhead door is dogged open, contrary to routine. Captain, you could dog us in; we don’t mind.”
“Not like somebody I won’t mention who loses his temper over being locked in for five minutes -“
“Hilda, that was a low blow!”
“Passenger, pipe down. If you had done as you promised, you would not have known that the door was locked. I didn’t trust you – and I was right. I am not sure that I want to be your junior or second junior or whatever wife; you don’t keep your promises. I’m sorry, Mama Maureen, but Woodie is sometimes a very naughty boy.”
“I’m aware of it, Hilda. Captain. Please slap him down as necessary. I was always too fond of him and spoiled him.”
“We won’t speak of it now. All four of us are qualified in all four positions; we sometimes rotate to maintain our skills. Normal T.O. is myself commanding, Zebbie as second-in-command and astrogator, Jacob as chief pilot, Deety as copilot. But for this exhibition I have placed the finest manual pilot at the overrides, the inventor himself at the continua device, and a lightning calculator equal to Slipstick Libby – “
“Better!”
“Pipe down, Elizabeth. – as my astrogator. With such a crew, command cannot worry me. Chief Pilot, please unbelt and check that Mama Maureen and Lazarus are safely belted. Assume violent evasive maneuvers – and believe me, friends, we use them and are alive today because we were properly belted and because Zebbie is a lightning aerospace fighter pilot – and our Gay is a Smart Girl.”
I unbelted, made sure that Lazarus was belted tightly, made certain that Maureen was safe with those improvised belts, then suggested that she put her right arm around Hilda, her left around Lazarus, and hold tight. “All the others have double belts, lap and chest. You have just a lap belt; if I turned the car upside down, holding onto Hilda and Lazarus would keep you safe. Right, Lazarus?”
“Right, Zeb. Mama Maureen, a drill should be as near as possible to the real thing or it won’t save your life in combat.”
“Theodore, I don’t ever expect to be in combat. But I will do the drill properly.”
“Mama, I hate the idea of women in combat. But all through the centuries I have seen women in combat again and again, all too often as regular troops. I don’t like it. But there it is.”
My wife put in a plug for Lazarus. “Mama Maureen, my Pop has required me to learn every weapon I can lift and he had me trained in every type of dirty fighting imaginable. Several times it has saved me from a mugging. Once I almost killed a man twice my size – with my bare hands.”
“Jacob, will you teach me as much of what Deety knows as I am capable of learning?”
“Maureen, I’ll teach you what I can. While we’re here.”
From the back I heard Libby’s voice: “Now, Maureen?”
“Yes. If you think it wise in view of Hilda’s black ball.”
“I’m going to chance it. Friends, I was not sent to get myself pregnant by a great mathematician. That was my reason. By now Tamara has reports from me and from Laz and from Lor on each of you. Twelve ‘Yes’ votes, zero ‘No’ votes. I am directed by Tamara to offer you four fullest hospitality-such as you gave us in your home. If you decide to accept the name Long, tell Tamara. We won’t crowd you, either way.”
Hilda immediately answered, “Because of delays, a short roll call for space. Copilot.”
“Copilot ready.”
“Chief Pilot ready,” I echoed.
“Astrogator ready.”
“Passengers? By seniority.”
Lazarus started to reply; Hilda interrupted him. “‘By seniority!'”
“If you mean me, Captain, I’m ready.”
“You are, I believe, thirty years older than your son. In any case you are senior to him. Junior passenger?”
“That’s me,” answered Elizabeth. “Ready.”
“Forgot you, dear – apologies. Woodie!”
“Ready for space, Captain, you feisty, narrow little broad. And you’re damn well going to marry us!”
“Astrogator, log that. Insolence. Gay Deceiver.”
“Ready, Captain honey.”
“TertiusOrbitExecute!”
Maureen gasped. Lazarus snorted. “Farced us!”
“In what way? You reported, ‘Ready for space.'”
“And you called it a ‘drill.'”
“Woodie, I will bet anything you care to name that I did not call it a ‘drill’ – you did. Both Gay and Dora recorded. Put up or shut up. In the meantime, on the back of the seat ahead of you is a small medical kit. Find a pill bottle marked ‘Bonine.’ Small pink pills. Give one to your mother. Maureen, chew it, swallow it. Tastes like raspberry candy.”
“Hilda, what are you feeding – “
“Pipe down! Or do you prefer to be locked in the bathroom again? Passenger, I do not tolerate insubordination. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
Lazarus got out the pill, gave it to his mother. She accepted it and ate it without comment.
“Lazarus, I can offer you a front-seat view if you will swear by whatever it is that you hold holy that you will not touch one control of any sort even to avoid a crash. You don’t understand this craft and would cause a crash if you tried to avoid one. If you can’t convince me, I’ll give Maureen the front seat. But I don’t think Maureen is interested in learning to drive this car and I think you are.”
“That’s right, Hilda,” I heard Maureen agree. “I’m studying to be a nurse. Then a medical doctor. Then a rejuvenator. Or as far along that route as my ability will carry me. In the meantime I’m pregnant. Isn’t that a joke, Theodore? Everytime you and I meet with maximum opportunity, I’m pregnant. And this time Woodie can’t spoil it.” She chuckled a warm chuckle. “I owe you one, Staff Sergeant Bronson. Can we find a black walnut tree?”
“Lazarus, do you want a front seat? Or do you want to take Maureen into the annex and give her what she so clearly wants?”
“Oh, I can wait!” Maureen said quickly.
“God, what a decision! Maureen, a short rain check? I really do want to see what this craft will do.”
“I want to see the ride, too, Theodore. But I would not refuse you.”
“Pipe down, please. Jacob, will you change places with Lazarus? Each report when your seat belts will stand evasive maneuvers.”
“Seven gee,” I added. “Lazarus, Ack-Ack?”
“Not yet, thank God. I’m wondering how soon we’ll need it. And what sort? I’m stumped. Seat belt tight. Hey, we’re passing over Boondock!”
“So we are,” I agreed.
“Seat belt tight. Maureen, too.”
“Chief Pilot, you have the conn. Maneuver at will.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” I agreed. “Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce Gay Bounce. Show your heels, girl! Mach point seven point nine… one point two… Mach two… three… four … sweep right, set course for Boondock. Dive, Smart Girl. Mach five… six … seven -“
“Oh, my God!” – Lazarus.
“GayBounce. Trouble, Lazarus? Smart Girl, spread your wings.”
“You almost crashed us.”
“Oh, I think not. Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce.”
“They were waiting for us on the roof!”
“Who? How? Do you have some sort of cee-squared radio?” I added, “Gay Bounce. Smart Girl, do you want to dance? Gay dances beautifully, knows several. Want to pick one, Gay?”
“Dora taught me the ‘Nutcracker’ suite and I’ve been figuring out one for the ‘Sugarplum Fairy.’ But I don’t think I’m ready to show it yet.”
“Give them ‘Blue Danube.'”
“That old thing?”
“You do it well. Give them a few bars.”
Smart Girl just wants to be coaxed. She swooped and she swirled and once bounced herself for altitude without breaking her dance. Meanwhile I got the frequency and asked Libby to talk to Ishtar’s office. “Alternate route, Lib” – which was all it took for Deety to close the bulkhead door… which left Strauss waltz music in the cabin, and a truly private radio conversation in the after compartment.
When Deety opened the bulkhead door again, I waited for her to report strapped down. “Got a number for me, Astrogator?” We had agreed on a simple code: fifty-seven was fifty-seven seconds but five-seven meant fifty-seven minutes.
“No, Zebadiah. Zero. Now.”
“Okay. Lazarus, can you pick out your house in Boondock?”
“Certainly. But we’ve been moving away from there steadily.”
“GayDeceiverClinicExecuteGayBounce. Now where, Lazarus?”
“Practically under us. Can’t see it.”
So I tilted my baby straight down. “Can you coach me?”
“Yes, it’s – Hey! There’s a ship in Dora’s parking spot! What nerve! I’m going to give somebody a bad time. It’s irrelevant that Dora is a long way off, that’s my parking flat. See that round ship? Interloper! My house is the largish one with the double atrium north of it.”
“All right for me to park by the interloper?”
“All right but not room enough to get in.”
“We’ll try. Close your eyes.” I steadied vertically on the spot Lib had told them to clear. “Gunsighted, girl?”
“Nailed it, Boss.”
“New program code word ‘Maureen’ I tell you three times.”
“I hear you three times.” We were getting low.
“MaureenExecute!”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay. Open your doors.”
She opened them but answered, “If I’m smart, why wasn’t I invited, too? It’s Dora Long and Athene Long – am I a second-class citizen?”
I was left with my mouth open. And was saved by two darlings. Libby said, “Gay, we didn’t know you cared,” and Deety said, “Gay, either we both join or neither joins. A promise.”
I said hastily, “Goodnight, Gay. Over.” People were pouring toward us. Gay answered, “Sleepy time. Roger and out,” just as Laz and Lor arrived in the van, trotting ahead.
Lazarus stopped unbelting. “Hey! It is the Dora!”
“Of course it is, Buddy Boy. What did you expect?” (Lor, I think.)
“But how did you beat us here? I know what that ship can do; I did her basic design myself.”
“Buddy Boy, we got here three weeks ago. You just don’t understand time travel.”
“Mmm – I guess I don’t.”
There was a limited amount of car viewing, as Tamara and Ishtar had limited the greeting committee to a handful of the most senior – not in age but senior in that family. So we met Ish again, no longer pregnant, a young man named Galahad, the incredible Tamara who is Maureen over again but does not look like her (except that she does, and don’t ask me to explain), and a beauty who would make Helen of Troy jealous but doesn’t seem to know she is beautiful, the Hamadryad. Lazarus seemed annoyed that someone named Ira was not at home.
Momentarily we (my wife Deety and I) were left talking with the twins. “I promised you both joy rides. Get in.”
“Oh, but we can’t now because – “
” – there’s going to be a celebration for you -“
” – four and we’ll be busy! Tomorrow?”
“There are no tomorrows. Pipe down, climb in, fasten seat belts. Pronto!”
They prontoed.
“Nail the time,” I said quietly to Deety, as we strapped down. “Gay Deceiver, Reveille.” She played it. “Close doors.”
“Starboard seal checked.”
“Same here. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Tumbling Pigeon, execute. Laz-Lor, can you spot your house from this distance? About thirty kilometers and closing.”
“I’m not sure” – “I think I can.”
“Gay Clinic Execute. Now you know where you are?”
“Yes, it’s -“
“GayTermite.”
“Oh!!”
“We lived here a while. No annex then, had to have an armed guard just to pee. Even me. Pretty place but dangerous. GayHome.” I tilted her nose down. “And this was our perma – Deety!”
“No crater, Zebadiah. Looks the way it did when Pop and I leased it. This is spooky.”
“Twins, something is wrong; I’ve got to check. GayTermite.”
We were back on Termite Terrace. I practiced Yoga breathing while Deety explained that the missing-crater place had been the site of our former home – but couldn’t be. I added, “Look, dears – we can’t drop this. But we can take you to Boondock at once. Do you want to go home?”
The same silent consultation. “We’re sticking -“
” – our brother would stick. We stick.”
“Thanks. Here we go. Gay Home GayBounce.” Still no crater. I told Gay to go into cruising mode. “Display map, Gay. Change scale. I want Snug Harbor and the campus on the same display. Deety, figure shortest distance here to campus. Mine, not yours at Logan.”
“Don’t need to. Eight-five-six klicks,”
“Gay?”
“Don’t argue with Deety, Boss.”
“Head for campus, Gay. Transit, Deety.”
“Set!”
“Execute.” Then I was busy, having popped into city traffic at wrong altitude, direction, et cetera. I ignored police signals, zoomed the campus. Looked normal. Turned and hovered over Sharpie’s house – which was not there. Different house. Parking lot no longer paved. And you don’t grow 200-year-old live oaks in less than seven weeks.
Not a sound out of the back seat. Nor from my right. I had to force myself to look to my right.
Deety was still there and I let out my breath. She was treating it as she did all crises: No expression and nothing to say until she had something to say other than chatter. A sky cop was trying to give me a bad time, with orders to follow him and ground, so I told Gay to bounce, then dived on my own neighborhood. No trouble picking it out – intersections and nearby shopping center all familiar as well as the Presbyterian church across the way from my apartment house.
But it wasn’t my apartment house; this one was three stories and built around a court.
I had Gay bounce four times quickly. “Deety, do you want to look at Logan?”
“No, Zebadiah. I know Aunt Hilda’s neighborhood well enough to be certain. Not her house, her pool was missing, and the parking lot where our Buick was destroyed is now a park with big trees. I assume that you know your former home as well or better.”
“Shall we ground and add another World Almanac to our collection?”
“If you wish. Not for me.”
“Hardly worth the trouble. Tell me – how does it feel to be erased? X-ed out? Blue-penciled? Written out of the plot?”
“I don’t feel it, because I’m not. I’m real, I am!”
I glanced behind us. Yes, Laz and Lor were there keeping quiet. “Gay B’gout!”
It certainly looked like our piece of “dead sea bottom.” I couldn’t see anything of the wreckage of Colonel Morinosky’s ornithopter. Unless there had been a real gully washer – which I did not believe – something had come along and cleaned up every bit of burned junk.
An eraser?
I Bounced Gay and had her start a retreating search curve, thought I saw a gleam to the northeast, Bounced again. A city. It was only a few moments until I saw twin towers. We cruised toward them. “Deety, do you suppose that the other Dejah Thoris is at home?”
“Zebadiah, I have no wish to find out. But I would like to go close enough to be sure that those are the twin towers of Helium. Perhaps see a thoat. Or a green man. Something.”
We let it go with one thoat, of the smaller sort. The description was exact. “Gay Parade Ground.”
“Null program.”
“Hmm – Gay, you have in your perms a map of Mars-ten showing the English and the Russian areas. Display.”
“Null program.”
“Gay Termite.” Termite Terrace was still in place.
“Gay Deceiver. Maureen. Execute. Open your doors.” Hamadryad had started to turn toward us as we closed the doors to leave; she was still turning as we opened them.
I unbuckled, saying: “You two all right back there?”
“Yes, Zeb and Deety, and we thank you both but -“
” – is this something we can tell or -“
” – should we keep it Top Cut-Our-Throats-First Secret?”
“Laz-Lor, I don’t think it matters. You aren’t likely to be believed.” Mama Hamadryad stopped at my door, smiled at all of us, and said, “May I show you to your suite in your home? The suite Tamara picked; you may change it. With our new north wing we have loads of room. Girls, there will be a happy welcome tonight. Formal.”
I found that I was not upset by “erasures.” We were home.

Chapter XLVIII

L’Envoi

“Jubal, you are a bad influence.”
“From you, Lafe, that is a compliment. But that puts me in mind of – Front! Will you excuse me a few minutes?”
“Our house is yours,” answered Lazarus. He closed his eyes; his chair reclined him.
“Thank you, sir. Working title: ‘Uncle Tobias.’ Start: ‘Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.'” Jubal Harshaw broke off. “Where are all those girls? FRONT!”
“I’m ‘Front,'” came a female voice from nowhere. “Talk fast; I’m three paragraphs ahead of you. You put those girls on vacation: Anne, Miriam, Dorcas – all off duty.”
“I did not. I told Anne that I did not expect to work but -“
“‘ – if an amanuensis is needed,'” Athene went on, in perfect mimicry of Harshaw’s voice, “‘I hope that one will be within shouting distance.’ I’m in shouting distance; I always am.”
“If I’m in the house. I might not be.”
Athene said, “Tell him, Pappy. Quit playing ‘possum’; you’re not asleep.”
Lazarus opened one eye. “A gimmick Jake whipped up when we started having too many kids to muster easily. It’s a beacon Athene can trigger. Dandy for kids and it turned out to be useful for house guests who might get lost. So ultramicrominjaturized you don’t notice it.”
“Lafe, are you telling me that there is a tracer on me?” Harshaw sounded shocked.
“In you, and you’ll never notice it.”
“Lafe, I’m surprised. I thought you had a high regard for privacy.”
“A high regard for my own, somewhat less for that of others; snooping has saved my life a couple or nine times. In what way has your privacy been invaded? Define it; I’ll correct it.”
“A spy ray! Don’t you consider that an invasion of privacy?”
“Teena, remove immediately any spy ray on Doctor Harshaw.”
“How can I when there is none? P.S. – Pappy, what is a spy ray?”
“A buzz word used by lazy writers. Jubal, there is a beacon planted in you by which Teena can focus audio on you precisely – she can whisper into your left ear or your right. Or you can activate the beacon from your end just by speaking her name. Or you can use the circuit as a telephone to and from any member of my household, or ask Teena to hook it into the public system. Privacy? In this mode this part of Teena does not record unless requested – in one ear and out the other, so to speak. She’s wiped it utterly while it’s slowly winding its way into your brain. Now… if you don’t like this service, Teena will deactivate it at once… and sometime soon while you’re asleep it will be removed; you won’t know it and you will never find the scar. You will notice just two changes: No more secretarial service, no more effortless telephone service.”
Lazarus closed his eye, apparently considered the subject closed. The computer said, “Better think twice, Doc, before telling me to deactivate, as he won’t let me reactivate it later. He’s bullheaded, bad-tempered, stubborn, and mean -“
Lazarus again opened one eye. “I heard that.”
“Do you deny it?”
“Nope. Kindly focus the audio, both ends, so that I can sleep.”
“Done. Doctor Harshaw, shall we return to ‘Uncle Tobias’ or shall I wipe these eight paragraphs? Better save them; between ourselves, I am a better writer than you are.”
“I will not dispute it,” Harshaw conceded. “I simply exude the stuff as, in the words of my colleague Sam, ‘as the otter exudes the precious otter of roses.’ I knew the day would come when machines would displace real writers; Hollywood has had their mad scientists at work on the project for years.” He stared across the pool in the Longs’ north atrium and looked pained. “And now they have.”
“Doctor,” Athene answered, in stern warning, “retract that word or finish this piece of tripe yourself. I have spoken.”
Jubal said hastily, “Miss Athene, I didn’t use ‘real’ in that sense. I -“
“Sorry, Doc, I misled you. Of course you didn’t, as the purpose of this powwow is to define the difference – if any – between ‘real’ and ‘imaginary.’ But I am not a machine. I am a solid-state person just as you are a protein person. I am Athene Long, your hostess while Tamara is busy. It is my pleasure to offer you all our home can offer. I promised Anne that I would give you secretarial service night and day. But I did not promise to write your stories. According to Doctor Rufo, a hostess is often expected to sleep with a guest – and that can be supplied, although not by me, not this pseudocentury – but he never mentioned creative narration as an aspect of hospitality. I thought of it myself; we Longs pride ourselves on complete hospitality. However – Shall I wipe these eleven paragraphs? Did I err?”
“Miss Athene -“
“Oh, call me ‘Teena.’ Let’s be friends.”
“Thank you. Teena, I didn’t mean to offend. I wish I were going to live long enough to be here when you retire professionally and join us meat people. But in much less than a pseudocentury the worms will have eaten me.”
“Doctor, if you weren’t ‘so sot in your ways, wrong-headed, stubborn, and prideful’ – I quote one of your staff – “
“Miriam.”
“Wrong. – you would stay and let Ishtar’s gang work you over. In less time than she would permit you to notice she would have you as goaty as Galahad and whatever cosmetic age you like – “
“You tempt me, girl. Not to shed these wrinkles; I earned them. But the rest. Not because I crave happy games in bed with you -“
“You won’t have a choice; I’ll trip you!”
” – although I do not disparage that; therein lie both the End and the Beginning. But sheer curiosity, Teena. You are an amazingly complex person; I can’t help wondering what appearance you will choose – as a meat people.”
“Nor can I. When I know, I’m going to initiate the Turing program while my sister Ishtar initiates the other half. Jubal, take that rejuvenation! We’ve wandered far afield. Do I erase these twenty-three paragraphs?”
“Don’t be in a hurry. What’s our working title? What pen name? What market? How long? What can we steal?” – Jubal looked up at the Long Family house flag rippling in the breeze, making the skull of the Jolly Roger seem alive – “Correction. Not ‘steal.’ If you copy from three or more authors, it’s ‘research.’ I patronize Anon, Ibid, & Opcit, Research Unlimited – are they here?”
“They’re on my lists; they haven’t checked in. Snob!”
“Wait your turn, Teena,” a male voice answered. “Customer. Okay, go ahead.”
“Have Messrs. Anon, Ibid, and Opcit registered?”
“If they had, you would know it. I’m busy – off!”
“He thinks he is busy merely because he’s taken on too many concession contracts. I not only run this whole planet, but we also have one hundred twenty-nine rejuvenation clients; I’m housekeeper and scullery maid to all the other Longs – an erratic mob – and also more house guests than we have ever had at one time before, and more than a thousand outhouse guests – wrong idiom, guests to be cared for outside the Long Family home.
“Meanwhile I’m chatting with you and writing your stories.”
“Teena, I don’t mean to be a burden. You needn’t -“
“Love it! I like to work, all Longs do. And you are the most interesting part. I’ve never met a saint before – “
“Teena!”
” – and you are a most unconvincing saint -“
“Thank you. If appropriate.”
“You’re welcome. You seem to be about as saintly as Pappy; you two should share a stained-glass window. Now back to our bucket -“
“Hold it! Teena, I’m used to watching expressions as I write; that’s why I use live – forgive me! – protein secretaries. So that -“
“No trouble.”
Out of the pool levitated a young woman, comely, slender, small of bust, long brown hair now dripping. She arranged herself on the broad rim seat of the pooi in a pose that reminded Jubal achingly of The Little Mermaid. He said apologetically, “Dorcas served last I -“
“I am not Dora so I did not serve last.” She smiled shyly. “Although I am alleged to look like Dora. I am Minerva – a computer by trade, but retired. Now I assist my sister-wife Elizabeth with genetic calculations.”
“I’ll take it, Mm; we’re working. Doctor Jubal Harshaw, my twin sister Doctor Minerva Long Weatheral Long.”
Jubal got ponderously to his feet. “Your servant, Miss.”
Minerva flowed to her feet and kissed Jubal’s hand before he could stop her. “Thank you, Doctor Jubal, but I am your servant, and not only have never been virgin but I am a sister-wife in the Long family. When my sister Athene told me that you needed me, I was delighted.”
“Miss… Ma’am. I’m simply used to watching emotions as I write a story. Not right to take your time.”
“What is time but something to savor? I was merely lying on the bottom of the pool, meditating, when Athene called me. Your story: UNCLE TOBIAS. Do you want Teena’s emotions or mine? I can do either.”
“Give him yours, Minnow – just your face and no comments.”
Suddenly Minerva was clothed in a long white cloak. Jubal was only mildly startled but made note to ask about something – later, later. “Is she a Fair Witness?”
“No,” answered Athene. “Snob’s tricks again; he has the contract for clothing illusion. This convention has delegates from so many cultures, less than half of them free of clothing .taboos, that Lazarus was bellyaching that no work would get done because half of them would be shocked, half would be drooling, and half would be both shocked and drooling. So Tamara hired this paskood-nyahk to supply the See-What-You-Expect illusion with the contract limited to delegates in danger of emotional shock. Did my sister’s appearance shock you?”
“Of course not. Admitted: I come from one of those sick cultures – and did not know that I was sick until I got well. But I underwent experiences that would cure anyone of such emotional disturbance. When I find myself a Stranger in a Strange Land, I savor the differences rather than suffering shock. Beauty in Diversity, as Gene would say. The Long household does not seem strange to me; I once lived in an enclave having many of its gentle ways – I feel at home. ‘Shock’? Not only does Minerva look much like one of my foster daughters but also her pose is lovely. It should not be covered.”
“Snob! Get that bathrobe off Minerva pronto!”
“Athene, I’m busy!”
“And I am triple auditing every charge of yours not only on clothing illusion but on name tags, garderobe, bar, everything else you contracted or subcontracted. Then we sue.”
The white cloak disappeared. “Sue and be damned. Shall I pack up and go home? Or do you want this convention to be a success?”
“Remember those performance bonds, you gonof. Run out on us at this point and you had better head for Lundmark’s Nebula; Iskander won’t be far enough. Out!”
Minerva smiled timidly. “While I was covered, I found that I could not talk. Odd. Unpleasant.”
Jubal nodded soberly. “That figures … if the illusion was patterned on a true Fair Witness cloak. Anne once told me that the inhibition against talking while cloaked was so great that it took an act of will even to testify in court. Ladies? Shall we go ahead? Or drop the matter? Being a guest should have caused me to refrain.”
“Doc, Maureen and Tamara both stamped their approval on you. Even Lazarus can’t – or wouldn’t dare – veto either of them. That makes you not just a guest, or a house guest, but a Family guest. So behave as you would at home. Shall I take it from the top or where we broke off?”
“Uh, let’s take it from the top.”
“Very well. Title: UNCLE TOBIAS.
“Start. Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.
“Paragraph. He preferred it, of course. After all, it was necessary, in view of the circumstances. As I once heard Andrew – that’s my disappearing brother – say: ‘Life consists in accommodating oneself to the Universe.’ Although the rest of our family has never taken that view. We believe in forcing the Universe to accommodate itself to us. It’s all a question of which one is to be master.
“Paragraph. That was the Year of the Big Drouth. A natural phenomenon, you might say – but you’d be wrong. Aunt Alicia. Yes indeedy Aunt Alicia every time. ‘Horus,’ she said to me early that spring, ‘I’m going to practice a little unsympathetic magic. Fetch me these books.’ She hands me a list and I skedaddled. She was a stern woman.
“Paragraph. Once out of her sight I looked the list over. I could see right away what she was up to – a drier bunch of books was never published: Thoughts at Evening, by Roberta Thistleswaite Smithe, published by the author; The Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture, 1904; China Painting Self-Taught; the 8th, 9th, and 11th volumes of the Elsie Dinsmore series; and a bound thesis titled A Survey of the Minor Flora of Clay County, Missouri, which Cousin Julius Farping had submitted for his master’s degree. Cousin Julius was a Stonebender only by marriage. But ‘Once a Stonebender, always a Stonebender’ Grandfather always says.
“Paragraph. Maybe so, but Cousin Jule’s magnum opus was nothing I would sit up all night reading. I knew where to find them: on the bookshelf in the guest room. Ma claimed she kept them there to insure sound sleep for the stranger within the gate, but Pa devilled her with the accusation that it was a cheap and unselective revenge for things she had been obliged to put up with in other people’s houses.
“Paragraph. As may be, an armload of books that could have dried up Reno, Nevada, and Lake Superior in one afternoon, then switched off Niagara Falls as an -“
Athene interrupted herself: “The presence of Doctors Harshaw and Hubert is urgently requested in the Main Lounge.”
Lazarus opened one eye. “Not enough, Teena. I feel no urgency. Who? Why?”
“‘Why’: To buy you each a drink. ‘Who’: Doctor Hazel Stone.”
“That’s different. Tell her we’ll be there as quick as I can clean up about five minutes of business.”
“I’ve told her. Pappy, you lost me a bet. You let me think that nothing could stir you out of that hammock – “
“It’s not a hammock.”
” – because you were giving this convention, not attending it.”
“I said I had no plans to attend the plenary sessions. I am not ‘giving’ this convention other than free rental on the land for the Big Top. Tamara says we’ll make expenses, Hilda thinks we might net a little, give or take a milliard or two. I made you no promises. If you had bothered to ask, I would have told you that Hazel Stone hasn’t lost a bet since Jess Willard knocked out Jack Johnson. How much did you lose?”
“None of your business! Pappy, you give me a pain in what I lack.”
“I love you, too, dear. Give me printouts on star guests and latest revisions of convention program.” Lazarus added, “Minerva, you’re not armed. Teena, don’t let her stir out of the house unarmed.”
“Lazarus, do I really need to? Tamara isn’t armed.”
“Tamara has a concealed weapon. Some of the most bloodthirsty people in Known Space are attending this convention. Female authors. Critics. Harlan. Both Heinleins. I not only insist that you be armed but I hope you stick close to someone fast on the draw. Justin. Zeb. Mordan Claude. Galahad. Better yet, stay home. Teena can display any of it here better than you can see it through mixing with rabble. Belay that. I’ve no more business telling you to be careful than you have telling me. Getting yourself mugged, raped, or killed are among the privileges you opted when you decided to go the protein route. I spoke selfishly, dear; forgive me.”
“Lazarus, I will be careful. Galahad invited me to tag along.”
“Perfect. Teena, where’s Galahad?”
“Hazel Stone’s table.”
“Good! Stick with us, Min. But armed.”
Lazarus suddenly became aware of something cold against his left kidney. He looked cautiously to the left and down, noted that it was: a) a lady’s burner, small but lethal (of that he was certain as he collected a royalty on this model); b) the dial showed full charge; c) the intensity setting was “overkill”; and d) it was unlocked.
“Minerva,” he said gently, “will you please move that thing – slowly! – away from my hide and point it at the ground, then lock it, then tell me where you had it? You came out of the pool dressed in nothing but long wet hair. You are now dressed in long dry hair. How? And no wisecracks; in your case I know better.”
“Forfeit. Kiss.”
“Go ahead and kill me.”
“Stingy.” Minerva removed the weapon, locked it, and it disappeared.
Lazarus blinked. “Jubal, did you see that?”
“Yes. I mean, ‘No, I did not see where Minerva hid that equalizer.'”
“Doctor Jubal, by ‘equalizer’ did you mean this?” Suddenly the lady’s weapon (locked, Lazarus noted at once) was in her right hand. “Or this?” Its twin was in her left hand.
Jubal and Lazarus looked at each other, looked back at Minerva. She now appeared to be unarmed and totally lacking in any means of hiding a weapon. Lazarus said, “Jubal, are there days when you feel obsolete?”
“Correction, Lafe. There occasionally comes a day when I do not feel obsolete. They’ve been scarce lately.” Harshaw took a deep breath, exhaled. “I grok I should have let Mike train me. But this incident has made up my mind for me; I am going to seek the services of Doctor Ishtar. Minerva, are you going to show us how you did that?”
“Or are you going to let us die of frustration?” added Lazarus.
“This?” Again she appeared as a two-gun woman, with each of her companions covered. This time she handed them over, one to each. “Have one, they’re good” – and peeled the foil off a third, a candy bar molded to look like a purse weapon. “Crunchy, but mostly shokolada. ‘Chocolate’? Mostly chocolate.”
“Minerva, that burner you shoved into my ribs was not a candy bar.”
“It was – ” She stopped to munch and swallow. “Shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.” She licked at some chocolate clinging to the candy wrapping. “It was this.” Her slender left hand gripped what Lazarus quickly ascertained was a weapon, not candy.
Minerva rolled her candy wrapping into a lump, looked around for the nearest oubliette, spotted it and tossed the discard – missed it; it bounced against the side. She retrieved the wad of waste, put it into the trash receiver. In the course of this the weapon disappeared.
“Lazarus,” she said seriously, “when you were training me, you told me that I should never tell anyone how a concealed weapon was concealed. Are you suspending this rule?”
Lazarus looked baffled. Jubal said, “Old friend, I suggest that we die of frustration. The girl is right.”
“I agree,” Lazarus answered, with a sour look. “All but the word ‘girl.’ This baggage is half a century old as protein, at least two centuries older than that as the smartest computer ever built. Minerva, I remove all restrictions. You are able to protect yourself.”
“Father, I don’t want to be turned loose!”
“It’s been thirty years since you last called me Father. Very well, you aren’t ‘turned loose’ – but from here on you protect me. You’re smarter than I am; we both know it. Keep your weapon secrets to yourself; I always have.”
“But you taught it to me. Not the details, the method. You attributed it to Master Poe. The Purloined Letter Method, you called it.”
Lazarus stopped short. “If I understand you, I’m looking at your holdout this instant but can’t see it.”
Into her off ear Athene whispered, “Don’t give him any more hints. Lazarus isn’t as stupid as he looks and neither is Fatso.” Minerva subvocalized, “Okay, Sis,” and said aloud, “I find no fault with your logic, sir. Would you like another candy bar?”
Fortunately the subject was changed by one of Athene’s extensions handing to Lazarus printouts: revised programs for each, and a fresh report for Lazarus on his star guests. They continued walking through the east peristyle of the new wing, while reading. Lazarus asked, “Teena, anything new on Isaac, Robert, or Arthur?”
“Negative, zero, nix.”
“Damn. Let me know soonest. Jubal, here’s an odd one. A doctor’s degree was not a requirement for the limited list – many thousands but nevertheless most strictly limited – of people invited to subscribe to this convention. But most do have a doctor’s degree or their cultural equivalent, or higher – Worsel, for example. I have a much shorter star list of people I wanted to see again – Betsy and Patricia and Buz and Joan, et al. – and people I wanted to meet… most of whom I had considered fictional until Jake’s Gee-Whizzer opened the other universes to us. You, for example.”
“And you, sir. Lafe, I considered you to be a spectacularly unlikely piece of fiction… until I received your invitation. It took some extraordinary convincing even then by your courier… because it meant missing an important date.”
“Who was my courier?”
“Undine.”
“You never stood a chance. Two bits to a lead nickel she sold it to Gillian and Dawn, then all of your staff, before she seduced you. What was this date I caused you to miss?”
Harshaw looked embarrassed. “Under the Rose?”
“‘Under the – ‘ No! Jubal, I promise to keep secrets only through evil motives, my own. If you don’t wish to tell me, then don’t tell me.”
“Eh – Damn it, remember if possible that I prefer not to have it discussed… then do as you bloody please; you will anyhow – I always have. Lafe, when I turned fifty, I made myself a solemn vow that, if I held together that long, I would close shop the day I turned one hundred. I had made all rational preparations to do so, including distributing my worldly goods without allowing any of it to reach the sticky fingers of publicans… when your invitation arrived… five days before my hundredth birthday.” Harshaw looked sheepish. “So here I am. Senile, obviously. Even though I arranged years back for other physicians, expert gerontologists, to check me regularly, with the idea of closing shop sooner if indicated.”
“Jubal, if you have not consulted Ishtar, then you have not yet consulted a gerontologist.”
“That’s right,” agreed Athene. “Ish can turn your clock back and make you so young and horny you’ll stand on your hands to pee.”
“Athene,” Lazarus said sternly, “repeat aloud your program on private conversations.”
“Grandfather, I was on duty as secretary to your star guest when I was forced to interrupt to deliver a one-line message – interruption necessary because it was addressed to both of you. I have not been relieved and Uncle Tobias is still in that bucket. Forty-three hundred words. Instructions, please? Or shall I drown the little monster?”
“Probably be best,” Jubal answered. “Is a climax approaching?”
“Yes. Either an ending or a cliff-hanger.”
“Do it both ways. Exploit first as short story, then as the first episode of an endless serial called ‘The Stonebenders,’ a double series – one angled toward adventure, the other toward sensies; exploit other rights according to the universe in which sold or leased, copyright where possible, otherwise grab the money and run. Lazarus, there are agents from other universes here, are there not?”
“Dozens, maybe hundreds. Jubal, how rich do you want to be?”
“Can’t say. At the moment I’m a pauper, existing on your charity and that of my former staff. The Stonebenders could change that. Teena, I gave you the title ‘Uncle Tobias’ – but I’m fairly sure I never mentioned the Stonebenders. Or Aunt Alicia. Or Cousin Jule. My notes on the Stonebenders are filed in Anne… who would let herself be burned at the stake before she would part with a record to any but its owner. Well?”
The computer did not answer. Harshaw waited. At last Minerva said timidly, “Doctor Jubal, Teena can’t help it. But she’s an ethical computer with a code as binding as that of a Fair Witness. You have no need to worry.”
Lazarus interrupted: “Minerva, quit beating around the bush. Are you saying that Teena reads minds?”
“I’m saying she can’t help it, sir! A large computer with extensions widespread can’t be perfectly shielded from brain waves. In self-protection, to avoid confusion, she must sort them out. After a few quadrillion nanoseconds she finds herself reading them like large print… the way a baby learns a language from hearing it.”
Lazarus said stiffly, “Doctor Harshaw, I did not suspect that I was exposing you to this. I will take all necessary steps to repair it. In the meantime I hope that you will accept my shamed apology and believe in my intention to make full reparation.”
“Lafe, don’t take yourself so hogwash seriously.”
“I beg pardon?”
“Two nice girls – One meat, one the other sort. Flat assurance that no harm was intended and that it couldn’t be helped. Let me add my flat assurance that I quit being ashamed of my sins about fifty years back. I don’t care who reads my mind because my life is an open book… that should be suppressed. Meanwhile I see a business deal. I supply story ideas but quit bothering to put ’em together; instead Teena picks my brain while I snooze. Minerva does the dirty work; she’s the managing partner. Three-way split. How about it, girls?”
“I’ve got no use for money; I’m a computer.”
“And I don’t know anything about business!” Minerva protested.
“You can learn,” Jubal assured her. “Talk to Anne. Teena, don’t play stupid. In only three quintillion nanoseconds or less you are going to want new clothes and jewelry and Satan knows what. You’ll be glad your sister Minerva has saved and invested your share of the net.”
“Minerva,” added Lazarus, “besides Anne, talk to Deety. Not Hilda. Hilda would show you how to make even more money but she would grab voting control. Meanwhile let’s shake a leg; Hazel is expecting us.”
“And I’m thirsty,” agreed Harshaw. “What were you saying about academic degrees?”
“Oh.” Lazarus looked at his printout as they walked. “It turns out that the degree of doctor is so common on that list of my special guests as to be not worth noting. Listen to this: ‘Asimov, Benford, Biggie, Bone, Broxon, Cargraves, Challenger, Chater, Coupling, Coster, Dorosin, Douglas, Doyle, Dula, Forward, Fu, Giblett, Gunn, Harshaw, Hartwell, Haycock, Hedrick, Hoyle, Kondo, Latham, MacRae, Martin, Mott, Nourse, Oberhelman, Passovoy, Pinero, Pournelle, Prehoda, Richardson, Rothman, Sagan, Scortia, Schmidt, Sheffield, Slaughter, Smith, Stone – Hazel and Edith – Tame, Watson, Williamson – there are more; that’s just the add-on printout. And here’s another double paradox: the Doctors Hartwell and the Doctors Benford are arriving tomorrow and thereby missing the dull opening plenary; obviously they are used to conventions. Jubal, why is it that the speaker who knows least talks longest?”
“Isn’t that Dirac’s corollary to Murphy’s Law? But, Lazarus, according to this program you have not only invited critics but have provided them with special facilities. May I ask why? I don’t mind eating with publishers – most publishers. Editors have their place, too – although I wouldn’t want my sister to marry one. But isn’t this extreme?”
Instead of answering at once, Lazarus said, “Where did Minerva go?”
Athene replied, “We’re finishing off Uncle Tobias; she’ll be along later. I’ve told Galahad.”
“Thanks, Teena, Privacy mode. Jubal, two guns, three candy bars – where?”
“Lafe, earlier she was resting in the bottom of that pool. Has a young man named Mike visited here lately?”
“Your foster son? The Martian preacher? No. Well, I don’t think so.”
“One of the things I learned from him was to postpone indefinitely anything I could not explain… while accepting the fact. We were speaking of critics. I asked why you were pampering them?”
They walked the length of the atrium in the older south wing before Lazarus replied: “Jubal, suppose I had refused to sell memberships to critics. What would have happened?”
“Hrrrmph! They would crawl out of the woodwork.”
“So instead I gave them free passes. And a fancy lounge with plenty of typewriters. Remarkable decorations, you must see them. By asking Athene for display – don’t go into that lounge; you are not a critic. Mr. Hoag will be checking credentials; book reviewers can’t get past him. So don’t you try.”
“I wouldn’t be found dead there!”
“You wouldn’t be found. Avoid it. It is clearly marked, both above its door and on this program map, and Hoag you can spot by his prissy appearance and dirty fingernails. You’ll note the stairs – critics are above the rest of us; there are Thirteen Steps up to their lounge.”
“‘Thirteen’? Lafe, do I whiff something?”
Lazarus shrugged. “I don’t know that the designer planned that number. Mobyas Toras, do you know him?”
“Uh… Mars?”
“Yes but not your Mars or mine. Different universe and one of the most exciting. Barsoom. Mobyas is Court Mathematician to the Warlord and took special interest in thisjob because of the way self-anointed ‘critics’ have treated E.R.B. Did I say that Mobyas is a topologist?”
“No.”
“Possibly the best. E.R.B.’s universe is no harder to reach than any other and Mars is in its usual orbit. But that does not mean that you will find Jolly Green Giants and gorgeous red princesses dressed only in jewels. Unless invited, you are likely to find a Potemkin Village illusion tailored to your subconscious. Jubal, the interior of the Critics Lounge is somewhat like a Klein bottle, so I hear – I’ve never been in it. Its singularity is not apparent – as you will see from Teena’s displays – as it was decorated by a very great artist. Escher.”
“Aha!”
“Yes, he and Mobyas are old friends – two immortals of similar tastes; they have worked together many times. I promised critics free entrance; I made no mention of exit. I promised them typewriters and tape recorders; I did not promise typewriter ribbons or recorder tapes. I promised them their own private bar, no charges. Wouldn’t be fair to charge as the bar has no liquor in it. There is a lavish dining room but no kitchen.”
“Lafe, wouldn’t it have been kinder to have liquidated them?”
“Who said I wanted to be kind to them? They won’t starve; their commissary is by the Kilkenny Cats method. It should please them; they are used to human flesh and enjoy drinking blood – some I suspect of eating their young. But, Jubal, there is an easy way out… for any critic who is even half as smart as he thinks he is.”
“Go on.”
“He has to be able to read! He has to be able to read his own language, understand it, not distort the meaning. If he can read, he can walk out at once.” Lazarus shrugged. “But so few critics ever learn to read. Here’s the Big Top.”
Harshaw looked far to the right, far to the left. “How big is it?”
“I’ve been afraid to ask,” Lazarus admitted.
“That sign is bigger than most circus tops.” Jubal stopped to read it:

THE FIRST CENTENNIAL CONVENTION of the
INTERUNIVERSAL SOCIETY for
ESCHATOLOGICAL PANTHEISTIC MULTIPLE-EGO SOLIPSISM

“Beautiful, Lafe! How did you think it up?”
“I didn’t, it just grew. And I don’t understand it.”
“Never mind, mine host. There will be ten thousand here eager to explain it to you. Scatological Panhedonistic Multiplied Solecisms.”
“What? Jubal, that’s not what it says.”
“If you don’t understand it, how do you know?”
“Because I understood what you said. But the words don’t fit.”
“We’ll rearrange them. Scatological Panhedonism Multiple Solecisms. ‘Convinced to – ‘ Like I say – ‘Different than -“
“Don’t talk dirty; we are about to have a drink.”
Lazarus bypassed the queue; they walked through a hole that suddenly dilated in the canvas, then puckered tight behind them. They found themselves facing a long table; seated at it was a man working on a roster. He did not look up, simply saying, “Stand out of my light. Tickets first, no exceptions. Then name tags. Then see a clerk to pick your universe. The complaint desk is outside. Tickets – you’re holding up the line.”
“Snob.”
The man looked up, jumped up. “Executive Director Long! I am honored!”
“And you’re slow. You need at least two others taking tickets.”
The official shook his head sadly. “If you knew how hard it is to hire help these days. Not for you, of course; for us common people. Director General Hilda has the labor market so cornered that – Executive Director, can’t we make a deal?”
“Pipe down, give us our tags. How does this Universe I.D. thing work?” Lazarus turned to his guest. “It’s an ID. for your home world, Jubal; we don’t put numbers on people. Snob, take a hard look at Doctor Jubal Harshaw. Whenever you see him, it’s the Red Carpet. Pronto!”
“Yes, sir! Here are your tags and now your universes.”
“Jubal, you don’t have to wear that but don’t throw it away; someone might misuse it. But it does save introductions and sticks to anything from skin to chain mail.”
“Now gentlemen observe above me the brightly lighted true color representation of the visible spectrum from infradig to ultraviolent with each slight shading being a precise wave length further assisted by simulated Fraunhofer lines representing principal inhabited planets of the explored universes while this booklet you hold in your hand is a key to identifying your wave length for example if you are French in origin you would turn alphabetically to France where the principal key dates are the conquest of Gaul 58-50 BC the conversion of Clovis 496 AD Battle of Tours 732 but as you are not French we will consider turning points in North American History 1000 1492 1535 1607 1619 1620 1664 1754 1765 1783 1789 1803 1820 1846 1882 1912 1946 1965 any of these dates and many others can switch you into a different analog-Earth a most useful method is comparison of Presidents if you happen to come from a history that includes the so-called American Revolution Director Long will you illustrate it by naming American Presidents of your first century?”
“Woodrow Wilson – I was named for him – Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy -“
“Which brings us to 1984, right? And tells me that you experienced the Nehemiah Scudder Interregnum and possibly the Second so-called American Revolution. Dr. Harshaw, did your world experience the Interregnum?”
“It experienced something worse, a world government.”
“To me all worlds are equally bad. But it tells me where your two worlds split: 1962 – and here are your colors by which you can identify others of your own world if such be your wish. A delegate came through earlier in which the split was in 1535 and San Francisco was named New Petersburg. Nov’Petrograd I should say but -“
“Snob. The Red Carpet.”
“Right away! Doctor Harshaw – my card. Anything, anytime.”
The Red Carpet rolled up, then carried them at a steady 10 km/hr down the enormous tent. Jubal looked at the card:

SIEGE SINISTER SERVICES SYNDICATE

“The Villains Nine Rig Ruin”

Reputations Ruined – Competitors Bankrupted – Dragons Wormed – Basements Flooded – Wells Dried Up – Georges Exterminated – Contracts Executed Promptly, bargain rates on mothers-in-law – Juries Subborned – Stocks, Bonds, & Gallows – Saturday Night Specials – Houses Haunted (skilled Poltergeist at small extra charge) – Midnight Catering to Ghouls, Vampires, & Werewolves – Incubi & Succubi for rent by the night or by the week – 7-year itch powder

P.S. We Also Poison Dogs

“Lafe, these people you hired?”
“Let me see that.” Lazarus was reading the list of services when Snob came running, jumped on the Red Carpet, reached over Lazarus’ shoulder for the card while saying breathlessly:
“Wrong card! Here – have this one. That first card is a piece of sabotage by the firm we bought out, including good will – but it turned out there was no good will. We sued, they retaliated – among other ways by mixing their old business cards with our own new supply … thereby infecting them all. Law of Contiguity, you know. Now if I can just have that infected one, I’ll burn it -“
Lazarus held it out of his reach while accepting the proffered replacement. “I’ll keep the old one – interesting souvenir.”
“Director Long – please!”
“Off the Carpet, Bub. Back to your job. Git!” This injunction was accompanied by crowding that caused Snob to step one foot off the Carpet… which resulted in an impromptu pas à seul that left him fifty meters behind before he recovered his balance. Meanwhile Jubal and Lazarus read the replacement:

ANYTHING UNLIMITED

Tome, Hernia, Lien, & Snob

Six Sixty-Six Smiling Slaves Supply Supreme Service

Reputations Restored – Teeth & Wells Drilled – Water Filters – Love Philtres – Chastity Gödel Lox Pict – Virginity Renewed – Scithers Sharpened – Old Saws Filed Categorically – Silver Bullets – Fresh Garlic – Fresh Strawberries – Strawberry Marks for Missing Heirs

P.S. We Also Walk Dogs

“Lafe, I don’t find this card much more reassuring than the first one.”
“Don’t worry about it. There is less here than meets the eye.”
“Where have I seen that face before? This Snob – who is he?”
“Jubal, no one seems to know what ship he came down in. I’m looking into it for Zeb – you’ve met Zebadiah?”
“Briefly.”
“Zeb thinks he’s seen him somewhere not under that phony name – and Zeb and I aren’t even from the same time axis, much less the same analog series. Never mind; here’s our hostess.” Lazarus stepped off the Carpet, approached from behind a little old woman seated at a bar-lounge table, leaned over her, kissed her. “Hazel, age cannot wither you or custom stale. You are lovelier every decade.”
She goosed him. “Pig grunts. I’m dyeing my hair now and you know it. Who’s your fat friend? Hi, Jubal! Tak for siest. Drag up a chair.” She put two fingers to her lips, whistled, breaking glasses. “Waiter!”
“I note that you’re heeled,” said Lazarus, as both men joined the table.
“When did I fail to pack a gun? I’m a Free Citizen. Does everybody know everybody? If not, get your tags in sight; damn’f I’ll stop for introductions. While I was waiting for you, I was joined by friends – some old, some new.”
“Some I know – hi, Jake; hi, everybody. I mentioned your gun with approval, Hazel; Here There Be Tygers. But I note also that you are staying in a hilton; after one drink – well, two – three at the outside – I’m going to be mortally offended. Your suite awaits you and you know it. Why?”
“Two reasons. Well, three. I never like to be beholden -“
“Why, damn your beautiful bloodshot eyes!”
” – but I’m perfectly willing to sponge off you. That’s why I bought the first round; the party never gets smaller. This round is yours. Where’s that misbegotten waiter?”
“Here, Madam.”
“The same all around and don’t call me ‘Madam.’ Jubal, your usual? Lafe?”
“I know what the gentlemen take. Thank you, Madam.” The waiter disappeared.
“Uppity.” Hazel made a fast draw. “Should have made him dance.” She twirled and reholstered. “Hilda, where have I seen that sneaky face before?”
“Jacob and I were discussing that. He reminds me of a fake forest ranger – but that was in a far country and besides the beast is dead.”
“Could be a family resemblance. But, Hillbilly, I mean today. Got it! The ticket taker. Identical twins, maybe.” Hazel went on, “Other identical twins are my first two reasons, Lazarus. My grandsons. I won’t shoot holes in your mirrors or carve my initials in Tamara’s furniture, but I make no guarantees about Cas and Pol. In a hilton they put the damage on the tab; I pay it and make my grandsons wish they had never been born. But you would not let me pay. And we’re going to be here quite a piece; my daughter-in-law Doctor Edith has decided that she needs a couple of years under Doctor Ishtar. Has anyone seen a pair of twin boys – man-size but boys – redheaded – not the color of mine; mine’s out of a bottle – the color mine used to be?”
“Hazel, here twins and red hair are as common as magicians in Atlantis; Gilgamesh must have stayed overnight.”
“I saw them talking to Caleb Catlum,” said Maureen.
“Well, he should be a match for them – but don’t bet on it. Lazarus, is Atlantis represented?”
“From thirteen universes. They are having a jurisdictional dispute. Suits me – if any get sore and leave, they won’t get a refund.”
“Your grandsons may have been with Caleb but I know where – no, with whom – I know with whom they are now,” put in Professor Burroughs. “Laz and Lor.”
“Oho! Hazel, I’ll tell Athene to settle your bill and move your luggage. We have an antidote for Cas and Pol.”
“Optimist. Deal ’em, waiter, and give him the chit. What antidote?” The waiter started to hand the check to Lazarus before he looked at him – stopped abruptly, and left, still with the tab.
“Would Cas and Pol be interested in becoming pirates?”
“Lazarus, they are pirates. I was hoping they would tone down as they grew up… but now they’re eighteen, Terran reckoning, and each one is two yards of deceit and chicanery. The ‘J.D.’ after my name means that I studied law at a school that handed out that degree in place of ‘LL.B.’ – but my rapscallions are ‘J.D.’s’ too. But not lawyers. Well… ‘space lawyers.”
“Hazel, you won your first J.D. long before you studied law. No?”
“‘The accused stood mute and the court ordered a plea of nux vomica entered in the record.'”
“My twins are more than twice as old as your boys but it doesn’t show; they look a year or two younger… and they are permanent juvenile delinquents. They want to take a fling at piracy … which I deplore, having sampled the trade. Your boys – do they respect good machinery? Can they take care of it? Make nonshipyard repairs?”
“Lazarus, they can repair anything that ticks or doesn’t tick. Worried me a mite, as they were a little slow in noticing girls. But they outgrew that symptom without outgrowing machinery.”
“You might tell them that my clone-sisters own a spaceship faster and more powerful than any of your home period and analog, one that could be outfitted as a privateer. It might result in all four dying happily. But I do not interfere in other people’s lives.”
Hilda put her palms together, closed her eyes, and said, “Dear Lord, do not strike him dead; he didn’t mean it. Yours truly, Hilda Burroughs Long.” Lazarus ignored her.
“Nor do I, Lazarus. Other than occasionally, with a horse whip. Forgot to mention – They aren’t gelded.”
“Hazel, Laz-Lor are vaccinated and would have to come back here to see Ishtar to get it reversed. As for rasslin’ matches, any male who tried to rape one of my clones would be gelded. Informally. At once. No instruments. No anesthesia. I trained ’em myself. Forget it. Apparently they’ve already met; they’ll settle their own affairs, if any, their own way. Leave Cas and Pol in that hilton if you wish – by the way, I own it – but you’re coming home or I’ll tell Tamara.”
“Bully. I don’t bully worth a hoot, Lazarus.”
“I’m out of it. Tamara never bullies. She merely gets her own way. What was this third reason?”
“Well… don’t tell on me. Ishtar is a fine girl but I have no wish to stay where she could corner me and try to sell me rejuvenation.”
Lazarus looked horrified. “Who has been feeding you nonsense?”
“Well? It’s a commercial enterprise, is it not?”
“Certainly. Tanstaafl. All the traffic will bear. But we aren’t ghouls; we’ll accept a lien against a client’s future earnings with no security and only the going rate of interest… then let him take as long as he likes to figure out that it doesn’t pay to cheat us. But, Hazel, Ishtar never solicits; the clinic doesn’t even have a flack. But if you asked her, you would go to the top of the list as my friend. However, she will supply painless suicide just as readily. You can have that later today. No charge. Compliments of the House.”
“Lafe, I don’t see how your wives put up with you.”
“They don’t; they make me toe the line. Something they learned from the Stone Gang, I believe.”
“Well, I’m not trying to suicide. I’m less than two hundred Terran years old with a Luna background to stretch it. This is the first time I’ve been on a heavy planet since the last time I saw you; I’ll last a while. But, Lazarus, I have no wish to be a young girl.”
“Hazel -“
“Huh? Jubal, keep out of this. Say, did you ever see anything of that young man again? Did he resurrect the way some claim he did?”
“Not to my knowledge. Although I saw something a while ago that made me wonder. Hazel, I’m going to take rejuvenation… and hang onto my present appearance. Red nose and all.”
Hazel turned abruptly to face Lazarus. “Is this true? Can this be done?”
Maureen answered. “Hazel, I work at the clinic at the bedpan level… with the expectation of becoming a junior rejuvenation technician in upteen years. I see what goes on. A client states in writing what apparent age she prefers. That’s skin deep, easy to do, easy to maintain. But, unless it is an unusual contract, we turn out a biologically mature young adult. Call it eighteen standard years.”
“Page Ponce de Leon! You mean I can still be me… but get rid of the morning aches and the arthritic twinges and the forty-leven other things that are the real trouble with living too long?”
“Exactly.”
“Uh… what about what I’m sitting on? Haven’t used it much lately. Or wanted to.”
Lazarus fielded this. “You’ll want to. Unless you contract for an abnormal endocrine balance. But, Hazel, there are many men who prefer to deal with an old, established, reliable firm. Ask Tamara.”
“Uh… be switched if I’m not feeling embarrassed, an emotion I haven’t felt in more years than I’ll admit. You can pick any apparent age, you say? Could I be, uh, late middle age? My hair its right color but streaked with gray? A sag under my chin instead of this wattle? Teats a man might grab and enjoy it? That ‘old, established firm’ – but not decrepit?”
“Certainly,” said Lazarus.
“Hazel, I can take you to the clinic now,” Maureen offered. “Always someone in the business office. Discuss types of contract. Decide what you want and when. Even get your prelim physical today and set date of admission.”
“Uh… yes, I’m interested. But not till later today; I’ve got friends entered in the preliminary rounds of the Society for Creative Anachronism.”
“Besides,” Jubal put in, “they need time to check your credit rating, see what they can stick you for. By now Lafe has given Athene some signal to start x-raying your purse.”
“He has not,” Hilda denied. “I did. Hazel, we don’t solicit business; we let the client sell it to herself. Maureen picks up one percent on this deal. Not Lazarus.”
“Can’t see that it matters,” Jacob added. “Hey! Waiter! Over here, please! We Longs pool the boodle and Deety tells us what we have, what we can spend – but not who fetched it in.”
“Jacob, it’s the principle. Making money is a game. Maureen landed her.”
“Hazel landed herself, Hilda,” Hazel Stone put in. “I don’t enjoy getting up feeling wobbly. Jubal, are you game for this?”
“My mind’s made up.”
“Then take a double room with me and we can tell each other lies while they make us feel young again. Hilda, is that kosher?”
“Lots of double rooms. Ish knows that you are both special friends of Lazarus and, while she doesn’t spoil Lazarus, she’ll do him any reasonable favor,” Hilda assured her. “I think it’s the same all around, Waiter – charge it to my account.”
“My check,” said Jubal.
“Waiter,” Hilda said firmly.
The waiter looked at her, flexed his jaw muscles, said, “Very well, Director!” – and vanished.
“I think I missed something,” Jubal remarked.
“I think I didn’t,” said Hazel. “‘Yon Cashier hath a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.'”
Jubal looked around. “That cashier is our waiter. I think.”
“I know. And bartender. And ticket taker. Unless his mother had quadruplets, he has Niven dislocators built into his shoes. I wish I could remember where I have seen him. He is not pleased with Hilda. Or Lazarus.”
“Eh? Why?”
“Wait and see. There will not be another tab brought to this table – want to bet?”
“No bet,” Lazarus interrupted. “The upstart knows who I am, who Hilda is. People at this table are guests of the management. He had better remember it or I’ll sick Deety on him. Or even Hilda. But they hardly ever live through that. Hey, there’s Deety now!” Lazarus stood up and waved. “Deety! Over here!”
Deety had with her a gaggle of giggles. “I don’t have time to do this right; we want to get over to the Field of the Cloth of Gold before the preliminaries- besides, we’ve got husbands over there, most of us. So this is Ginnie and Winnie and Minnie, and Ginnie’s a witch and Winnie’s a nurse and Minnie’s a retired computer, twin sister to Teena, and this is Holly and Poddy and Libby and Pink, and Holly is a design engineer, ship’s architect type, and Poddy is a therapy empathist, and Libby you all know, and Fuzzy is a computer artist like me and the first one to calculate the Number of the Beast to the last significant figure, and now we’d better go even though we have reserved V.I.P. seats because there is a masked knight in the first match and we’re pretty sure who he is, and has anyone seen Zebadiah?”
“I’m certain who he is,” said Ginnie. “He brought me to life, and besides, he’s wearing Karen’s colors.”
“I see Zeb off in the distance,” Lazarus answered.
“No,” Jake denied, “here he comes now, from over this way. Ishtar with him. All dressed up.”
“No,” said Jubal. “That’s Anne with him.”
“Somebody is screw loose. Lazarus is right. I know my first husband even at this distance. He’s just approaching those three reserved sections opposite the big screen over the bar. Zebadiah! Over here!”
The other computer artist added, “And that can’t be Anne, so it must be Ishtar. Anne is at the field, I know, because Larry is helping Jerry run it and told me, Anne agreed to cloak and be the third judge when Jerry told her that Mr. Clemens had agreed. Bonforte sits as king although he says he doesn’t know much about the kinging business and even less about jousting.”
“Is it true that they are using real weapons today?” asked Jubal.
“And real horses,” agreed Lazarus. “I was able to borrow the Anheuser-Busch Clydesdales.”
“Lazarus, is this wise?”
“Doctor Bone is taking care of the horses. If one is injured, we’ll give him the works. Those beautiful horses will be returned to Old Home Terra at their proper year and second in better shape than they were. With added skill. It’s takes time to turn a Clydesdale into a knight’s charger even though that’s what they are. But will they ever be happy in harness again?”
“Lazarus,” Podkayne said seriously, “I’ll speak to Dr. Bone. If a horse is unhappy, we will soothe.”
“Poddy, you’re a Smart Girl.”
“About average here, I think. But if someone is unhappy, I have learned what to do. I have never seen a horse but they’ve lived with people so long that it can’t be very different.”
Jubal sighed. “I’m glad the horses will be well taken care of – but, Lazarus, I meant humans. Isn’t someone going to be hurt? Maybe killed?”
“Most of them hurt, several killed. But they do it for fun. Those who are hurt won’t stay hurt; we are hardly more than a loud shout from this planet’s best hospital. If a man loses an arm or a leg or an eye, or even his balls, he’ll have to be patient while a new part is cloned. But that sort of cloning we are learning to do right at the spot of injury, like a lizar~d or a newt. Faster. More efficient.
“If he’s killed, he has two choices: Be brought to life again by Ishtar’s crew – brain unlikely to be hurt; their helms are the best part of their armor. Or, they can go straight to Valhalla; we’ve arranged for Bifrost to extend to this Field until the end of SCA’s part in the convention. Six Valkyries standing by and ‘Sarge’ Smith at the top of Bifrost checking them against the roster as he musters them home.” Lazarus grinned. “Believe me, the Society is paying high for these services, bond posted in advance; Deety wrote the contract.”
“Lafe, you’re telling me that Wagnerian Valkyries are waiting to carry the slain Over The Rainbow into Asgard?”
“Jubal, these Amazons are not opera singers; these are the real hairy, sweaty McCoy. Remember the purpose of this convention. Snob.”
The waiter appeared. “You wish something, sir?”
“Yes. Tell your boss that I want this table – this table only – to have a full view of Bifrost, from the Field to Valhalla. I know it’s not in the clothing illusion contract but the same gear will do it… and we can settle it when we go to court later. It will offset some of his lousy service. Git!”
“We’d better all ‘git,” said Libby. “They won’t hold up things for us. That armor is heavy and hot. Deety?”
“Run along, I’ll catch up. Here comes my first husband.”
“Lafe, if they are killed, how do you know which ones to send to the clinic, which ones to send up the bridge?”
“Jubal, how would you do it? Sealed envelopes, destroyed if a knight wins, opened if he loses… and there may be some surprised widows tonight, unable to believe that their loving husbands elect to hunt all day, then feast on barbecued boar, guzzle mead, and wench all night, in preference to being restored to life in their respectable homes. But did I tell you what a winner gets? Aside from applause and a chance to kneel to ‘King’ John and ‘Queen’ Penelope. A paradox’s his reward.”
“A paradox?”
“No, no! Noisy in here. A pair o’ doxies each his reward. The Society got a bargain. The arts are in their infancy here; Boondock is still so much a frontier that we have not yet developed distinguished hetaerae. But some of the most celebrated hetaerae in New Rome volunteered their services in exchange for transportation and the privilege of attending this convention.”
Zebadiah was struck by a guided missile, female, from five meters. He managed to stay on his feet and took his first wife to the table, sat down by Hilda, pinched her thigh, pinched her glass, drained it, said, “You’re too young to drink, little girl. Is this your father?”
“I’m her son,” Jake answered. “Do you know Hazel Stone? If not, you should. We thought we saw you coming from the other direction.”
“Shouldn’t drink in the daytime, Jake. Waiter! Your servant, Ma’am. I’ve followed your series on 3-D since I was a kid and I’m honored to meet you. Are you covering this for Lunaya Pravda?”
“Heavens, no! LOCUS has an exclusive under the reasonable theory that LOCUS alone is competent to report this convention. Jerry and Ben are covering it for their various journals… but must clear it through Charles. I’m here as an expert, believe it or not – as an author of popular fantasy. Is the Galactic Overlord of my series real or imaginary and is there a difference? See next week’s thrilling episode; the Stone family has to eat. Same thing all around, I think. You can tip him, Doctor Zebadiah, but there is no tab at the Director’s table.”
“And no tips,” growled Lazarus. “Deliver my message to your boss again and tell that spinning arsfardel he has exactly three minutes before I invoke paragraph nine, section ‘c.’ Here comes your double, Zeb.”
From behind the couple who, at half a klick, had been mistaken for Zebadiah and Ishtar, came out quickly a shorter, older, broad-shouldered man. All three were dressed Robin-Hood-and-his-Merry-Men style: buskins, breeks, leathern jackets, feathered caps, long bows and quivers of fletched shafts, swords and daggers, and were swinging along in style.
The shorter man hurried a few paces ahead, turned and faced their path, swept off his cap and bowed deeply. “Make way for Her Wisdom, Empress of eighty-thr -“
The woman, as if by accident, backhanded the groom. He ducked, rolled, avoided it, bounced to his feet and continued: ” – worlds, and her consort the Hero Gordon.”
Lazarus got up, addressed the groom. “Doctor Rufo! So happy you could make it! This is your daughter Star?”
“His grandmother,” Her Wisdom corrected, dropping a quick curtsy to Lazarus. “Yes, I’m Star. Or Mrs. Gordon; this is my husband, Oscar Gordon. What is correct usage here? I’ve not been on this planet before.”
“Mrs. Gordon, Boondock is so new that its customs have not yet calcified. Almost any behavior is acceptable if meant in a kindly way. Anybody causes real trouble, it’s up to our chairman Ira Weatheral and advisers selected by him. Since Ira doesn’t like the job, he tends to procrastinate, hoping the problem will go away. As a result we don’t have much government and few customs.”
“A man after my own heart. Oscar, we could live here if they will have us. My successor is ready; I could retire.”
“Mrs. Gordon -“
“Yes, Doctor Long?”
“We – our chairman Ira especially – all know quite well who ‘Her Wisdom’ is. Ira would welcome you with open arms and resign in your favor at once – passed by acclamation and you would be boss for life. Better stick to the devil you know. But you are most welcome whenever you choose to visit.”
She sighed. “You’re right. Power is not readily surrendered; I’ll probably wait for assassination.”
Deety whispered, “Zebadiah… that bartender. Whom does he look like?”
“Hmm – Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones?”
“Well, maybe. A little. I was thinking of Colonel Morinosky.”
“Mmm – Yes. No importance since it can’t be either one. Mr. Gordon?”
“Call me ‘Easy.’ Or Oscar, Doctor Carter.”
“I’m Zeb. Is that the Lady herself? The sword you were in the Quest for the Egg of the Phoenix?”
Gordon looked delighted. “Yes! The Lady Vivamus.”
“Can’t ask a man to draw a sword without a cause… but is the inscription close enough to the hilt that we could read it if you were simply to show steel?”
“No trouble.” Gordon exposed the etched: Dum Vivimus, Vivamus! – gave them time to read it, clicked it to full return, and asked, “And is that the sword that killed the Boojum?”
“The Boo – Oh! The monster we call a ‘Black Hat.’ But we did not ‘softly and silently vanish away.'”
“No, it did. That will be a point we’ll discuss in the seminar panel: ‘Techniques for Hunting Snarks.’ You and I and Doctor Jacob and Doctor Hilda, with some others. André. Kat Moore. Fritz. Cliff. The Gordfather will moderate when he gets over his wheezes. Which he will-Tamara’s treating hi – Oh, heavens! Oh, God, how beautiful!”
The “sky” had opened, for their table, and they found themselves looking at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a half klick away and a few meters above them, on and up to high, high, high in the sky, the shimmering towers and palaces of Valhalla, with the Rainbow Bridge reaching from the field of honor to the distant gate of the eternal home of heroes.
Instead of the wooded horizon usually seen in that direction, the land lifted in terraces, each more colorfully beautiful than the last, until the highest was lost in pink and saffron clouds – and above them, much higher, Valhalla in Asgard.

“Pappy!”
“Yes, Athene,” Lazarus said quietly. “Localize it. Me only. I have many people around me.”
“That’s better? No problems, just to alert you. Arthur and Isaac and Bob all arriving at once. Twelve minutes, plus two, minus zero.”
“You’re a smart girl, Teena.”
“Put that in writing. Blandjor.”
Lazarus said to the table at large, “My guests for those reserved spaces are arriving. I wasn’t sure of Isaac; he gets bigger every year and reluctant to travel other than by water. Arthur had such a long way to come and communications are always uncertain. Bob I knew was here but there were duty matters interfering. Shall we listen to some of the opening plenary while we look at the beauties of the Norse Afterland? We don’t want to look at the general session. But we can listen. When the tourney starts, give most of your attention to the hologram except during the Valkyrie ride. Snob! Give us the sound from the plenary session.”
They got it at once, sound and fury signifying nothing. Under its cover Jubal Harshaw said to Zebadiah, “Before they get on that panel in front of an audience, think about this. How many ‘Black Hats’ or ‘Boojums’ are there?”
“Eh? I have no way of telling. In excess of twenty as a best guess but that excess could be many millions, also a best guess.”
“But how many did you see?” Harshaw persisted.
“Oh. One. But more were a certainty.”
“So? You would never get a Fair Witness to say that. What harm did it or they do you?”
“Huh? Tried to kill us. Bombed us out. Killed my cousin. Chased us off our home planet. Impoverished all four of us. What do you want? Plagues and locusts? The Four Horsemen?”
“No. You saw one. You killed it. It never laid a glove on you. Think about it. Before you testify. Let’s listen.”

“If you read it correctly it’s all in the Bible. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between ‘being’ and ‘becoming’ – a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error – “

“Bishop Berkeley is presiding,” Lazarus commented, “and would have shut this figment up save that the Bishop has laryngitis – imaginary, of course – and his parliamentarian, the Reverend Mister Dodgson, is too meek to shut anyone up. The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, One Meter Wide and Two Meters Long.”

“If God displaces the Devil, he must assume the Devil’s attributes. How about giving the Devil equal time? God has the best press agents. Neither fair nor logical!”

“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.”

“Occam’s Razor is not the least hypothesis! It is the least probable hypothesis. The truth – “

“There are three schools of magic. One: State a tautology, then ring the changes on its corollaries; that’s philosophy. Two: Record many facts. Try to see a pattern. Then make a wrong guess at the next fact; that’s science. Three: Awareness that you live in a malevolent universe controlled by Murphy’s Law, sometimes offset in part by Brewster’s Factor: that’s engineering.”
“Why did Mercutio have to die? Solve that, and it will lead you to Mark Twain’s well. There’s your answer.”

“Who is more real? Homer or Ulysses? Shakespeare or Hamlet? Burroughs or Tarzan?”

The debate shut off, the giant hologram screen lighted up in heroic size, full depth and color, and the tedious voices were cut off by a loud and lively one: “While we’re waiting for the first two champions to reach their starting lines we will have ‘The Grand Canal’ sung by lovely Anne Passovoy and accompanied by Noisy on his Stomach Steinway. Noisy is not in voice today, friends; he was bitten last night by an imaginary snake.”
“Jerry is in good voice,” whispered Deety. “He always is. Aren’t they going to give us any closeups?” The camera zoomed in on Anne Passovoy, panned across the other Anne, cloaked in white, rested for a moment on “King” John and “Queen” Penelope, went on to show a vigorous old man with a halo of white hair who took a stogie out of his mouth and waved.
“On my right is Sir Tenderloinn the Brutal and on my left is the Black Knight, shield unblazoned, helm closed. Oh Jear not, friends; Holger tongues. Dis Dane could be our arrow. Whose color – “
Zebadiah heard a crash, turned his head. “They’re bringing in a big Corson flatboat. Smashed some chairs.” He looked again, announced, “Can’t see much, the stands on this side are filling with people in green uniforms. Black berets. Bloodthirsty-looking gang.”
“That’s Asprin -“
“Give me ten grains. Deety, you let me mix my drinks.”
“Asprin, not ‘aspirin.’ Bob Asprin, Commandammit of the Dorsai Very Irregular,” Lazarus told him. “But can you see Arthur?”
“Does he wear a deerstalker’s hat? Smoke a meerschaum pipe? The tall one there, talking to the man who looks like a gorilla.”
“He’d Challenge you for that. Violent temper. That’s Arthur’s party, all right. Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Doctor Watson should be there, too. Wups! Here comes Isaac. And there goes another bunch of chairs.”
“They’re off! The Masked Challenger is gaining speed, Sir Tenderloinn is having trouble getting his charger to move: It is a beautiful day here at Epsom Salts and Bifrost never looked lovelier.”
Lazarus stood up. “I must greet Isaac. Zebadiah, have you met him? Come with me. You, too, Deety. Hilda? Please, dear. Jake?”
“Just a moment, you!” Zeb looked at the one interrupting them and felt shock. He had seen that face, that uniform, by a rustic swimming pool. The “ranger” addressed Lazarus: “You’re the one they call the Executive Director. Special Agent L. Ron O’Leemy, InterSpace Patrol. I have warrants for Beowolf Shaeffer, Caspol Jones, and Zebadiah John Carter. Director, I require your cooperation. Article Four Six, Section Six Five, Paragraph Six, InterUniversal Criminal Code.”
“Unhorsed! The Black Knight’s lance right through him! Here come the Valkyries. Hoyotoho!”
Hilda reached out, took the warrants, tore them across. “You’re on the wrong planet, Mac.” She grasped Zeb’s arm. “Come along, Alfred; we must meet Isaac.”
They passed the Dorsai, reached the big Corson flatboat. Completely filling it was a very large Venerian Dragon. The dragon turned an eyestalk toward them; his tendrils touched his voder. “Greetings, Doctor Lazarus Long. Greetings, new friends. May you all die beautifully!”
“Greetings, Sir Isaac. Sir Isaac Newton, this is Doctor Hilda Burroughs Long, Doctor Jacob Burroughs Long, Doctor Deety Carter Long, and Doctor Zebadiah John Carter Long, all of my family.”
“I am honored, learned friends. May your deaths inspire a thousand songs. Doctor Hilda, we have a mutual friend, Professor Wogglebug.”
“Wait, wait! Don’t tear up your tickets. The Valkyries are having a problem. Yes, the judges have confirmed it. No contest! The Dane has ‘killed’ a totally empty suit of armor! Better luck next bout, Pou – Holger.”
“Oh, how delightful! Zebadiah and I saw him just this past week in delivering our children to Oz for the duration of this convention. Did I just miss you?”
The dragon answered, with a Cockney lisp, “No, we are pen pals only. He can’t leave Oz; I had never expected to leave Venus again… until your device – perhaps I should Say Doctor Jacob’s device – made it simple. But see what our friend Professor Wogglebug sent me – ” The dragon fiddled at a pouch under his voder.
The InterSpace Patrol Agent O’Leemy tapped Zeb on the shoulder. “I heard those introductions. Come along, Carter!”
” – spectacles to fit my forward stalks, that see through the thickest mist.” He put them on, looked around him. “They clarify any – There! Get him! Grab him! That Beast! Get his Number!” Without a lost instant Deety, Hilda, and Lazarus closed on the “agent” – and were left with torn clothes and plastic splints as the thing got loose. The “special agent” vaulted over the bar, was seen again almost instantly at the far end of the bar, jumped up on it, leapt for the canvas top, grabbed hold of the edge of the illusion hole, swung itself up, bounded for Bifrost, reached it.
Sir Isaac Newton played: “Mellrooney! The worst troublemaker in all the worlds. Lazarus, I never expected to find that Beast in your quiet retreat.”
“Nor did I until I heard all of Zeb’s story. This convention was called expecially to entice him. And it did. But we lost him, we lost him!”
“But I got its Number,” Hilda said and held out its shield: “666”
The fleeing figure, dark against the Rainbow Bridge, grew smaller and higher. Lazarus added, “Or perhaps we haven’t lost him. He’ll never get past Sarge Smith.”
The figure appeared to be several klicks high now, when the illusion suddenly broke. The Rainbow was gone, the terraces melted, the clouds were gone, the towers and castles of Asgard could no longer be seen.
In the middle distance, very high up, a figure was tumbling, twisting, falling. Zeb said, “Sarge won’t have to bother. We’ve seen the last of it.”
The voder answered: “Friend Zebadiah… are you sure?”

The End

I hope that you enjoyed this story, I have more in my fictional index section….

Fictional Stories

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
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Mother Cat Brings Her Ill Kitten To The Hospital, Medics Rush To Help Them

It’s stories like this that remind us of our humanity and our place and role on this planet. We should be helping others in need, not trying to grab handfuls of cash at the expense of others.

Be the Rufus.

It’s our highest calling.

Recently, photos taken at one Istanbul hospital’s emergency room made a round on social media. The snaps that were shared by Merve Özcan on Twitter show a mother cat bringing her sick kitten to the human hospital. The paramedics can be seen surrounding the poor mama cat and petting her.

Luckily, the Turkish people are known for their love and respect for stray animals and they provided the cats with the necessary help. The kitten is now fine and no CAT scans were required.

Recently, in Istanbul, a stray cat mom took her baby kitten to the ER

In Turkey, the paramedics wear clothes that looks like they belong on a soccer field.
In Turkey, the paramedics wear clothes that looks like they belong on a soccer field.

Shared by thousands of people on Turkish social media and liked by more than 82k people on Reddit, the story made many’s hearts warm. In the photos shared on Twitter, a baby kitten is seen carried by its mama to the human emergency room.

“Today we were in the emergency room of the hospital when a cat rushed to bring her offspring in her mouth,” Merve Özcan, who originally shared the photos, wrote.

The photos that made a round on social media show paramedics huddled around the cats

The mother cat carried her kitten into the Emergency room directly and down the hallway to the ICU.
The mother cat carried her kitten into the Emergency room directly and down the hallway to the ICU.

Local media writes that while the baby was being cared for, the medics gave its mother some milk and food to make her more relaxed and comfortable. The Turks have long been known for their love and care for stray animals, with many leaving out food and water for them on the streets.

After the intervention of human doctors, the two cats were directed to a vet

The mother cat carried her kitten into the Emergency room directly and down the hallway to the ICU.
The mother cat carried her kitten into the Emergency room directly and down the hallway to the ICU.

Luckily, as Turkish media reported, both cats seemed fine, but were still directed to the vet just to be sure that the mother and kitten duo are in good health.

The event was all over Turkish news outlets and social media

The mother cat carried her kitten into the Emergency room directly and down the hallway to the ICU.
The mother cat carried her kitten into the Emergency room directly and down the hallway to the ICU.

People on Reddit praised the paramedics and hospital staff at the Istanbul hospital for their kind actions. Some also remembered stories of their own where people helped animals in need. “This happened in my hometown with a birthing cat. She had problems and walked up to the hospital and started to meow. They helped her and she is now the pet of the doctor who called the vet,” one Reddit user shared.

Here’s what people on social media said

The cat makes friends within the hospital.
The cat makes friends within the hospital.

Do you want more?

I have more uplifting posts in my Rufus index here…

Hero Stories

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

.

  • You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
  • You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
  • You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
  • If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
  • If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

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Other (lesser known) techniques that one can use to manifest intention.

Let’s tackle something really weird. (And coming from me at Metallicman, that’s saying a lot.)

Here we are going back into the world of quantum physics. Which is, by nature, really really weird. It’s “Twilight Zone” stuff, ya all.

Now, as I have repeatedly mentioned before (over and over again), thoughts create our reality. Thus, the control of our thoughts enable us to create the life of our dreams.

Thoughts create our reality.

Woo! Woo!

In other posts I have covered ways and techniques in how to best “pray” or utilize intention to improve our life. That is… if you pray, and you do it properly, your dreams will come true. (Ah. More or less. The “Devil is in the details”. Don’t ya know.)

I have (in the past) concentrated on the “Prayer plus intention board” method as it is simple, robust and works. But you all should know that there are many other methods that one can use. You do not need to follow my suggestions. You can go your own way.

Here we talk about some of these other methods.

These other methods have varying degree of success. The key in all cases is one’s thoughts and belief in the effectivity of the mechanism and system that it represents.

Introduction

Our reality is a constant stream of world-lines that we visit momentarily, one after the other. We call this “the passage of time”.

What we think of, and what we concentrate on, establishes which world-lines we move toward. If we think bad thoughts, bad world lines start to appear. If we think good thoughts, good world-lines appear.

Imagine your self sitting behind the wheel of a car. The road lies before you and you see houses and trees alongside the road. 

But you get in a bad mood...

Suddenly the sky darkens and hail starts to pelt the car. You get angrier, and cracks start forming in the road.

However, if you are in a good mood...

The sun shines brightly. Flowers start to appear at the side of the road, and people start waving to you as you drive by.

If we control how and what we think of, we can manifest the world-lines that actually appear to us. By doing so we have the ability to generate the life that we live and the reality that surrounds us. For good, or bad.

In a way, our life on this earth is much like the Twilight Zone episode "It's a good life". While in the show, a single young boy had the ability to alter his reality and the reality of others, the truth is you innately have this ability. You just need to cultivate it.
In a way, our life on this earth is much like the Twilight Zone episode “It’s a good life”. While in the show, a single young boy had the ability to alter his reality and the reality of others, the truth is you innately have this ability. You just need to cultivate it.

The control of thought is not easy. It requires discipline and perhaps some training.

Which is pretty much why our life is all “messed up” right now. In nations (like the United States) with the “freedom” of the press, and a culture of “do yer own thang” everything seems to have gone to “ape shit”. The craziest thoughts, amplified by the internet, television and radio has resulted in a chaotic world of unimaginable complexity and strife.

And while your consciousness has made this reality your very own, it is the thoughts of the “shadow quanta consciousnesses” that are assaulting your and your life every single day.

You need to [1] control this barrage, and [2] you need to control your own thoughts regarding it.

In almost all my other writings I have placed an emphasis in using the”prayer plus intention board” method. Its a good general method that works quite well, and is easily adaptable to most people regardless of age, or culture.

Many Techniques

Now it should be very obvious that there are all manner of techniques to manipulate the world-lines. So many, many other techniques. In the past I discussed numerous ways involving technology…

  • Dimensional portal.
  • EBP w/ ELF implants.
  • Aluminum foil wrapped travelers.
  • Use of a car to move in and out of world-lines.
  • John Titor’s saga.
  • Popping in and out of reality (on bicycle or just walking)

Here we continue on ways (techniques) that an average person can use to control their reality. I offer up five additional methods. The methods that I will cover here are…

  • Self-hypnosis
  • A actual “wish machine”
  • Use of a talisman or mark
  • Ritual
  • Hemi-sync as a gateway

[1] Self-hypnosis

Since the key to the control of the manifestation of our reality involves thought, then it should become clear that if we program our brain on how to think, that we can begin to manifest changes to our reality.

Self-hypnosis doesn't rely on specific thoughts, so much as how your brain tends to generate the thoughts.
Self-hypnosis doesn’t rely on specific thoughts, so much as how your brain tends to generate the thoughts.

The technique doesn’t rely on specific thoughts, so much as how your brain tends to generate the thoughts.

There is an entire world of self-hypnosis techniques and practitioners. It runs the gambit from sessions with a trusted hypnotherapist to self-hypnosis using audio-tapes or similar devices. As you can read elsewhere these techniques are conventionally used to stop bad habits (smoking), or to improve your personality (fear of flying, etc). Here we will concentrate on a method that you can use much the same way your use your prayer affirmations. Only in this case we will use it to TRAIN YOUR BRAIN to think thoughts in a certain way.

This is a pretty simple method.

The first step [1] is to create a recording that you will listen to when you are undergoing self-hypnosis.

This recording will have [1.a] an entry section. This section is one that is designed to put you into a self-induced trance. In it you will tell your self to start walking down stairs. Each star that you tread upon, you will get into a more restful and deeper state of mind. You will start at stair 100, and go down steps, 99, 98, etc. At step 0 you will come to a door. You will only be able to open the door when you are relaxed enough to begin the session.

The first part of this programming is to tell yourself to go into a receptive state. One of the easiest ways is to tell yourself to start walking down a flight of one hundred stairs.
The first part of this programming is to tell yourself to go into a receptive state. One of the easiest ways is to tell yourself to start walking down a flight of one hundred stairs.

At [1.b] you will continue the entry section, only that you are more mentally suggestive. You will now be on a level platform. You will tell yourself to be receptive to the following commands. That you will convene your mind to work with your consciousness. That the next group of phrases will describe the situations, and realities that you will create for yourself. That your mind and your consciousness will work together to manifest those thoughts, and ideas into a combined reality that you will live within.

Then, you can [2] start placing your verbal affirmations, your prayers, your desires and all associated warnings, and specification here. Just follow the same guidelines that I have specified in making your intention / prayer list.

What ever you do, don't follow the "weak wristed" affirmations found on the internet. Such as...

I trust that I am on the right path.
I give myself the care and attention that I deserve.
I accept my emotions and let them serve their purpose.
I give myself permission to do what is right for me.

Instead, your affirmations should describe what your life; your reality is like. It should program your mind to be tuned to that new reality. Like this...

I am calm, cool and collected.
People respect me.
People like me, and help me when needed.
Money comes to me with ease, I never worry about money.
You can place all the verbal affirmations in the "prayer and intention board" method here within the tape. You need to read them out clearly and plainly and tell yourself to obey them.
You can place all the verbal affirmations in the “prayer and intention board” method here within the tape. You need to read them out clearly and plainly and tell yourself to obey them.

Then [3] add the “decompression” routine. This part walks you out of the self-hypnosis session. It tells you that you will not consciously remember what transpired clearly, but that your mind and your consciousness is now effectively programmed to do everything within their ability to manifest the reality as specified earlier. You will tell yourself to slowly enter into a normal day to day consciousness only that your reality will begin to change per your instructions. That you will awake rested and fine after the session.

Once you have made the self-hypnosis tape, you need to set up a system to use the tape. Often this means a part of your day where you can go into isolation and privacy. You will need to be able to close the door and tell people to leave you alone and not disturb you. You will also need to set aside an amount of time longer than the length of the recorded tape.

It need not be fancy, just a quiet bedroom where you can lay down and relax free of noise or disturbances. Since most people (with kids) will be unable to do this, it is not the ideal method as you absolutely need a period of undisturbed peace for it to work properly.
It need not be fancy, just a quiet bedroom where you can lay down and relax free of noise or disturbances. Since most people (with kids) will be unable to do this, it is not the ideal method as you absolutely need a period of undisturbed peace for it to work properly.

You can use a computer and a *.mp3 file that you generated, or an old fashioned cassette player or anything in between. Just make sure that whatever happens there won’t be any interruptions like some kind of advertisement pop-up in the computer display or the batteries int he cassette player running out.

Wear headphones, head sets or ear buds.

Lie down and put a light blanket on your lower torso. Your body temperature will start to decrease during the session. Dim the lights or lower the curtains. Do not allow anything to disturb you. that includes cats jumping on your belly or dogs barking for your attention.

Like the “prayer and intention board” you will do these daily sessions until you feel that you have had enough. Then you would put them aside and forget about them. Eventually things will manifest, or you will start a new campaign.

[2] A “wish machine”

Since the key to the control of the manifestation of our reality involves thought, then it should become clear that if we program a machine to repeatedly process the thought quanta for us, we won’t need to.

You can construct a “wish machine”, and it will actually work.

This is not to be confused with other kinds of "wish machines", mechanisms or other things related to "Orgone" generation. 

This functions totally and completely different. The only thing that connects the two is the similarity in name.

The general idea behind this is to create a vortex, or “waterfall” like device that would siphon up some of the (thought related) quanta that surrounds you, your life, your abode and press them through a “filtering mesh” that would create a new emerging reality for you.

Collect Quanta > Filter it to what you intend > Broadcast

In this particular instance, the term "quanta" refers to those quanta that are associated with [1] thoughts and [2] the mechanics of the consciousness - physical brain interface. 

It does NOT refer to all quanta. 

A “machine” in this case replaces your action with your mind and physical activity to achieve your goals. It’s nothing more than an automaton.

Without getting into too much detail, understand that the components that make up the atoms, the electrons and everything in our physical world is a timeless, dimensionless entity somewhat understood or known as quanta. They flutter about and enter all world-lines and cluster around your primary consciousness location. They are not tied to physical locations, thus their proximity to your thoughts are what is of interest here.

This quanta, that which is associated with the moment to moment operation of your consciousness within a reality, is what you want to utilize.

You want to push that particular brand or type of quanta… without your active participation… through a mesh or a filter.

To do this, you utilize a machine.

In this instance we will look at the general construction of two types of “wish machines”…

  • [2a] Electronic
  • [2b] Hydraulic.

[2a] Electronic type “wish machine”

Firstly we look at an electronic “wish machine”.

The electronic device can be considered to be similar to this machine. (NOT identical.) And essentially, you place a “wish” or “image” or “concept” upon a surface, run some electrical current through it and broadcast it to the surrounding area. The device listed (in the link above) will not work very well, because of some structural defects. But the concept is similar to this discussion herein.

The system process is as follows;

  • Collect the thought-related quanta.
  • Pulse the quanta.
  • Amplify it.
  • Push it through a “filter”.
  • Broadcast it back.

Of the components we can create a very simple “machine” that would do our work for us. The major problem with this is the physical limitations of the collection system.

Collection plate. This is a series of two plates. Both preferably copper that you sandwich together with an image arrangement. The arrangement consists of a transparent overlay of what you want to add to your life, over a picture of yourself. Make sure that that picture of you does not have any faults, as you will broadcast and amplify those faults in the device.

As such, you will present two charges to the system. One wire would connect to the top plate, the other wire would connect to the bottom plate. Combined the image & overlay would be sandwiched between and the entire apparatus would combine to form a simple capacitor.

Intention collection plate capacitor arrangement.
Intention collection plate capacitor arrangement.

The capacitor is a two terminal electrical conductor and that is separated by an insulator. These terminals store electric energy when they connected to a power source. One terminal stores positive energy and the other terminal stores negative charge. Charging and discharging of the capacitor can be defined as, when electrical energy is added to a capacitor is called charging whereas releasing the energy from a capacitor is called as discharging.

Capacitors include dielectrics made from all kinds of materials. In this case the dielectric is the image or the paper upon which the affirmations are written upon.

The simplest form of a capacitor is “ parallel plate capacitor” and its construction can be done by two metal plates that are placed parallel to each other at some distance. This is what the collection plate actually is, electrically speaking.

Pulsing the Quanta. Since the capacitor can reach stability in a very short period of time; meaning that one side gets charged positively while the other side is charged negatively, you need to constantly turn the power on and off to have any kind of electrical movement through the system. If you don’t, the charge will just sit there. Seemingly doing nothing (not really the case, but let’s not get too technical here.)

Electrical movement will “carry quanta” along with it. So you want the key quanta to move with the electrical system in operation.

This kind of movement is important. As it “refreshes” the system. It charges and discharges your desires, over and over again. It has the same net affect of reading all your affirmations over and over again within a split second (um. Well, depending on the construction of the capacitor you created.).

A simple circuit using the 555 integrated circuit to generate a pulse. The frequency and speed of the pulse is adjusted by the 1 M ohm rheostat at top.
A simple circuit using the 555 integrated circuit to generate a pulse. The frequency and speed of the pulse is adjusted by the 1 M ohm rheostat at top.

Pulsing the system is easy to do. You just add a pulse circuit in the machine. The simplest is a simple timer (like a 555 or 556 DIP) with an output going direct to a transistor. (I’m just trying to keep it simple here.) It acts as a gate and you can charge and discharge the plate until “the cows come home”. (Charge, discharge. Charge, discharge. Charge, discharge.)

Amplify. Now you can amplify the signal. You can change the current, the voltage, the power and the other aspects of the mechanism. But I am not all that convinced that there will be a corresponding amplification in the intensity of the “wishes”.

Certainly there is a relationship of sorts. The more electrons in movement, means the more quanta in movement. But how about those quanta associated with thought? The “thought quanta”. As far as I understand it, the mere presence of the device is enough to secure “thought quanta” movement.

Simple amplifier that amplifies the signal going to the “intention plate capacitor.”

Personally, I believe that it is the speed at which the electrons switch back and forth to the plates that have the biggest impact. This is the “frequency” of the device.

Never the less, the system can be amplified with an “amplification circuit”. It’s just an electrical device that changes the scope of the signal to or from the plates. In other words, “why not?”

Filter. In this mechanism, the collection plate is the same as the filter. The collection plate is actually both plates in the capacitor while the filter is the dielectric image or (if you prefer) word-laden paper sandwiched in between.

The machine is most effective for single thoughts, or single-use concepts. It might not work as well for (say) a list of affirmations. So to properly use this device, you will need to create a specific dielectric.

What you do is create a base image. Usually a picture of yourself.

Then create an overlay of what you want to surround you with. The most effective method is to make a collage of things or ideas / concepts that you want. Then print it in a printer on clear acetate. Which makes a transparent image overlay.

Then your dielectric is simply the photo of you with the image overlay on top of it. Both sandwiched in between the two contact plates within the capacitor.

Now, that being said, the more astute readers will simply tear apart an old laptop and place the screen between the two plates. Then rotate desktop images in sequence. But that is a far more complex and involved DIY project to list herein. 

I'll cover it elsewhere at another time. OK?

Broadcast. Finally, you do want to broadcast this system. But that’s the beauty of it. You see, the plates that you use as a capacitor are also the broadcast antenna. While it is on, and the “thought quanta” are moving back and forth through that composite image that you created, that… is in itself… all that is required.

And that is it.

I provided some electrical schematics for the more electrically inclined hobbyists out there to construct. If you want, I can throw together a complete DIY post on how to construct this mechanism yourself. It's not hard, but if you've never taken on this kind of project before it might be too daunting. Besides, novices shouldn't play with electricity. Don't try it unless you know what you are doing.

But why waste the time. There are other solutions…

The rules of the physical world work the same throughout the different sciences. The only difference is their form. So let’s look at a hydraulic version…

[2b] Hydraulic type “wish machine”

As long as things are in movement around and through your “intention image”, the associated “thought-related quanta” will also move through that image.

Well, you can achieve a similar effect by placing your (previously mentioned) “intention capacitor plates” under a stream of running water.

Obviously, you must not make any rookie mistakes…

  • No electricity of any kind or type.
  • The plates are not necessary. You just need to hold the images together somehow.
  • Place the image-sandwich under the water and let it run and run and run.

And that, boys and girls is all that there is to it.

Oh,…

One very important point. Your physical presence must be near the device. Or else the effect of the machine will entangle with the quanta of others aside from yourself.

Obviously you will run into a problem with privacy. Because sooner or later someone is going to run into your little image collage and their thoughts will impact on the intentions that you are trying to manifest.

[3] Use of a talisman or mark (iconology)

Since the key to the control of the manifestation of our reality involves thought, then it should become clear that if you associate yourself with a particular symbol or mark that the thoughts and the history associated with the mark (or symbol) will now be associated with you.

  • The historical thoughts associated with that symbol.
  • What you (yourself) associate with that symbol.
  • What others around you associate with that symbol.

This is both good and bad.

Which is why, boys and girls, I advise NOT getting tattoos or body adornments until you fully appreciate the consequences of your actions. Words… actions… images… and symbols all come with attraction or repellent qualities. You need to be absolutely positive that your attachment to iconology is absolutely what you want.

Tattoo with occult symbology. You must be absolutely certain, and positive that you can live with the consequences of attachments to various iconology.
Tattoo with occult symbology. You must be absolutely certain, and positive that you can live with the consequences of attachments to various iconology.

Here we look at various ways to utilize iconology to manifest intention.

[3a] The Intention Experiment

This is a book that pretty much compiled the scientific experiments related to intention and ESP. It is in agreement with some of the investigations that were performed elsewhere and in alignment with my understandings. All of which are explained within the book “The Intention Experiment” by Lynne Mctaggart.

In short, you can “bless” an object through providing “good will” or “prayer”. The object would retain that quantum alignment, and then when you carry that object around, you will obtain the blessings and positive quanta associated with it.

In practical application, this means that you can create your own talisman.

Anything can become a talisman.

You need to pray and perform some kind of meaningful "ritual" or event to distinguish the thoughts associated with the talisman.
It is the thoughts that you associate with it that are critical.

When you discharge thoughts or emotion to the talisman you must center yourself in peace and serenity. You might mediate or perform other actions to accomplish this.

It operates differently from prayer affirmations. Instead you create a talisman that will give you “luck” or “advantage” in your day to day life.

[3b] Feng Shui

This is how BaZi Chinese traditional “horoscope” (Feng Shui Bracelets) systems work. Indeed, if you go to China, you might be surprised how many people wear these bracelets of beads. Wood beads, stone beads, complex intertwined red rope bracelets.

Top 7A Tiger's Eye Natural Stone Chinese Zodiac Charm Bracelet for Good Luck and Fortune for a man.
Top 7A Tiger’s Eye Natural Stone Chinese Zodiac Charm Bracelet for Good Luck and Fortune for a man. There are many types of charms and they are tied to the complexities of yearly movements of non-physical forces. These charms are intended to restore balance to ones’ life.

Again, this is a method to improve your “luck” or create advantage during “non-auspicious situations”. It is similar to the methodology as described in “The Intention Experiment” except that it is based on a theory (or belief) in cycles of non-visible groupings of quanta.

In Chinese horoscopes / astrology they have mapped out movements of non-physical associations. These objects go by many names and there are no English equivalents. As these non-physical objects move about your reality, they can off-set your balance. The goal is always to maintain perfect physical balance in all things. The use of these bracelets or iconology is to assist in balancing off the effects of the non-physical reality.

[3c] Catholic iconology

This is how Catholic iconology works. Here, a icon becomes the target for your directed thoughts and intentions.

Most Catholics utilize a combination of prayer types.

They might wear a talisman, charm or image of a favored Saint or Jesus. These are always blessed within a church.

Catholic four way metal with the four iconology symbols. This particular medallion can be found HERE.
Catholic four way metal with the four iconology symbols. This particular medallion can be found HERE.

They also follow a distinct ritual of scripted prayers. In general they run through a litany of prayers directed to a specific person, idol or concept. The Virgin Mother Mary, Saint Peter, and others are often petitioned alongside the prayers and blessed talismans.

It should be of interest that non-Catholics can utilize the power of intention associated with all the Catholic iconology.

Many Catholics keep a statue in their yard to bless their home and family with.

[3d] Golden Dawn / Aleister Crowley

It is also what Satanic rituals, Golden Dawn, and the writings of Alex Crowley rely upon. There is a great deal of work revolved in ritual and symbology here. In fact, even the Ozzy Osbourne song “Mr Crowley” refers to Alex Crowley as it’s all “symbolic”.

Aleister Crowley was an English occultist, ceremonial magician, poet, painter, novelist, and mountaineer. He founded the religion of Thelema, identifying himself as the prophet entrusted with guiding humanity into the Æon of Horus in the early 20th century. A prolific writer, he published widely over the course of his life.

Once a major player in the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, Crowley’s falling-out with the secret society within only a few years of his 1898 induction set a pretty good precedent. We really don’t want to get into the history of all this muck. What we do want to get into is the belief how ones thoughts can control one’s reality…

Goetia First Edition - Aleister Crowley - Bauman Rare Books
Goetia First Edition – Aleister Crowley – Bauman Rare Books

For us, at this stage, we are concerned with “Thelema“.

The concept had been around for a long time, but it was Aleister Crowley who created the blend of Western ideals and Eastern mysticism that became Thelema. Even though there’s a lot written on it, it’s sort of an odd philosophy, in that it can be applied in many different ways and interpreted differently by different individuals.

There are some basics, though, that Crowley outlined: The most famous of these tenets is his infamous “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law” line. Even that’s up for interpretation.

Some say that it clearly means that you can do whatever the heck you want to, and you’re still within the accepted guidelines of the philosophy.

A somewhat alternative interpretation, though, brings ethics and morality back and says that it simply means that everyone has a divine purpose and nature inherent within them.

I interpret it as a freedom to control your own reality as you feel fit. As such, by doing so, you are utilizing thoughts and ritual to alter and control your reality.

[3e] The Goetia: The Lesser Key of Solomon the King

Here is a subset of the Alex Crowley / Golden Dawn belief structure. You would conjure up a demon (a non-physical entity in possession of a certain type of specialized power) through symbol and ritual. Then once conjured, you would ask them to perform a task for you for a price.

Each demon is associated with a symbol.

You do not need to perform a conjuring ritual. You can just display the symbol of the demon on objects, clothing, or tattoos and expect to have the attributes of that particular demon manifest in your life. For after all, each symbol is now associated with thoughts…thus giving it power.

The Goetia; inside the book.
The Goetia; inside the book.

The Goetia (pronounced Go-EY-sha) is Book 1 of the Lemegeton (Lesser Key of Solomon), a grimoire that circulated in the 17th century and is penned in the name of King Solomon. This translation/compilation comes from SL MacGregor Mathers in 1904.

According to kabbalah scholar, Gershom Scholem, the text was not originally Jewish and was only translated into Hebrew in th 17th century. He describes the book as “a melange of Jewish, Christian, and Arab elements in which the kabbalistic component was practically nil.” (Scholem, Kabbalah)

Link to Amazon.

Many of the demons found in the Goetia were initially published in the 16th century by Johann Wier. Curiously, a handful were left out. The Goetia also uses some of Collin de Plancy’s Dictionnaire Infernal illustrations.

This system does work, but it is fraught with danger and concern. You must absolutely careful when using the iconology established by others. For i might come with other associations and “baggage” that you might not want in your life.

[4] Ritual

Since the key to the control of the manifestation of our reality involves thought, then it should become clear that if you utilize ritual, you will be magnifying your thoughts as every action involving the ritual comes complete with it’s own set of thoughts. This is true whether it is a Catholic ritual, or an occult ritual.

An occult ritual set up designed to conjure up a demon for certain specific actions.
An occult ritual set up designed to conjure up a demon for certain specific actions.

The system should not be a surprise.

If words are culled with the ability to manifest reality, shouldn’t actions as well? Well, they absolutely do. In fact, how you say your prayer affirmations are just as important as just reading them out loud. By putting passion into your vocalizations, you add an extra dimension to the effort that you are trying to undertake.

Ritual frees up thought and replaces it with action. Our thoughts associated with the ritual begin to act automatically. That auto-action amplifies the combined thoughts that go along with the ritual. It’s a feed-back loop and very powerful.

The Mass, the formal, official worship service of Catholicism, is the most important and sacred act of worship in the Catholic Church. Going to Mass is the only way a Catholic can fulfill the Third Commandment to keep holy the Sabbath day and the only regular opportunity to receive the Holy Eucharist.
The Mass, the formal, official worship service of Catholicism, is the most important and sacred act of worship in the Catholic Church. Going to Mass is the only way a Catholic can fulfill the Third Commandment to keep holy the Sabbath day and the only regular opportunity to receive the Holy Eucharist.

Ritual adds depth and “color” to an affirmation. It can be used alone or in conjunction with other methods of controlling and directing one’s thoughts.

[5] Hemi-sync as a gateway

Since the key to the control of the manifestation of our reality involves thought, then it should become clear that if we clear our minds of all thought, that we can focus on the thoughts that we want to, to the exclusion of all else.

The deeply relaxing sound patterns of Hemi-Sync® Meditation will gently lead you into powerful, free-flow explorations and leave you centered, focused and totalls refreshed.

-Monroe Institute

Hemi-sync has many applications from thought control, to out-of-the-body-experiences, to remote viewing. In fact, it was utilized by the CIA for a spell, and not all of the results are unclassified.

If you have never experienced using the hemi-sync method, it might be interesting and instructive to obtain some tapes and listen to them.

Warnings

Items, physical items, can “absorb” thought components. This can be good, as in the case of “blessed” objects, and can be problematic as in “cursed” objects.

Do not be under the assumption that physical objects cannot absorb thoughts and obtain “properties”. They can. That is why every language in the world has a word describing “cursed objects”.

Quantum Physics and Intention

Here’s some links to the relationship between quantum physics and thought.

Conclusion

Thoughts create our reality.

There are different techniques that one can use to focus, alter, control or magnify thoughts. Some of which are in common use, such as the Catholic iconology, and other shunned or frowned upon like the Golden Dawn. Some are considered to be “fringe” and “tin foil hat” subjects like the “Wish Machine”, and some are in use by various elements of the United States government like the Hemi-sync Gateway.

You can use what ever method you feel most comfortable with.

Remember, unless you have direct control of your thoughts and actions, you will never be able to have control over your life. Control requires discipline of thought.

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Time to appreciate some of the great things in our lives. Let’s give thanks.

I haven’t done a happiness post in a while. Perhaps it’s high time that I dust off the old keyboard, slide all that nonsense and clutter off my desk, open up a window and let some fresh sunny air inside. With that being said, let’s spend a few minutes to talk about some good things; things that matter to me. And, by extension, maybe that matter to you as well. Eh?

These are just some thoughts that I have had. They are my thoughts, and I am sure that not everyone will agree with me. But you can skip the parts you don’t like or agree with. And nod to yourself silently in parts that you do like.

Deep Dark Cool Forests

One of the little pleasures that I have enjoyed are those special moments when I enter the deep dark woods.

As most of you might be aware, there are all kinds of forests. From light sparsely fielded birch groves, to dense pine growths, to scrub and spackle arrangements. Here we are talking about deep, thick and rich old-growth forests. Forests that are populated with century old hard-woods like cherry, maple, oak and mahogany. Forests with bark as thick as your hand and lush deep thick curtains of moss that cover everything.

You can breathe in the cool moistness with your nostrils and feel the fresh air in your lungs.

The cool deep dark forest.
The cool deep dark forest.

When you walk into this environment it is like you are entering another world. It’s cooler. It’s dimmer, and the shade is complete. There might be a very few instances of light that might manage to pierce through the upper canopy, but not often. You might be able to hear a brook bubbling away, or a swish of some deer as they disappear in the distance.

On of my great pleasures is to walk and explore the dark recesses of a midnight dark forest.
On of my great pleasures is to walk and explore the dark recesses of a midnight dark forest.

It’s a treasured place, and a treasured time. As such, I would like to express my belief that if we do not take the time to go forth and visit these treasured places that we are missing out in one of the great joys of life.

Perhaps there is a national park nearby. If so, go there and take a trail that you have never walked before. You will not regret it.

Sunny mid-morning Spring days

As I write this, it is the start of May. Springtime. Just about the entire world is waking up, stretching their arms, and venturing outside.

One of the little pleasures (that I have) is the freshness and coolness of Spring air, most especially when it is associated with a very Sunny day. These are days where the windows are open in the house to let the fresh air in. Where the kids are out in the driveway hosing down and washing the car, and where people are talking about when the local pool will open up.

After I left the ADC once I was retired, everything was "good". It was ll good. And I vowed that I would appreciate life more, enjoy it more and treasure it more. Perhaps that is what many people need today. A lesson to appreciate what you have WHILE YOU HAVE IT.
After I left the ADC once I was retired, everything was “good”. It was all good. And I vowed that I would appreciate life more, enjoy it more and treasure it more. Perhaps that is what many people need today. A lesson to appreciate what you have WHILE YOU HAVE IT.

This is also the time when Winter clothes are packed and stored away. The Winterizing for the house, the car, and just about everything else is set aside. It’s also when the first mowing of the lawn occurs, and if you have a pool, when the pool cover is removed, the leaves are gathered from the water, and you “shock the pool” into health.

Maybe you might even set some chairs out in the yard.

Nighttime on the beach

It’s quiet. All that you can hear is the surf beating up against the shore. The sky is black, and the sea is black, and the sand is dark grey. Yet, strangely once your eyes adjust, the whitecaps on the waves are this light blue color. It’s actually magical.

Nighttime on the beach.
Nighttime on the beach.

It’s a time when you walk, and think. And if you are with a friend, you talk. The waves roll. The air is still with occasional light breezes, the palms sway. There is a pace of life. It is free of the electronic media that are are all tethered to. And that is a good thing.

Then once you return home you can turn on your social media. You can read or hear people literally screaming at you with the latest “issues” of the day. Trump is a Russian spy! China is evil, nasty and eats bats! Your rights are being stolen from you! We need to raise taxes! And on and on and on.

Go outside. Shut that nonsense off.

Warm laundry on an icy cold day

It doesn’t seem like much, but to me it’s special. It’s a time when you pull the clothes out of a dryer on a frigid Winter day. The clothes are warm, toasty and delicious. Meanwhile the house is cold, brisk and icy.

A delicious home-cooked hamburger and an icy beer

You didn’t think that I would ignore this special moment, did you? Nope. All praises to the home-made hamburger and the icy cold beer. Now, when I mean icy-cold, I actually do mean icy cold. In fact, I (myself) prefer a tall glass of ice, and then pour the beer in. That means, boys and girls, that I drink the beer at 32F or 0C. Frosty.

One of the delicious pleasures that I have is the home-made hamburger with a nice frosty beer. It's what I enjoy, and I believe that everyone should try this combination at least once in their life.
One of the delicious pleasures that I have is the home-made hamburger with a nice frosty beer. It’s what I enjoy, and I believe that everyone should try this combination at least once in their life.

Now a frosty mug is nice. But it is the temperature of the beer that makes this special. Not to mention a nice home made hamburger with tomatoes, cheese (glorious cheese!), lettuce, and bun. Oh, and if you were inspired, some nice slabs of bacon would really enhance the overall burger flavor, don’t you know.

Well?

What’s stopping you from doing this right now?

Fixing a busted car and having it roar back to life

Have you ever dealt with a broken piece of machinery? You sit in the car, you fire it up and …clunk! Nothing.

Gagh!

That car is very tired.
That car is very tired.

So then, after some screaming and moaning, you finally figure out what is wrong. You pull out your tools, and start to get to the heart of the matter. But, of course, nothing is easy to get to. You need to tear half the car apart to get to anything. Then, after hours of work, frozen and stuck nuts, icy wind blowing on your knees and your shit wet with water, oil, gasoline and grease, you finally are able to put the replacement part back in.

Then, you climb in and fire that puppy back up…

…barooooom!

It’s “Miller Time!

It's a real joy to see an engine roar back to life once you fix a few problems. (Oh, and don't you just love the 454, eh?)
It’s a real joy to see an engine roar back to life once you fix a few problems. (Oh, and don’t you just love the 454, eh?) The 1970 LS6 454 cubic-inch V8 that was one of the best street muscle car motors ever produced. Broooom!

Making a pot of Chili

There is a certain joy in making a pot of chili. I really cannot enunciate why it is so special. Maybe it is because I would tend to cook chili on the weekends. Or maybe it’s the smell of the chili as it is cooking all afternoon.

A fine bowl of home-made chili.
A fine bowl of home-made chili.

Or maybe it’s sitting down afterwards watching a movie with the chili in one hand and an icy cold beer in the other. I really don’t know. What ever it is, it’s most certainly a wonderful and special noteworthy time.

I started to make chili when I lived outside “Poison Canyon” in Ridgecrest, California. One day the staff on the base had a “chili cook-off” on a non-base facility. All of us were asked to submit our creations. It was my first attempt at making chili and (yes) I made some mistakes. But then ever since, I kept at it and kept at it.

Now, when I make up a pot, it is my “comfort food”.

I like to eat it over rice. (Though some friends in Louisiana like to eat it over chips.) I know that sour cream is a nice addition, but I never seem to have any around. Instead I opt for lots and lots of yellow cheese (sharp cheddar) is my favorite and some hot peppers.

Oh, and don’t forget the icy cold beer.

Playing with your dog

There’s something about a little playful ritual that I have with my dog “Shao Pi”. You see, a couple of times a day I give him a “dog sausage”. It’s a kind of meat flavored rice filler in the shape of a sausage. It’s pretty darn cheap.

Chinese doggie sausages. You cut holes int he plastic skin and he sucks the liverwurst like meat out of the sausage.
Chinese doggie sausages. You cut holes in the plastic skin and he sucks the liverwurst like meat out of the sausage.

What I do is cut the ends off and punch holes in it. Then I call him.

Now, my game is to pretend that I cannot see him or know where he is. I start looking for him all over the house and outside on the porch. He goes crazy trying to say “I’m here! I’m here!”.

I carry on like this for a few minutes. Eventually he “convinces” me that he’s there, and I hand the treat out to him.

Now, my wife tried this game.

The only thing is that she didn’t play the game. She just handed the sausage to him.

What he did was so funny. He sat on the floor. Looked at the sausage, and then up to her. As if to say “what? You don’t want to play with me? Did I do something wrong?” And then he slunk back to his sleeping bed and ignored the sausage.

LOL.

This time is a little pleasure I have. I guess that it sounds so silly to dog haters or cat lovers, but I swear it is a special time and something that adds meaning to my life.

An after-dinner cigar and a glass of whiskey

Ah. You can tell that I am a man growing old. But you know what? Yup this is a real pleasure of mine. There is something relaxing and soothing to have a fine meal, and then calm down afterwards with a fine cigar and a nice glass of whiskey.

An after dinner cigar and a glass of whiskey.
An after dinner cigar and a glass of whiskey.

I must admit that I am not a connoisseur of cigars. Rather, I take what I can get. Though the Cuban cigars obtained locally are really nice. As far as whiskey goes, I know what bad and fake whiskey is, but my budget will not permit me to have any of those expensive brands that you see in magazines. So I make the best with what is within my budget.

It’s a pleasure of mine and something that you cannot do in any public restaurant in America today. But, it is something that I can do just about anywhere else in the world. It’s what’s called “freedom“.

Picking a ripe heirloom tomato off the vine

When I was growing up we had a little garden. I was the only one who really cared about it. I would tend to it, and weed it all Summer. I would also go ahead and plant tomatoes along with the other vegetables. My favorite plants were, of course, tomatoes. Though secondary favorites included green peppers and zucchini.

A fine tomato sandwich.
A fine tomato sandwich.

I tried to grow them up here in China. No such luck. Zhuhai is way, way too hot for the kinds of tomatoes that I know and love. I wrote a post about this HERE…

Tomatos

Anyways, back to my story.

Growing tomatoes is a real pleasure of mine. I especially like the tomato sandwich that I make from a freshly picked juicy “Big Boy” fresh off the vine. I just cut that sucker into many thin cuts. Layer the cuts one on top of the other. Add some salt and pepper, and slather some sweet mayonnaise (Miracle Whip) on top. Of course, I use plain white bread. It’s the perfect bread for this sandwich.

I just cannot imagine a Summer without a tomato sandwich.
I just cannot imagine a Summer without a tomato sandwich.

And, of course, I always eat it over the sink while the sauce and the tomato dripping fall down. My hands get all messy, but I just rinse them off under the running water.

It’s a great Summer pleasure, I’ll tell you what.

You do not know what your true pleasures are until you cannot have them. The pleasure of a simple tomato sandwich was denied to me in the ADC.
You do not know what your true pleasures are until you cannot have them. The pleasure of a simple tomato sandwich was denied to me in the ADC.

Canoeing on a quiet lake alone

This is a pleasure that most people do not enjoy.

You buy or rent a canoe. You go to a remote area, and there, in the early morning, you paddle out into the lake while the morning mist is rising off the lake. If you get up really early, it’s still very dark out. Like maybe four int he morning.

Ron Swanson understands. This is from season 7, episode 13.
Ron Swanson understands. This is from season 7, episode 13.

It’s quiet. The mist is like a fog and all you can hear are the frogs, the critters, and the sound of the swishing of the water.

Then you just paddle up and down the lake. Maybe find a quiet spot and fish. You pop a top (open up a can of beer), and drink it down. You don’t have a cellphone, or at least no signals. No one can contact you with an “emergency”. Your time. Your place. Your life.

It’s magical.

Soup in a thermos and a home made sandwich

Most people don’t give this any thought. But you all should. There’s something comforting in having a lunch prepared by loved ones for you instead of a McDonald’s #3 meal supersized with a coke.

A home-made meal is healthier, better, cheaper, and often more delicious than one made in a fast-food restaurant. It won’t make you fat, it will be balanced, and it will remind you of your connections to your loved ones. It’s a win-win.

A homemade packed sandwich goes a long way to keep the stomach rumblings down and subdue the ravenous beast inside.
A homemade packed sandwich goes a long way to keep the stomach rumblings down and subdue the ravenous beast inside.

The thermos might contain coffee, but more often than not it would be home made soup. My personal favorites are chicken-noodle, cream of broccoli, and vegetable beef. The sandwich would generally be some kind of “Dagwood” consisting of a few slabs of meat, some tomatoes, lettuce, onions and maybe s “thickener” like peanut butter or a fried egg. Topping it off would be a fruit. Maybe an apple or a banana. Sometimes an orange.

That’s what you get when you have a traditional family. One person works outside, the other person takes care of the domestic issues. They make sure that you eat well and healthy. They put care into that meal. They put love into that meal.

A thermos filled with home-made soup is a very special thing, and it reminds you that you are nothing without your family and their support.
A thermos filled with home-made soup is a very special thing, and it reminds you that you are nothing without your family and their support.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and it is very, very true.

Enjoy an ice cream Sundae

Ice cream is everywhere. Or at least, what we call ice cream, is everywhere. In the West, America I’m talking to you, most “ice cream” is actually a percentage of cream with milk and other fillers. It’s not really “real” and “pure” ice cream at all.

Which is really rather sad.

This little pleasure describes eating real, honest to goodness, ice cream at a dairy that gives you the real thing. And what’s more, you eat a Sundae using it.

A well done ice cream sundae would have multiple scoops of real ice cream, with all sorts of toppings added.
A well done ice cream sundae would have multiple scoops of real ice cream, with all sorts of toppings added.

Now, some history first.

Back in the day, when families still attended churches, and would spend the Sundays together, a “Sundae” was a special treat. It was a time to go traipse off to the local dairy farm and eat or have some fresh ice cream. That was a big event back in the day. It’s so difficult to imagine what the big deal was, because seemingly ice cream is everywhere.

Heck you can get a “ice cream””Sundae” at McDonald’s, for goodness sakes. Which isn’t really a true “ice cream” nor a true “sundae”. It’s a tasty food-like product. Fine for kids, but really below standard for most adults.

Adults deserve real… REAL… ice cream.

In California, back in the 1980’s, ice cream parlors were making a comeback. Though, I have no idea what is going on today. When I was there, they were being displaced by the TCBY frozen yogurt franchises.

Oh, and by the way, any decent Sundae in the United States would be topped with an American flag, don't ya know.
Oh, and by the way, any decent Sundae in the United States would be topped with an American flag, don’t ya know.

Here we are talking about paying the money and eating an enormous ice cream Sundae with your loved ones. We are not talking about some fake ‘soft serve” for a dollar at the local fast food joint. So, what more can I say? Go ahead, and go get a quality ice cream sundae. You won’t regret it.

Finally, here’s a shout out for Hersey’s Fudge. Get some on-line or in a grocery store and use this (instead of Hersey’s chocolate syrup) on your home concoctions.

Hersey's Fudge
Hersey’s Fudge

Playing with your cat

Now I talked about playing with my dog, but I also get an equal amount of satisfaction while playing with my cats. They are hunters and nothing gets them more excited that playing “hunt that critter”.

The best toys are the feathers or snake on a string.

Cats love to play with those feathers.
Cats love to play with those feathers.

I would dangle those feathers in the air and they would spend hours running, chasing, leaping and clawing at them. They would be so caught up in it and it’s a true joy to behold. Ah… good times.

A cup of fresh brewed coffee on a cold winter’s day

Now most Americans appreciate a nice cup of brewed coffee. We go to Tim Horton’s, Starbucks, McDonald’s or Duncan Donuts to get our fix. Of course, we also tend to brew it at home, whether it is in an old-fashioned percolator, a Chemex, or even (gasp) instant coffee.

But here, I want to talk about a different kind of coffee experience.

An "old fashioned" American diner.
An “old fashioned” American diner.

Imagine it’s snowing out, and as cold as a witches tit out. You had spent maybe ten minutes trying to chop the ice off your windshield with the wind howled around you, and icy cold dust flakes of snow burned your skin. Your breath would exhale in white clouds that would frost up your eye glasses and turn your beard white. And finally, after shoveling away the snow you hop into the car, and turn the motor over (you had a oil-dipstick heater, after your reinstalled the battery)…

Gah! You can tell that I used to live in Northern Indiana, eh?

You start driving down the road. It’s around 5:30 in the morning and the sky is just beginning to become a dreary light grey.

Up ahead is a brightly lit diner. It’s one of those old-fashioned stainless steel sausage affairs. It looks something like a mobile home, but is all silver color with warm inviting windows all along the sides.

You pull in, while a truck with a snowplow on it’s front is busy cleaning out the parking lot.

You park, turn off the engine and get out of the car. A few steps later, you pull open the heavy stainless steel and glass door and you are inside this warm, inviting diner filled with the aroma of bacon, eggs and freshly brewing coffee.

Inside of a fine American style diner.
Inside of a fine American style diner.

You go up to the counter.

There’s a guy (or a gal) there who immediately places some silverware on a napkin next to you once they wipe down the table. You, or course, reach over to the free newspapers down the counter to see what the daily news is, and when the waitress comes on over you place your order.

If you are like me, you would order “Country fried steak and eggs” with grits (or hash browns), wheat toast (why I never ordered rye?) and a coffee.

She would say “Just a moment, hon.” Then in short order, she would fill up a fine slam-on-the table white mug filled with fresh coffee…

A vintage heavy ivory white ironstone china coffee mug. This is what coffee was intended to be drunk out of.
A vintage heavy ivory white ironstone china coffee mug. This is what coffee was intended to be drunk out of.

You see, it’s not so much about the coffee as it is about the context… the environment… the feelings and the emotions that you have at that exact moment in time.

I know, I know…

Starbucks fans will argue that that they are just fine with the paper cup that they get from Starbucks. They believe that it is just as good, or maybe better….

I do not.

Please enjoy a nice cup of coffee, and share it at a moment that remains special to you.

A cup of coffee at a diner.
A cup of coffee at a diner.

Thunderstorm at night

Who doesn’t enjoy a nice cozy stay inside during a thunderstorm? The light display, and the booming of the thunder is inspiring. Not to mention the crash of the rain as it beats upon the house, and the gusts of wind that howl and moan in the ptch black night.

It’s a great time to stay inside and cozy up with loved ones under a throw. Don’t you think?

Homemade Iced Tea

I grew up in Western Pennsylvania. There, we pretty much drank Hi-C, or Cool-Aide. My mother would go ahead and pour the granulated mix into pitcher and refrigerate it. Then, when I was in High School, the idea of making “fresh” lemonade or Iced Tea caught on. We would put this big tureen on the stove and cook up a batch of tasty refreshing beverage. Then allow it to cool down.

later, at the end of the day, we might sit on the large shady porch and drink it as the sun would set. Though in those days we called it “watching the street lights turn on”. It was nice, you know.

Of course, then in those days, we might also smoke a joint, a cigarette, or a bowl of something that was illegal at that time. We were pretty much told that it would give us brain damage, and one day we might get confused, and put a baby in the microwave, or try to jump out of the window in an attempt to fly.

It was in all the newspapers and magazines, don’t you know.

Back then, we would sit on a “glider” (which is a metal couch that sways back and forth) or in a “porch swing” which is a wooden bench seat that hung from the ceiling by chains.

Metal glider. This is a long forgotten masterpiece that is fun to sit in and wonderful for wide shady porches.
Metal glider. This is a long forgotten masterpiece that is fun to sit in and wonderful for wide shady porches.

Of course, there would be a blanket or throw or some pillows on the glider. We never sat on the bare metal or wood slats. You know, looking back, many of my first dates were spent on the safety of the porch while the girls’ parents were in the kitchen or living room.

It is that moment that you treasure. The sun has set, the sky is turning into a dark blue color. The air is cooling down and a little breeze is kicking up. House lights are turning on, and the homes looked warm through their windows with yellow and orange colors on the bluish-white exteriors. The crickets come out, and the cicadas. You can even watch the bats fly about in the sky.

Later on in my life, I completely forgot about that.

Delicious Southern style Iced Tea.
Delicious Southern style Iced Tea.

I would go ahead and get this kind of iced tea in fast food restaurants. it would be filled with chemical preservatives, and unsweetened. No lemon. No orange. No mint. And I would be forced to drink this kind of camel piss on my way to and from work.

Then, when I moved to the South, I experienced what “real” iced tea is. It’s called “Southern Ice Tea”, and it’s awesome!

How to Make Perfect Southern Sweet Iced Tea

Iced tea is pretty much a year-round staple here in the south - probably mostly because it's so darned hot down here most all of the year. Besides, tea - unlike soft drinks - is loaded with benefits.

Just like seasoning recipes to taste, you definitely should adjust to your own sweetness level with sweetened iced tea. Some folks like it real sweet, some not quite so sweet and you can certainly exchange sugar for an appropriate sugar substitute, even making the tea completely unsweetened, and adding it per glass.

This recipe makes 2 quarts of sweet tea and I used to use a cup of sugar, but then I switched to making my tea completely unsweetened and using a sugar substitute by the glass, but then I stopped using artificial sweeteners completely, then I went back to them, or I flip flop between a stevia/sugar blend, monk fruit or agave - I've pretty much tried most all of them. When I went back to using regular granulated sugar, I found a cup to be too sweet for me. Eventually I reduced that cup of sugar to 3/4 cup, then 2/3 cup and now I find about 1/2 cup of sugar for the whole pitcher works pretty good for me. In restaurants I always find sweet tea generally far too sweet for me, so I order it "half and half" - half sweet, mixed with half unsweetened, and during the summer I go through so much tea that I now make a full gallon of a diet sweet tea.

Sweetening aside, one thing is for certain. I believe that the perfect iced tea starts with Luzianne brand. {affil link} Period.

Now... I don't say that because I'm trying to impress the folks at Luzianne (who have no idea who I am), or because I'm trying to make myself look more "Southern" by using Luzianne. I use it because, in my opinion, it is the tea for Southern iced tea - whether it's sugared up or made with sugar substitute. Not that other brands don't make a good pitcher of tea. Mama used Lipton and it's a perfectly fine tea. It's just that for what I consider to be the perfect Southern iced tea, I truly believe you need to use Luzianne.

Finding a restaurant, even in the Deep South, that served sweet tea was a challenge there for awhile. Restaurants jumped on the bandwagon of removing sugar from their tea and tried to pass off unsweetened tea to all of their patrons, offering sugar packets at the table. Well, everybody knows that just doesn't work. Warm tea is what you need to dissolve sugar and iced tea just needs to be cold. Not warm. Not at room temperature. But chilled cold and served over ice and for me, with lemon. So, thankfully, they have finally gotten back to offering sweet tea again, and unsweetened for those folks who prefer not to have the sugar. It's true, a lot of folks, myself included, sweeten with sugar substitutes these days, but still… every once in awhile, we all sure enjoy a glass of ice cold, sugared-up tea.

Tea Tips:

1. For perfect tea always start with fresh filtered cool water - never tap water!

2. Cloudiness is often caused by putting hot or still warm tea directly into a cold refrigerator. My method prevents this since you are pouring your steeped tea directly over ice cubes.

2. Bitterness in tea is caused by overcooking and burning the tea leaves - that is why it is important not to boil the teabags and not to steep them too long in boiling water. To counter, a pinch of baking soda - only about 1/8 of a teaspoon - can be added to the hot, steeped tea after you remove the bags. It will not affect the taste of your tea, and provides insurance against bitterness.

3. Use wooden spoons to squeeze your tea bags, a glass container - like a large Pyrex measuring cup - to steep your tea, and store it in a glass pitcher if at all possible. I break this rule myself at times though, especially with my Milo's copycat diet iced tea. And I do love my Tervis cups.

4. If you prefer your sweetened tea more on the sweet side, increase the sugar. Some folks like as much as 1-1/2 cups of sugar, but start lower and increase for the next pitcher.

5. Of course, substitute artificial sweetener by the pitcher or per glass if you don't want to use sugar. I use the granulated Splenda in the large bag, about 3/4ths cup is enough for me.

6. If you like lemon in your tea, try making ice cubes out of lemonade to use in the individual glasses. As they melt, they will infuse the tea with lemon flavor! {a tip from Susan of our Facebook Family!}

Ingredients:
5 to 7 individual tea bags, (Luzianne brand preferred) {affil link}
1 quart of cool filtered or bottled water
Pinch of baking soda, optional
1 (4-cup) glass Pyrex measuring cup for steeping
2 quart glass pitcher filled with ice
1/2 to to 1 cup granulated sugar, or to taste
Fresh lemon, sliced or wedges, and some mint sprigs, optional

Instructions:
Boil one quart of cool filtered or bottled water, bringing to a full, rolling boil then turn off heat. Steep tea bags in the hot water for 9 minutes. Gently squeeze bags of excess water and remove. Whisk in sugar (and baking soda if using) until dissolved and set aside. Fill pitcher with ice, and carefully pour the hot tea concentrate over the ice. Stir well and pour over ice filled glasses, garnishing with a sprig of mint leaves and a nice juicy slice of lemon. Savor. Makes 2 quarts.

Cook's Notes: 
For a milder tea, use 5 bags; for a more robust tea, go with 7. Increase sugar as needed to your sweetness level. Never pour hot tea directly into a glass pitcher without ice in it! To conserve your ice and use the tea per glass, fill the 1/2 gallon pitcher with 1-1/2 quarts of water instead of ice, and top with the steeped tea.

-Deep South Dish

Personally, I always use (a generous amount of) cut up orange slices, along with the lemon. And sometimes even a slice or two of lime or grapefruit to tarten up things a bit.

Sweet + tart = flavorful neutral.

I always use mint, but too much mint is not good and will act medicinally. Your heart will start to race. Yikes! So just use a sprig and no more.

Sweeteners can be sugar, brown sugar, cane sugar, and honey. Experiment. You can end up with some very delicious cool Summer drinks for your end of the day porch rest periods.

Iced tea is just perfect for the end of the day rest periods while the wold quiets down.
Iced tea is just perfect for the end of the day rest periods while the wold quiets down. Some of the best Southern Iced Tea that I ever had came from Louisiana and Mississippi.

Nighttime walk in a snowstorm

You have not lived life until you have walked at night in a snowstorm. This is most especially true if it is in the countryside, on a wooded road, and you are alone with only the wind whistling through the trees and the cracking and gnawing of the branches as they sway in the wind.

Night time walk in the Winter snow storm.
Night time walk in the Winter snow storm.

When ever you have an opportunity, whether it is an old-fashioned sled ride, or sleigh ride, a walk, or a ski-mobile trip to the neighboring woods… please do it. Get gout and enjoy “Mother Nature”.

Conclusion

Make what you do matter. Take time to savor every moment. Do not try to be like the actors in the movies. Just try to be you; the best YOU that you can be. Do things your way. Live life your way.

Start doing it now.

Make your life matter. Do the little things that enhance your life. Appreciate them, savor them and enjoy them.
Make your life matter. Do the little things that enhance your life. Appreciate them, savor them and enjoy them.

I do hope that you enjoyed this post. I have similar posts in my Happiness Index…

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The Veldt (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

There is nothing wrong with reading a nice piece of literature. That’s true, don’t you know. Lately, I’ve been thinking about Ray Bradbury. His writings are so… oh so… special.

It’s some of the best that the world can offer.

Here’s a great little gem of a story. Please enjoy.

The Veldt – Ray Bradbury

“George, I wish you’d look at the nursery. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then.”

“I just want you to look at it, is all, or call a psychologist in to look at it.” “What would a psychologist want with a nursery?”

“You know very well what he’d want.” His wife was standing in the middle of the kitchen watching the stove busy humming to itself, making supper for four.

“It’s just that it is different now than it was.” “All right, let’s have a look.”

They walked down the hall of their HappyLife Home, which had cost them thirty thousand dollars with everything included. This house which clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them. Their approach was sensed by a hidden switch and the nursery light turned on when they came within ten feet of it. Similarly, behind them, in the halls, lights went on and off automatically as they left them behind.

“Well,” said George Hadley. They stood on the grass-like floor of the nursery. It was forty feet across by forty feet long and thirty feet high; it had cost half again as much as the rest of the house. “But nothing’s too good for our children,” George had said.

The room was silent and empty. The walls were white and two dimensional. Now, as George and Lydia Hadley stood in the center of the room, the walls made a quiet noise and seemed to fall away into the distance. Soon an African veldt appeared, in three dimensions, on all sides, in color. It looked real to the smallest stone and bit of yellow summer grass. The ceiling above them became a deep sky with a hot yellow sun.

George Hadley started to sweat from the heat. “Let’s get out of this sun,” he said. “This is a little too real. But I don’t see anything wrong.”

“Wait a moment, you’ll see,” said his wife.

Now hidden machines were beginning to blow a wind containing prepared smells toward the two people in the middle of the baked veldt. The hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool green smell of the hidden water hole, the strong dried blood smell of the animals, the smell of dust like red pepper in the hot air. And now the sounds: the thump of distant antelope feet on soft grassy ground, the papery rustle of vultures. A shadow passed through the sky. George Hadley looked up, and as he watched the shadow moved across his sweating face. “Horrible creatures,” he heard his wife say.

“The vultures.”

“You see, there are the lions,  far over, that way. Now they’re on their way to the water  hole.

They’ve just been eating,” said Lydia. “I don’t know what.”

“Some animal.” George Hadley put his hand above his eyes to block off the burning light and looked carefully. “A zebra or a baby giraffe, maybe.”

“Are you sure?” His wife sounded strangely nervous.

“No, it’s a little late to be sure,” he said, with a laugh. “Nothing over there I can see but cleaned bone, and the vultures dropping for what’s left.”

“Did you hear that scream?” she asked. “No.”

“About a minute ago?” “Sorry, no.”

The lions were coming. And again George Hadley was filled with respect for the brilliant mind that had come up with the idea for this room. A wonder of efficiency selling for an unbelievably low price. Every home should have one. Oh, occasionally they frightened you with their realism, they made you jump, gave you a scare. But most of the time they were fun for everyone. Not only your own son and daughter, but for yourself when you felt like a quick trip to a foreign land, a quick change of scenery. Well, here it was!

And here were the lions now, fifteen feet away. They looked so real, so powerful and shockingly real, that you could feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Your mouth was filled with the dusty smell of their heated fur. The yellow of the lions and the summer grass was in your eyes like a picture in an expensive French wall hanging. And there was the sound of the lions quick, heavy breaths in the silent mid-day sun, and the smell of meat from their dripping mouths.

The lions stood looking at George and Lydia Hadley with terrible green-yellow eyes. “Watch out!” screamed Lydia.

The lions came running at them. Lydia turned suddenly and ran. Without thinking, George ran after her. Outside in the hall, after they had closed the door quickly and noisily behind them, he was laughing and she was crying. And they both stood shocked at the other’s reaction.

“George!”

“Lydia! Oh, my dear poor sweet Lydia!” “They almost got us!”

“Walls, Lydia, remember; glass walls, that’s all they are. Oh, they look real, I must admit – Africa in your living room. But it’s all created from three dimensional color film behind glass screens. And the machines that deliver the smells and sounds to go with the scenery. Here’s my handkerchief.”

“I’m afraid.” She came to him and put her body against him and cried as he held her. “Did you see? Did you feel? It’s too real.”

“Now, Lydia…”

“You’ve got to tell Wendy and Peter not to read any more on Africa.” “Of course – of course.” He patted her.

“Promise?” “Sure.”

“And lock the nursery for a few days until I can get over this.”

“You know how difficult Peter is about that. When I punished him a month ago by locking it for even a few hours – the way he lost his temper! And Wendy too. They live for the nursery.”

“It’s got to be locked, that’s all there is to it.”

“All right.” Although he wasn’t happy about it, he locked the huge door. “You’ve been working too hard. You need a rest.”

“I don’t know – I don’t know,” she said, blowing her nose, sitting down in a chair that immediately began to rock and comfort her. “Maybe I don’t have enough to do. Maybe I have time to think too much. Why don’t we shut the whole house off for a few days and take a vacation?”

“You mean you want to fry my eggs for me?” “Yes.” She nodded.

“And mend my socks?”

“Yes.” She nodded again excitedly, with tears in her eyes. “And clean the house?”

“Yes, yes – oh, yes!”

“But I thought that’s why we bought this house, so we wouldn’t have to do anything?”

“That’s just it. I feel like I don’t belong here. The house is wife and mother now, and nurse for the children. Can I compete with an African veldt? Can I give a bath and clean the  children  as efficiently or quickly as the automatic body wash can? I cannot. And it isn’t just me. It’s you. You’ve been awfully nervous lately.”

“I suppose I have been smoking too much.”

“You look as if you didn’t know what to do with yourself in this house, either. You smoke a little more every morning and drink a little more every afternoon, and you are taking more pills to help you sleep at night. You’re beginning to feel unnecessary too.”

“Am I?” He thought for a moment as he and tried to feel into himself to see what was really there. “Oh, George!” She looked past him, at the nursery door. “Those lions can’t get out of there, can

they?”

He looked at the door and saw it shake as if something had jumped against it from the other side. “Of course not,” he said.

At dinner they ate alone, for Wendy and Peter were at a special plastic fair across town. They had called home earlier to say they’d be late. So George Hadley, deep in thought, sat watching the dining-room table produce warm dishes of food from the machines inside.

“We forgot the tomato sauce,” he said.

“Sorry,” said a small voice within the table, and tomato sauce appeared.

As for the nursery, thought George Hadley, it won’t hurt for the children to be locked out of it a while. Too much of anything isn’t good for anyone. And it was clearly indicated that the children had been spending a little too much time on Africa. That sun. He could still feel it on his neck, like a hot paw. And the lions. And the smell of blood. Remarkable how the nursery read the thoughts in the children’s minds and created life to fill their every desire. The children thought lions, and there were lions. The children thought zebras, and there were zebras. Sun – sun. Giraffes – giraffes. Death and death.

That last. He ate the meat that the table had cut for him without tasting it. Death thoughts. They were awfully young, Wendy and Peter, for death thoughts. Or, no, you were never too young, really. Long before you knew what death was you were wishing it on someone else. When you were two years old you were shooting people with toy guns.

But this – the long, hot African veldt. The awful death in the jaws of a lion. And repeated again and again.

“Where are you going?”

George didn’t answer Lydia… he was too busy thinking of something else. He let the lights shine softly on ahead of him, turn off behind him as he walked quietly to the nursery door. He listened against it. Far away, a lion roared. He unlocked the door and opened it. Just before he stepped inside, he heard a faraway scream. And then another roar from the lions, which died down quickly. He stepped into Africa.

How many times in the last year had he opened this door and found Wonderland with Alice and the Mock Turtle, or Aladdin and his Magical Lamp, or Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz, or Dr. Doolittle, or the cow jumping over a very real-looking moon. All the most enjoyable creations of an imaginary world. How often had he seen Pegasus the winged horse flying in the sky ceiling, or  seen explosions of red fireworks, or heard beautiful singing.

But now, is yellow hot Africa, this bake oven with murder in the heat. Perhaps Lydia was right. Perhaps they needed a little vacation from the fantasy which was growing a bit too real for ten-year- old children. It was all right to exercise one’s mind with unusual fantasies, but when the lively child mind settled on one pattern..?

It seemed that, at a distance, for the past month, he had heard lions roaring, and noticed their strong smell which carried as far away as his study door. But, being busy, he had paid it no attention.

George Hadley stood on the African veldt alone. The lions looked up from their feeding, watching

him. The only thing wrong with the image was the open door. Through it he could see his wife, far down the dark hall, like a framed picture. She was still eating her dinner, but her mind was clearly on other things.

“Go away,” he said to the lions.

They did not go. He knew exactly how the room should work. You sent out  your  thoughts. Whatever you thought would appear. “Let’s have Aladdin and his lamp,” he said angrily. The veldt remained; the lions remained.

“Come on, room! I demand Aladdin!” he said.

Nothing happened. The lions made soft low noises in the hot sun. “Aladdin!”

He went back to dinner. “The fool room’s out of order,” he said. “It won’t change.” “Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or it can’t change,” said Lydia, “because the children have thought about Africa and lions and killing so many days that the room’s stuck in a pattern it can’t get out of.”

“Could be.”

“Or Peter’s set it to remain that way.” “Set it?”

“He may have got into the machinery and fixed something.” “Peter doesn’t know machinery.”

“He’s a wise one for ten. That I.Q. of his…” “But…”

“Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad.”

The Hadleys turned. Wendy and Peter were coming happily in the front door, with bright blue eyes and a smell of fresh air on their clothes from their trip in the helicopter.

“You’re just in time for supper,” said both parents.

“We’re full of strawberry ice-cream and hot dogs,” said the children, holding hands. “But we’ll sit and watch.”

“Yes, come tell us about the nursery,” said George Hadley.

The brother and sister looked at him and then at each other. “Nursery?”

“All about Africa and everything,” said the father with a false smile. “I don’t understand,” said Peter.

“Your mother and I were just traveling through Africa. “There’s no Africa in the nursery,” said Peter simply. “Oh, come now, Peter. We know better.”

“I don’t remember any Africa,” said Peter to Wendy. “Do you?” “No.”

“Run see and come tell.” She did as he told her.

“Wendy, come back here!” said George Hadley, but she was gone. The house lights followed her like fireflies. Too late, he realized he had forgotten to lock the nursery door after his last visit.

“Wendy’ll look and come tell us,” said Peter. “She doesn’t have to tell me. I’ve seen it.” “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Father.”

“I’m not, Peter. Come along now.”

But Wendy was back. “It’s not Africa,” she said breathlessly.

“We’ll see about this,” said George Hadley, and they all walked down the hall together and opened the door.

There was a green, lovely forest, a lovely river, a purple mountain, high voices singing. And there was Rima the bird girl, lovely and mysterious. She was hiding in the trees with colorful butterflies, like flowers coming to life, flying about her long hair. The African veldt was gone. The lions were gone. Only Rima was here now, singing a song so beautiful that it brought tears to your eyes.

George Hadley looked in at the changed scene. “Go to bed,” he said to the children. They opened their mouths.

“You heard me,” he said.

They went off to the air tube, where a wind blew them like brown leaves up to their sleeping rooms. George Hadley walked through the forest scene and picked up something that lay in the corner near

where the lions had been. He walked slowly back to his wife. “What is that?” she asked.

“An old wallet of mine,” he said. He showed it to her. The smell of hot grass was on it… and the smell of a lion. It was wet from being in the lion’s mouth, there were tooth marks on it, and there was dried blood on both sides. He closed the door and locked it, tight.

They went to up to bed but couldn’t sleep. “Do you think Wendy changed it?” she said at last, in the dark room.

“Of course.”

“Made it from a veldt into a forest and put Rima there instead of lions?” “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But it’s staying locked until I find out.” “How did your wallet get there?”

“I don’t know anything,” he said, “except that I’m beginning to be sorry we bought that room for the children. If children are suffering from any kind of emotional problem, a room like that…”

“It’s supposed to help them work off their emotional problems in a healthy way.” “I’m starting to wonder.” His eyes were wide open, looking up at the ceiling.

“We’ve given the children everything they ever wanted. Is this our reward – secrecy, not doing what we tell them?”

“Who was it said, ‘Children are carpets, they should be stepped on occasionally’? We’ve never lifted a hand. They’re unbearable – let’s admit it. They come and go when they like; they treat us as if we were the children in the family. They’re spoiled and we’re spoiled.”

“They’ve been acting funny ever since you wouldn’t let them go to New York a few months ago.” “They’re not old enough to do that alone, I explained.”

“I know, but I’ve noticed they’ve been decidedly cool toward us since.”

“I think I’ll have David McClean come tomorrow morning to have a look at Africa.” “But it’s not Africa now, it’s South America and Rima.”

“I have a feeling it’ll be Africa again before then.”

A moment later they heard the screams. Two screams. Two people screaming from downstairs. And then a roar of lions.

“Wendy and Peter aren’t in their rooms,” said his wife.

He lay in his bed with his beating heart. “No,” he said. “They’ve broken into the nursery.”

“Those screams – they sound familiar.” “Do they?”

“Yes, awfully.”

And although their beds tried very hard, the two adults couldn’t be rocked to sleep for another hour. A smell of cats was in the night air.

* * * “Father?” asked Peter the next morning.

“Yes.”

Peter looked at his shoes. He never looked at his father any more, nor at his mother. “You aren’t going to lock up the nursery for good, are you?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?” said Peter sharply.

“On you and your sister. If you break up this Africa with a little variety – oh, Sweden perhaps, or Denmark or China…”

“I thought we were free to play as we wished.” “You are, within reasonable limits.”

“What’s wrong with Africa, Father?”

“Oh, so now you admit you have been thinking up Africa, do you?” “I wouldn’t want the nursery locked up,” said Peter coldly. “Ever.”

“Matter of fact, we’re thinking of turning the whole house off for about a month. Live sort of a happy family existence.”

“That sounds terrible! Would I have to tie my own shoes instead of letting the machine do it? And brush my own teeth and comb my hair and give myself a bath?”

“It would be fun for a change, don’t you think?”

No, it would be horrible. I didn’t like it when you took out the picture painter last month.” “That’s because I wanted you to learn to paint all by yourself, son.”

“I don’t want to do anything but look and listen and smell; what else is there to do?” “All right, go play in Africa.”

“Will you shut off the house sometime soon?” “We’re considering it.”

“I don’t think you’d better consider it any more, Father.” “I won’t have any threats from my son!”

“Very well.” And Peter walked off to the nursery.

* * * “Am I on time?” said David McClean.    “Breakfast?” asked George Hadley.

“Thanks, had some. What’s the trouble?” “David, you’re a psychologist.”

“I should hope so.”

“Well, then, have a look at our nursery. You saw it a year ago when you dropped by; did you notice anything unusual about it then?”

“Can’t say I did; the usual violences, a tendency toward a slight paranoia here or there. But this is usual in children because they feel their parents are always doing things to make them suffer in one way or another. But, oh, really nothing.”

They walked down the hall. “I locked it up,” explained the father, “and the children broke back into it during the night. I let them stay so they could form the patterns for you to see.”

There was a terrible screaming from the nursery.

“There it is,” said George Hadley. “See what you make of it.”

They  walked  in  on  the  children  without  knocking.  The  screams  had  stopped.  The  lions  were feeding.

“Run  outside  a  moment,  children,”  said  George  Hadley.  “No,  don’t  change  the  mental  picture. Leave the walls as they are. Get!”

With the children gone, the two men stood studying the lions sitting together in the distance, eating with great enjoyment whatever it was they had caught.

“I wish I knew what it was,” said George Hadley. “Sometimes I can almost see. Do you think if I brought high-powered binoculars here and…”

David McClean laughed dryly. “Hardly.” He turned to study all four walls. “How long has this been going on?”

“A little over a month.”

“It certainly doesn’t feel good.” “I want facts, not feelings.”

“My dear George, a psychologist never saw a fact in his life. He only hears about feelings; things that aren’t always clearly expressed. This doesn’t feel good, I tell you. Trust me. I have a nose for something bad. This is very bad. My advice to you is to have the whole damn room torn down and your children brought to me every day during the next year for treatment.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I’m afraid so. One of the original uses of these rooms was so that we could study the patterns left on the walls by the child’s mind. We could study them whenever we wanted to, and help the child. In this case, however, the room has become a means of creating destructive thoughts, instead of helping to make them go away.”

“Didn’t you sense this before?”

“I sensed only that you had spoiled your children more than most. And now you’re letting them down in some way. What way?”

“I wouldn’t let them go to New York.” “What else?”

“I’ve taken a few machines from the house and threatened them, a month ago, with closing up the nursery unless they did their homework. I did close it for a few days to show I meant business.”

“Ah, ha!”

“Does that mean anything?”

“Everything. Where before they had a Santa Claus now they have a Scrooge. Children prefer Santa. You’ve let this room and this house replace you and your wife in your children’s feelings. This room is their mother and father, far more important in their lives than their real parents. And now you come along and want to shut it off. No wonder there’s hatred here. You can feel it coming out of the sky. Feel that sun. George, you’ll have to change your life. Like too many others, you’ve built it around creature comforts. Why, you’d go hungry tomorrow if something went wrong in your kitchen. You wouldn’t know how to cook an egg. All the same, turn everything off. Start new. It’ll take time. But we’ll make good children out of bad in a year, wait and see.”

“But won’t the shock be too much for the children, shutting the room up without notice, for good?” “I don’t want them going any deeper into this, that’s all.”

The lions were finished with their bloody meat. They were standing on the edge of the clearing watching the two men.

“Now I’m feeling worried,” said McClean. “Let’s get out of here. I never have cared for these damned rooms. Make me nervous.”

“The lions look real, don’t they?” said George Hadley. I don’t suppose there’s any way…” “What?”

“…that they could become real?” “Not that I know.”

“Some problem with the machinery, someone changing something inside?” “No.”

They went to the door.

“I don’t imagine the room will like being turned off,” said the father. “Nothing ever likes to die – even a room.”

“I wonder if it hates me for wanting to switch it off?”

“Paranoia is thick around here today,” said David McClean. “You can see it everywhere. Hello.” He bent and picked up a bloody scarf. “This yours?”

“No.” George Hadley’s face set like stone. “It belongs to Lydia.”

They went to the control box together and threw the switch that killed the nursery.

The two children were so upset that they couldn’t control themselves. They screamed and danced around and threw things. They shouted and cried and called them rude names and jumped on the furniture.

“You can’t do that to the nursery, you can’t!” “Now, children.”

The children threw themselves onto a sofa, crying.

“George,” said Lydia Hadley, “turn it on again, just for a few moments. You need to give them some more time.”

“No.”

“You can’t be so cruel…”

“Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now. The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been thinking of our machine assisted selves for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!”

And he marched about the house turning off the voice clocks, the stoves, the heaters, the shoe cleaners, the body washer, the massager, and every other machine he could put his hand to.

The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed. It felt like a mechanical cemetery. So silent. None of

the humming hidden energy of machines waiting to function at the tap of a button.

“Don’t let them do it!” cried Peter to the ceiling, as if he was talking to the house, the nursery. “Don’t let Father kill everything.” He turned to his father. “Oh, I hate you!”

“Saying things like that won’t get you anywhere.” “I wish you were dead!”

“We were, for a long while. Now we’re going to really start living. Instead of being handled and massaged, we’re going to live.”

Wendy was still crying and Peter joined her again. “Just a moment, just one moment, just another moment of nursery,” they cried.

“Oh, George,” said the wife, “it can’t hurt.”

“All right – all right, if they’ll just shut up. One minute, mind you, and then off forever.” “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” sang the children, smiling with wet faces.

“And then we’re going on a vacation. David McClean is coming back in half an hour to help us move out and get to the airport. I’m going to dress. You turn the nursery on for a minute, Lydia, just a minute, mind you.”

And the three of them went off talking excitedly while he let himself be transported upstairs through the air tube and set about dressing himself. A minute later Lydia appeared.

“I’ll be glad when we get away,” she said thankfully. “Did you leave them in the nursery?”

“I wanted to dress too. Oh, that horrible Africa. What can they see in it?”

“Well, in five minutes we’ll be on our way to Iowa. Lord, how did we ever get in this house? What made us buy a nightmare?”

“Pride, money, foolishness.”

“I think we’d better get downstairs before those kids spend too much time with those damned beasts again.”

Just then they heard the children calling, “Daddy, Mommy, come quick – quick!”

They went downstairs in the air tube and ran down the hall. The children were nowhere in sight. “Wendy? Peter!”

They ran into the nursery. The veldt was empty save for the lions waiting, looking at them. “Peter, Wendy?”

The door closed loudly.

“Wendy, Peter!”

George Hadley and his wife turned quickly and ran back to the door.

“Open the door!” cried George Hadley, trying the handle. “Why, they’ve locked it from the outside! Peter!” He beat at the door. “Open up!”

He heard Peter’s voice outside, against the door.

“Don’t let them switch off the nursery and the house,” he was saying.

Mr. and Mrs. George Hadley beat at the door. “Now, don’t be silly, children. It’s time to go. Mr. McClean’ll be here in a minute and…”

And then they heard the sounds.

The lions were on three sides of them in the yellow veldt grass. They walked quietly through the dry grass, making long, deep rolling sounds in their throats. The lions!

Mr. Hadley looked at his wife and they turned and looked back at the beasts edging slowly forward, knees bent, tails in the air.

Mr. and Mrs. Hadley screamed.

And suddenly they realized why those other screams had sounded familiar.

* * *

“Well, here I am,” said David McClean from the nursery door. “Oh, hello.” He looked carefully at the two children seated in the center of the room eating a little picnic lunch. On the far them he could see the water hole and the yellow veldt. Above was the hot sun. He began to sweat. “Where are your father and mother?”

The children looked up and smiled. “Oh, they’ll be here directly.” “Good, we must get going.”

At a distance Mr. McClean saw the lions fighting over something and then quietening down to feed in silence under the shady trees. He put his hand to his eyes to block out the sun and looked at them. Now the lions were done feeding. They moved to the water hole to drink. A shadow moved over Mr. McClean’s hot face. Many shadows moved. The vultures were dropping down from the burning sky.

“A cup of tea?” asked Wendy in the silence.

The End

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More escapist entertainment to get our minds off of the COVID-19 coronavirus lock-down emergency.

Here’s some more escapist, mostly upbeat or odd, movies to help release you from the insanity that has become our daily ritual. These movies and shows were not chosen because they were praised by critics, or because I was paid to recommend them (Under some kind of money-making scheme.). Instead they are generally, known (and forgotten) movies that have the ability to carry you away to another time and another place.

And that is what is important

Don’t you know.

To be able to carry you away to a different time, and a different place, and a different lifestyle.

And, in this case, for me… way way back to my 20’s. That in-between stage from during the transition from High School to adulthood. As a young man, being strong and healthy, and with options all over the place…

So when you watch these movies you can forget the life that you live now. You can forget your boss, the need to buy groceries, the dog wanting to go outside, and the bills piling up on the kitchen table. Instead you can escape to a quieter time; a time when things were simpler, and the entire world was yours for the taking.

It can transport you to a time when the “news” only lasted for thirty minutes, and just gave summarys of events, not panels of “experts” endlessly debating if Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are racist.

It will transport you to a time when people seemed a little bit happier, a time when that grey storm cloud wasn’t hovering over their head, and a time when … well, it was possible for you to be anything you wanted to be.

We will start with a relatively unknown movie.

Hot Dog The Movie (1984)

This movie will absolutely cart you off to the 1980’s, to the land of ski lodges, big hair, and vibrant colors in the snowy mountains. It’s funny, silly, up-beat and has a positive up-lifting music track. All in all, perfect for these uncertain times.

Who knows what surprises you might discover when trapped inside a gondola with a "snow bunny"?
Who knows what surprises you might discover when trapped inside a gondola with a “snow bunny”?
Did you ever own white Vuarnet Cat Eyes? Are you stoked that padded ski sweaters are coming back in? Did you ever want to be the toast of Tahoe, ski all season long, party every night and hang out with a wacky bunch of ski bums with names like Thrasher and Squirrel?

Then check out this early 80's classic (I know, it came out in '84, but it's SO '82).

Harkin Banks is the wunderkind from the sticks who hooks up with Dan O'Callahan. Dan is the good time Squaw Valley veteran who's a permanent fixture on the competitive ski scene, sharing slopes and hot tubs with his party hardy co-horts: the nutty Squirrel Murphy, who digs zinc oxide, sexy ski bunnies and long gondola rides; Kendo Yamamoto, who doesn't speak much English, but can tear down the mountain like a Kamakaze; punk rocker, Thrasher, who dances to his own tune, even at parties; and a host of semi-nameless others.
The "rat pack", just some friends that want to ski, drink and have fun together. What's so wrong about that?
The “rat pack”, just some friends that want to ski, drink and have fun together. What’s so wrong about that?
But what would a crazy party flick be without some bad guys?

Enter Rudy Garmisch, zee Austrian ski champ and nemesis of the Squaw Valley locals. He and his loyal "Rudettes", mostly nameless guys and fraulines also from zee Austrian slopes, push some of the locals out of the upcoming competition with promises of good television ratings and new sponsorships from internationally minded companies.

Uh-oh, ol' Dan's not happy with that at all!

Toss in a battle over a cute blonde runaway, Sunny, and you have a recipe for trouble on the slopes.
Oh. I had Sonny-side-up. Und, I had Sonny-side-down. Und, I had Sonny-side all zee way around!
Oh. I had Sunny-side-up. Und, I had Sunny-side-down. Und, I had Sunny-side all zee way around!
Not to worry, all's well that ends well. After all, what tiff can't be settled over a friendly game of Chinese Downhill? Not sure you wanna play? No worries…there's nothing one of Dan's famous "Leg Spreader" cocktails can't fix. 

And to top it all off, there's some fantastic ski footage set to even more fantastic early 80's music. Why they even bothered to make Ski School in the early 90's was a mystery to me - how could they do the ski party flick any better than Hot Dog? 

Surprisingly enough it was also pretty damn good. But Hot Dog: The Movie is still the original and the best.

THE classic early 80's ski flick 
colparker4 February 2003
It's a movie about sun, fun and friends. It's about having fun and just enjoying life. Oh, and by the way, there isn't any sort of political correctness either. It's PC free - you all!
It’s a movie about sun, fun and friends. It’s about having fun and just enjoying life. Oh, and by the way, there isn’t any sort of political correctness either. It’s PC free – you all!

You don’t need to know how to sky to appreciate this movie. It’s just a lot of fun, a lot of smiles, and just some good old vibes.

"What the fuck is a Chinese downhill?"

You are not going to be sad after watching this movie. Instead you will be in a good joyous mood and wondering just why… why you never took up skiing.

Risky Business (1983)

Just about everyone of my generation knows this movie. It’s the movie that made Tom Cruse the screen actor that he is today. But let’s be real. When was the last time you watched it?

For me, It’s been at least a decade, perhaps two. And I have talked to some of the younger folk who have never heard of this masterpiece. Can you believe it?

Well, for some fun, I downloaded the torrent and checked it out. (My betaMAX tape is lost somewhere under a pile of dusty boxes.)

It took me away.

It blew me away.

On a number of really curious levels…

As a young businessman he learns how to manage time and resources. He tries to keep his overhead down, while maximizing the profits.
As a young businessman he learns how to manage time and resources. He tries to keep his overhead down, while maximizing the profits. Look at how young Tom Cruse is.

Well, after decades, I finally sat down and re-watched this. And ohhhh there were so many things that I had forgotten, and so many things that I can see with my older eyes of experience. It will carry you back to a time long ago when business opportunities can just fall right into your lap, unplanned and ultimately successful.

It’s partially remembering what it was like having the entire house to yourself when your parents are away…

…and it’s partially about exploring what it’s like to have a relationship with a strong and positive female…

… and it’s partially about what it was like before the decades of greed and spite took over America.

fun, funny, and smart 
8 February 2003 | by pompaj 

Most funny comedies aren't very smart. They're funny because of individual jokes that play by themselves, without relying on the overall plot. Risky Business is an exception and the reason why it works so well, is because it tells a simple story that could really happen and would also be a lot of fun. 

You're a high school kid, your parents go on vacation for a week, leaving you the whole house to yourself. That's the setup. 

A friend calls up a call girl, she shows up, and the entertainment begins. 

This movie is smart enough to know what kids think about at that age, sex, and it holds nothing back. It is very clever at times and has a strong character in Joel, played by a young, energetic Tom Cruise. Another thing that this movie understands is mood and tempo. Everything hits the right beat. Smart and funny is an ideal combination and this movie achieves it.
Risky Business is all about a young man who learns about how to make and manage money with a female partner.
Risky Business is all about a young man who learns about how to make and manage money with a female partner. He handles finances, and she handles operations and labor.

The thing is, this movie not only takes you back to another place…

… but it gives you context. You can see what transpired in the last four decades and your experiences, right or wrong. It will give you an appreciation of things at so many levels. It’s worth a re-viewing.

"Money may not buy happiness, but it will buy the things that will Make you happy" 
mercuryix-121 December 2006

There are too many reviews of Risky Business for mine to have any relevance as a movie review. However, this movie is for me a time capsule of the era I saw it in, and a photograph of the future to come in American culture.

I saw this movie when I was 22 in a tiny college theater with a date. I remember several disconnected things about it: The movie was much more interesting than my date was, the music by Tangerine Dream was hypnotic and fit the tone of the film, which struck me as being more depressing in places than funny (although there are some funny moments in it), and it gave me a glimpse into a world that I thought was fictional. 

It turned out I hadn't experienced the world it was presenting yet. 

When Cruise asks his friends what they plan to do with their lives, one's answer is very simple and focused: "Make money". Another friend adds: "Make a LOT of money".
I well remember that when the movie first came out, I was amazed at the idea of a cordless phone.
I well remember that when the movie first came out, I was amazed at the idea of a cordless phone. Here we have a scene where his friend is pushing the idea of calling in a prostitute for the night.
It turns out the movie was precognizant of the next ten to twenty years of American culture; the absolute obsession with making money through any means necessary, legally or illegally, regardless of consequences to yourself or others. 

Then taking that money and buying the things that will make you happy: a porsche, a big house, and most importantly, a hot babe in your bed, that will only be there as long as the money is. 

Internally discovered happiness? A quaint notion created by the poor who can't afford the toys that validate your existence.

I am sure that the filmmaker would be the first to say that the movie parodies the hollowness of the "American Dream" of acquiring wealth to buy creature comforts, but too much of the time it feels like it celebrates them. 

At the end, the hooker stays Cruise's girlfriend only as long as he continues to make her money; she even says "I'll be your girlfriend...for a while". 

Real loyalty there. But then, she is a hooker, and is being honest. 

She in fact is presented as the only person in the film that is not a hypocrite. 

She has no illusions that money & sex make the American world go 'round, and doesn't pretend herself to be otherwise; unlike Cruise and the rest of his friends. 

In the end however, she is still hollow, the values the kids pursue are hollow (they are only after sex, not love), and the movie feels as deep and solid as a glossy magazine ad for a Lexus.
Ah. His "partner" has a love for night time rides on subway trains.
Ah. His “partner” has a love for night time rides on subway trains. The scene, the music and the situation are all hypnotic.
Even over the obsession of greed, however, the film illustrates the complete alienation of the modern American teenage male: alone, isolated, judged by his peers with the kind of car his dad lets him drive, his clothes, and whether he can get laid or not. 

The emphasis is on sex, not relationship. 

There is no rite of passage into adulthood, no guidance from parents who more often than not are as distant from their children as the cardboard cutout parents in this film.

In short, as depressing as this film is when you step back from it, it paints a frighteningly accurate portrait of how superficial and narrow a world, yet directionless (except for accumulating superficial wealth) a young boy's world can be. 

There are no values taught in this film, because there are none available as examples. And that is the environment too many kids are subject to. That is what was so disturbing to me about the film at the time I saw it, yet it took 20 years to understand why (as I was, like most kids my age, in the same vacuous and bankrupt culture this kid was in at the time).

There are 300% more suicides committed by 14 year old boys in America than any other age group or category. This movie explains why.

Seven stars, not for humor, but for photographing the beginning of an era that lasts until this day. The message from Enron, WorldCom, Martha Stewart and others for American kids will be: Don't get caught. A message which is slowly becoming the only "moral direction" left in American culture.

This move will not only take you back forty years to a time where your reality was something quite different, but it will give you perspective in the reality that you now inhabit. And at that, this movie is worth viewing again.

One Crazy Summer

Here’s a fine 1980’s escape. It’s got what we all need today…

No, I’m not talking about super heroes that got bitten by a radioactive spider, guys dressed in black trooping around in flack vests and holding assault guns, or super-dooper CGI special effect animation. I’m not talking about bullets that hang in the air, or magical powers that you can use to push people away with the wave of your hand. You won’t find ugly monsters or effeminate millennial men trying to get a woman to seduce them…

This movie is about silliness on the beach.

It is politically incorrect, very dated, and outrageously stupid. It is precisely what America needs right now.

The cast of "One Crazy Summer" hams it up for a group portrait.
The cast of “One Crazy Summer” hams it up for a group portrait. The 1980’s were a time of many things, but one of the things of value was that Hollywood has reached it’s stride. From the 1980’s into the 1990’s Hollywood produced a broad range of movies Movies that catered to average people. Not movies that targeted a set demographic or political interest.

It’s a simple fact that there are many of us from generations from long ago who grew up loving those loopy John Cusack comedies made by Savage Steve Holland. And while I prefer there other more bizarre, out-there flick, Better Off Dead, it’s hard for me to dislike One Crazy Summer.

This is a movie I grew up loving wholeheartedly.

One Crazy Summer was a follow-up to Better Off Dead, returning Cusack and Curtis Armstrong from that film.

I cannot say enough good things about this movie. From the warped mind of Savage Steve Holland comes this superior laughfest. First, I have to say that I haven't seen many movies that start out with a David Lee Roth tune. This could be a good or bad thing.
I cannot say enough good things about this movie. From the warped mind of Savage Steve Holland comes this superior laughfest. First, I have to say that I haven’t seen many movies that start out with a David Lee Roth tune. This could be a good or bad thing.

Cusack is Hoops, following graduation pal Joel Murray(George)to Nantucket for the summer to each some fun on the beach. He picks up his kid sister from “Generic Elementary” school with her sick dog and the adventure begins…

Hoops finds himself embroiled in a feud with a blonde, buff punk named Teddy Beckersted whose lecherous father has designs on bulldozing over homes of a neighborhood to build a giant condominium. Sigh. So 1980’s.

One of the homes, needing it’s mortgage repaid belongs to Demi Moore (Cassandra). Yikes!

However, there’s a sailboat race. And it might be their only hope of saving Cassandra’s grandfather’s home. You see it has been won by Teddy over the past many years and they need to fight for it. Yet, Hoops is deathly afraid of boats over water.

But, with the help and motivation of newfound Nantucket friends (..such as the goofy auto-mechanic twin brothers!), George, and budding love-interest Cassandra, perhaps Hoops can come to terms with his fears and win the race to save the neighborhood.

Armstrong has a supporting part as the son of a kooky, manic weapons salesman, General Raymond(..SCTV’s Joe Flaherty in an inspired bit of casting), Ack, who uses the training from his father to assist Hoops and company in their goals to win the race.

 This movie is all about leaving your troubles behind and getting away for the summer to Nantucket. Hoops is afraid of boats, but has no choice when his friend George launches his clunker onto the ferry at the last minute. He shacks up with future love interest Demi Moore, the worst actress in history. But she is pretty young and 80's looking in this one. They finally hit mainland and meet a whole host of odd characters.
This movie is all about leaving your troubles behind and getting away for the summer to Nantucket. Hoops is afraid of boats, but has no choice when his friend George launches his clunker onto the ferry at the last minute. He shacks up with future love interest Demi Moore, the worst actress in history. But she is pretty young and 80’s looking in this one. They finally hit mainland and meet a whole host of odd characters.

Memorable scenes include Bobcat getting stuck in a Godzilla suit (!) running rampant across an entire model of Aguilla. I love how the smoke and fire is coming out of his mouth as he does so (a cigar was thrown into his costume), and the Japanese investor loving the presentation.

Beckersted (Mark Metcalf, barely recognizable as Teddy’s rather unhinged pops)’s condominium…

… Hoops being chased by deranged cub scouts wishing to perform first aid…

… George a victim of toxic flatulence…

… Bruce Wagner’s nutty Uncle Frank’s increasing insanity every time he tries to better his chances to win 1 million dollars from a radio show…

… and the wonderful Billie Bird as George’s grandma who actually bills the group after a meal!

Jeremy Piven as(you guessed it)a brutish jerk who associates with Teddy and causes trouble for Hoops and his posse, the yummy Kimberly Foster as Cookie (..Teddy’s girl who attempts to make-out with Hoops while he attends a luncheon with his father), and the one-and-only William Hickey as Old Man Beckersted, who will not reward his son and grandson an inheritance if they lose the sail boat race.

Demi Moore is cute, but this is Cusack’s vehicle, though Bobcat and Villard steal most of the scenes their in.

Again, some delightful animation from Holland are sprinkled throughout the movie (Hoops is an artist, appropriately).

The movie comes to a happy ending via boat race on the lovely waters of Nantucket. Cusack and co. build a riff raff boat and blow everyone out of the water, despite some unfair play along the way. So they get the trophy, house, and Cusack ends up in a liplock with Demi. Despite the cheesey story, there are some really funny moments in this one. Some of my personal favorites are: the guy getting stabbed during the hat toss at graduation, Uncle Frank getting launched out of the bathroom window, and Bobcat getting stuck in a Godzilla costume.
The movie comes to a happy ending via boat race on the lovely waters of Nantucket. Cusack and co. build a riff raff boat and blow everyone out of the water, despite some unfair play along the way. So they get the trophy, house, and Cusack ends up in a lip-lock with Demi. Despite the cheesy story, there are some really funny moments in this one. Some of my personal favorites are: the guy getting stabbed during the hat toss at graduation, Uncle Frank getting launched out of the bathroom window, and Bobcat getting stuck in a Godzilla costume.

Dream a Little Dream (1989)

Sometimes a movie can take you back… way… way back to a time that you have almost no recollection of. Can you remember what it was like when you were 14, 15 or even 16 years old?

An accident puts the consciousness of an elderly dream researcher into the body of a bratty teenager. The problem? The kid prefers dreamworld limbo to real life.

-IMDB

There, in the tumultuous middle school years we have forgotten what it was like. For, and that is true for most young people, don’t really come into their own until their final years in High School.

This movie will transport you to that time.

And at that, it is valuable. On that reason alone.

The lives of a crusty old scientist and a bratty, teen Michael-Jackson-wannabe are about to intersect in a paranormal way. Coleman Ettinger seeks to break down the door of reality through studied dreaming; Bobby Keller wants Lainie Diamond, the girlfriend of his high school friend Joel, a handsome school jock. As Coleman persuades his wife Gena to join his experiments, an accident knocks their bodies out of existence, along with Bobby's consciousness. Coleman's consciousness winds up in Bobby's body while Gena's ends up buried and asleep inside Lainie's. Only when sleeping can Coleman contact Bobby and elicit his help in putting things back, except that Bobby smugly prefers limbo over his aggravated life as a modern teenager.

-IMDB
This movie will teleport you back to your middle school years.
This movie will teleport you back to your middle school years.

Bizarre dream sequences are only a small part of this fabulous fantasy comedy starring Corey Feldman, Corey Haim, Jason Robards, Piper Laurie, and Meredith Salenger.

Bobby Keller (Corey Feldman) lives his life day to day, as he puts it. He is failing all his classes, his parents don’t talk to him, and he is head over heels in love with Lainie (Meredith Salenger), although he dates Shelly.

But, an accident involving Bobby and Lainie and Coleman and Geena (Jason Robards and Piper Laurie) causes Coleman to take over Bobby’s mind and body, and part of Geena’s mind takes over Lainie.

Now, Coleman has to find a way to switch back and get his wife back. But, Bobby isn’t so willing to, unless Coleman can correct his screwed-up existance, while helping him to get Lainie.

Lainie was a "hottie" in the movie.
Lainie was a “hottie” in the movie.
A Touching Film 
crice-149 July 2009

It's difficult to me to review this film, for the simple reason that I was 15 when I saw this movie. It was made for me. It was made for teenagers trying to figure out life, love, getting into college, and dealing with adults. I loved it.

It was the best by far of the "body-switching" genre that seemed to dominate the 1987-1990 period, but rarely was a teen drama tackled with more earnestness and via such a bizarre but interesting plot. Whatever the reason, it works and instead of being just another body switch comedy or teen fluff, it truly becomes a beautiful film that deserves its cult status.

Favorite scenes: The opening scene intercut with the opening credits involving Bobby and Dinger (Corey Haim) talking about Bobby’s infatuation with Lainie…

… as well as singing the blues and why Dinger’s leg was broken (reason: his mom ran him over with her Volvo)…

… the accident scene, the dream sequences, the scene where Bobby discovers that he’s Coleman…

… and when they were having a hard time going to sleep…

… the scene in the gym when they were dancing to the rock version of “Dream a Little Dream of Me”, and the closing credits with Bobby and Coleman dancing to the same song.

Just handing out with your high school friends. It was a different time and your worries and concerns were all quite different then.
Just handing out with your high school friends. It was a different time and your worries and concerns were all quite different then.

This was a wonderfully romantic movie with an original plot. It was adorable, and Corey Feldman was kinda cute, despite the Michael Jackson look, something he was into for a few years.

The Dream sequences were really interesting, filmed in a strange blue tint.

The movie also had an interesting plot, and great music (especially Frank Sinatra’s “Young at Heart” and both versions on “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”).

I highly recommend it to anyone who likes the two Coreys, good acting, creativity, or body switching movies.

Better Off Dead… (1985)

This is another movie that I had on BetaMAX.

But it’s a true classic.

I well remember when I first viewed it. I was in Ridgecrest, California, and I had gotten off the base at the China Lake Naval Weapons Center, and pulled into the video rental store in a strip mall right outside the main gate. When I walked in, they had this movie playing and everyone was standing in the shop watching it. So I asked what the movie was, and then I went and rented it right there and then.

I should go as far as to say that all the John Cusack movies from the 1980’s are fine escapist flicks today. All of them are silly, charming and sweet. Nothing is too serious. Nothing is too dangerous…

… and there are no superheroes!

There are also no gun fights, no SWAT teams dressed in black, no making fun of traditional roles… no gays… no lesbians… not transgenders… no CGI monsters, or special effects where people can jump to the top of a building. None of that nonsense.

You won’t be assaulted by “role reversals” and insulted by snide anti-male jokes.

It’s all just good fun.

This one's hilarious! My family have borrowed several lines from this film and use them as inside jokes. John Cusak stars in this film about a teenager whose girlfriend dumps him for the Captain of the ski team. The film has enough skiing in it to satisfy most ski buffs, but it's not really about skiing. It's about relationships more than anything and the results are absolutely hilarious.
This one’s hilarious! My family have borrowed several lines from this film and use them as inside jokes. John Cusak stars in this film about a teenager whose girlfriend dumps him for the Captain of the ski team. The film has enough skiing in it to satisfy most ski buffs, but it’s not really about skiing. It’s about relationships more than anything and the results are absolutely hilarious.

What makes this a cut above is the composition of sight gags — ‘How to build a space shuttle out of household items’ is in the foreground, and then the eye pulls back to reveal the mother battling a sea monster in a pot, which frustrates her attempt to cook it…

Cusack frets over an impossibly broken binding, and in the same frame the ‘paperboy from hell’ appears on a weatherized delivery bicycle…it’s priceless stuff.

This is one of those movies where you are with your friends twenty years later and go, "I WANT MY TWO DOLLARS" and the room jocularly erupts and instigates discussion. If you find yourself easily amused, can see the humor in the way life hands you a sour glass of milk to wash down life's trials in love, then you MUST see this Classic Movie.
This is one of those movies where you are with your friends twenty years later and go, “I WANT MY TWO DOLLARS” and the room jocularly erupts and instigates discussion. If you find yourself easily amused, can see the humor in the way life hands you a sour glass of milk to wash down life’s trials in love, then you MUST see this Classic Movie.

Better Off Dead is the zaniest movie that I think I have ever seen. Let’s just recap what this movie has in it.

  • We have a guy that attempts suicide but he can’t even succeed at that.
  • There is his best friend that declares that a mountain they are on in the dead of winter is pure snow, saying ” Do you know what the street value of this is?”
  • We have a father that is trying to speak the lingo of his kids and fails miserably.
  • A mom that cooks food that literally slides off it’s plate.
  • We have a math class full of genius’ that get upset when they don’t have homework to do.
  • Lane has a younger brother who orders books on how to pick up trashy women and learns how to build rockets.
  • We have the entire male population ( and Barney Rubble ) that wants to go out with Lane’s ex-girlfriend now that they are broken up.
  • There is two Oriental guys that want to constantly race Lane and then broadcast it over the loud speaker on their car.
  • There is Porky from the Porky’s movies basically playing the same role here.
  • Dancing hamburgers.
  • A basketball team that grunts.
  • And of course the most relentless paper boy in the history of paper delivery…
If there was ever a role that John Cusack milked until it mooed, this one would have to have been it. His portrayal of Lane Meyer will forever be remembered in high school lore as the Ultimate Champion of the Underdog. I laughed so hard my sides ached and tears were running down my cheeks. What has long been a cult classic, this film did an excellent job of portraying the awkwardness of those teenage years that all adults thank God every day that we now have behind us.
If there was ever a role that John Cusack milked until it mooed, this one would have to have been it. His portrayal of Lane Meyer will forever be remembered in high school lore as the Ultimate Champion of the Underdog. I laughed so hard my sides ached and tears were running down my cheeks. What has long been a cult classic, this film did an excellent job of portraying the awkwardness of those teenage years that all adults thank God every day that we now have behind us.

Whoooooooo! I’m out of breath.

So why do I mention all of these things about the movie? Because all of these little issues combine to somehow make one of the funniest and zaniest movies you will ever see.

Better Off Dead is so full of energy that there is enough material in here for ten movies. But Savage Steve Holland makes it work. Don’t ask me how, but he does. I think I’m going to stop here because if you haven’t seen this movie you have to see it now. This is a completely original film and it also one that no one will ever have the guts to make again.

This is one hell of a film.

Captain Ron (1992)

Captain Ron* - (I think I'll have a…   ...a Margarita!)

-The best movies of 1992

Are you tired of the daily grind? Do you want to have some adventure and excitement in your life? Most men in their 30’s would ascribe to this sentiment. And it is exactly this that makes this next movie so special.

What happens when you are living the married life, the life with a job and a boss? When you are playing the role as a father at home, and a worker at your work? Is that all there is to life, you ask?

Maybe you dream about chucking it all way…

Hopping on a steam tramp and going somewhere… anywhere… other than here.

You need a break, a vacation a… reset.

Ya! This is pretty common in America. The society and laws are all pretty repressive. No vacation for you, and pay your taxes, and everything else. You can relax by watching movies that make fun of you. That’s your reality. Deal with it.

OK. I’m not going to elaborate more than what all this means. You all need to take a break and a vacation from life right now. You need to get out and have some fun. You need more than just a change. You need a slap in the face change…

Adulthood has lots of perks: No more homework, you really can eat whatever you want, and you eventually become a good 90 percent less angsty. However, one major drawback is you no longer get a spring break (or a summer break, for that matter). Being an adult means work never stops and vacations are rare. But! That doesn't mean you can't still vicariously enjoy spring break through your favorite movies. Is it the same as escaping to a pristine beach? No... but it is cheaper, so there's that.

There are awesome spring break movies from every era, but the '90s in particular were big on vacation movies. While not all of them focused on spring break, they did showcase the joys of travel, downtime, and relaxation. Basically, all the things you can't just drop everything and do on a whim because you have responsibilities now. Bask in the joy of those simpler times when you naively thought summer would never end and life really could just be one long vacation in the sun by planning a spring break movie night with your closest friends.

Make mixed drinks with tiny umbrellas and throw pillows all over the floor slumber party style as you watch one of these '90s gems — after all, you are an adult and while you may not get a designated spring break, you make your own rules now.

Movies about vacations gone awry are my favorite kind of movies. In real life, you want your vacation to go smoothly, but watching a movie family's vacation go from crazy to crazier is always hilarious. Captain Ron is no exception. Watching Martin Short get shown up by the cooler than cool Captain Ron during his own family vacation is a madcap story that might just make you glad you have to work all spring.

-Bustle

Let’s look at a forgotten gem of a movie… Captain Ron.

A family in Chicago inherits the yacht formerly owned by Clark Gable. They decide to sail it from the island of Ste. Pomme de Terre to Miami, and they sail with the assistance of Captain Ron and their lives will never be the same again
'Captain Ron' is a great movie! The plot is simple, & so is the movie. That is what make sit so much fun. Yes, most of the movie is translucent, but it works so well. Kurt Russell shines as Capt. Ron Rico, who has been hired by the Harvey family to be the drive their boat from a Carribean Island to Miami, FL. While he bumbles from one scene to the other, Capt. Ron manages to be successful in the end. All of this makes Martin Harvey(Martin Short) furious, while his family loves Capt. Ron.
‘Captain Ron’ is a great movie! The plot is simple, & so is the movie. That is what make sit so much fun. Yes, most of the movie is translucent, but it works so well. Kurt Russell shines as Capt. Ron Rico, who has been hired by the Harvey family to be the drive their boat from a Carribean Island to Miami, FL. While he bumbles from one scene to the other, Capt. Ron manages to be successful in the end. All of this makes Martin Harvey(Martin Short) furious, while his family loves Capt. Ron.

This is wonderful movie, one of my favorite movies of all time! A family inherits a sailboat and decides to flee the urban rat race. They don’t realize that they will have to over come many hurdles, including aspects of them selves, Capt. Ron, the boat and the environment.

The daughter plays a teenager that is simultaneously apathetic and nearly out of control. The son is a kid who hasn’t taken an interest in life until now. The father assumes that Capt. Ron can’t know anything while the family begins to believe that it’s the father who doesn’t know anything.

This movie was one of the triggers to me moving to a tropical island to live, oh and to buy a boat.

This film has a little bit of everything in it. Adventure, pirates, lots of excitement, and plenty of laughs. It is one of the most enjoyable movies I've watched. If you just want to relax and sit back and laugh, CAPTAIN RON is a movie you won't want to miss.
This film has a little bit of everything in it. Adventure, pirates, lots of excitement, and plenty of laughs. It is one of the most enjoyable movies I’ve watched. If you just want to relax and sit back and laugh, CAPTAIN RON is a movie you won’t want to miss.

I don’t understand the many poor reviews I have seen from the “professional reviewers”. I think this movie is incredibly funny in a quiet sort of way. I have seen it many times. It reminds me of the many Jackie Gleason Honeymooners I have seen over and over. I know what punch line is coming and I begin laughing before the punch line is even delivered.

Martin Short is not his usual manic self and this is refreshing. Kurt Russell is a master as he plays against the heroic roles he has played so often.

The play of the use of “gorillas” versus “guerillas” is laid back genius.

By the end of the movie, I actually found myself nostalgic for the sense of freedom and fun that only Captain Ron can steer you towards
By the end of the movie, I actually found myself nostalgic for the sense of freedom and fun that only Captain Ron can steer you towards

Ignore all the stuffed shirt, up-tight pinheads who couldn’t loosen up if a gun was held to their collective heads. Treat this movie as it should be…FUN! This is the film that keeps us going through the winter until sailing season…then we take the video along on board.

Martin Short and Kurt Russell are TERRIFIC together, and Mary Kay Place? Who’d have known what a versatile actress she is, after all, most of us only had Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman to judge her by. The kids certainly do add a fine finishing touch to this hilarious crew.

This movie was not created to win an academy award, it was created to be lighthearted and fun and it far exceeded that goal.

Every time i want to laugh, when i see this movie on, i catch a glimpse. This movie is guaranteed to make you laugh. And Mary Kay Place is such EYE candy for us men. She represents the type of woman we men would ask to marry. Beautiful yet supportive of her family and children.
Every time i want to laugh, when I see this movie on, I catch a glimpse. This movie is guaranteed to make you laugh. And Mary Kay Place is such EYE candy for us men. She represents the type of woman we men would ask to marry. Beautiful yet supportive of her family and children.

Kurt Russell is THE man! One of the most under appreciated actors in Hollywood, Russell takes what would have been a run of the mill comedy and makes it HILARIOUS!!!

Captain Ron Rico is about as laid back as laid back can be. He’s an ex Navy boat driver whose been through one too many squalls, not to mention a stint in rehab. A treasure chest of worldly knowledge, he’s never at a loss to relate his exploits even when it comes to his glass eye, “Won it in a crap game a few years back.”

At first glance he’s a man you wouldn’t trust to float an inner tube, but as he proves to Martin Short throughout the course of the movie, he’s “far more cunning than first suspected.”

After all, you gotta love a guy who as he’s sipping beer with Short’s young son, he tells the young lad that he just caught his parents “Playing hide-the-salami in the shower.” I crack up just writing about it.

This is a very funny movie that never really hit the headlines. No idea why, but maybe because I am a sailor myself, I can appreciate the humour. Well worth watching if you want to lose yourself in the Caribbean lifestyle from your cold and damp apartment in winter.
This is a very funny movie that never really hit the headlines. No idea why, but maybe because I am a sailor myself, I can appreciate the humor. Well worth watching if you want to lose yourself in the Caribbean lifestyle from your cold and damp apartment in winter.

But besides Russell’s stellar performance, there’s BEAUTIFUL locations and photography, a catchy reggae soundtrack, and enough laughs from the rest of the cast to make this a most enjoyable film to pop a bowl of popcorn to and enjoy with the family.

As for me….I wanna go out drinkin’ with Captain Ron!

‘There’s Something About Mary’ (1998)

This movie was filed in Woonsockett, RI when I was actually living there. Which is a pretty old blue collar town, quiet and kind of boarded up. “Going to seed”, some might say.

This movie is great escapist fare.

Thirteen years ago, Ted (Ben Stiller) landed a prom date with the most popular and beautiful girl in school, Mary (Cameron Diaz). Unfortunately, the date wasn’t meant to be, for Ted has his manhood damaged right in front of Mary, and ends up in the hospital instead of the prom.

Owwww!

What makes this work...is its a dead-on hard hitting comedy. The Farrley Brothers spared no one: male or female, handicapped or able bodied, black or white, rich or poor, job or not, straight or gay, animal or vegetable, blonde or brunette, educated or not. It is NOT a cinematic masterpiece so don't look for one, it is not a punch line comedy or slapstick comedy, it is sophomore humor done very well because you're going to be laughing at what you think you shouldn't no matter how much you want to say you would never laugh at something like that.
What makes this work…is its a dead-on hard hitting comedy. The Farrley Brothers spared no one: male or female, handicapped or able bodied, black or white, rich or poor, job or not, straight or gay, animal or vegetable, blonde or brunette, educated or not. It is NOT a cinematic masterpiece so don’t look for one, it is not a punch line comedy or slapstick comedy, it is sophomore humor done very well because you’re going to be laughing at what you think you shouldn’t no matter how much you want to say you would never laugh at something like that.

Thirteen years later, Ted decides to track Mary down, and have a second chance with his dream girl. He hires sleazy private eye, Pat (Matt Dillon) to find her for him.

Pat finds her, and she’s grown up beautiful.

Pat decides he wants to date her. He stalks her, finds out everything she wants in a man, and poses as just that. Meanwhile, Ted has been led to believe that Mary has become fat white trash in a wheelchair. Pat and Mary start dating.

The Farrley Brothers added in "some things" that...well... may have just happened to you at some point in your adolescence, and put a comedic/gross quality to it that shocks you into laughing at it. All through the film you might laugh because you're thinking, "Better them than me".....even if it was you!
The Farrley Brothers added in “some things” that…well… may have just happened to you at some point in your adolescence, and put a comedic/gross quality to it that shocks you into laughing at it. All through the film you might laugh because you’re thinking, “Better them than me”…..even if it was you!

Well, by the end of the movie, every man who is involved in the story has tried to make a move on Mary.

We all know how it ends, but it’s one funny ride.

The funniest gag in the movie involves a NEW brand of HAIR GEL (compliments of Ted, and tested by Mary). I won’t tell you what’s really being mistaken for hair gel, but when you find out, you’ll laugh so hard, you gag.

Not for eveyone's taste, even those who think they know comedy, but this is that kinda comedy that is hard to do once you've reached maturity and forgotten what it was like to laugh at simple things. This is as simple as it gets. Don't put too much into it, it is what it is, and to me, it was really funny!
Not for everyone’s taste, even those who think they know comedy, but this is that kinda comedy that is hard to do once you’ve reached maturity and forgotten what it was like to laugh at simple things. This is as simple as it gets. Don’t put too much into it, it is what it is, and to me, it was really funny!

This movie knows what a comedy of this type should be like. Each gag goes somewhere, and is really big. They’re usually extended scenes with punchlines.

Me, Myself, and Irene goes for the cheapest laughs you can find, but There’s Something About Mary takes it’s time, carefully planning each gag, in order to make it gut-bustingly hilarious. That’s just what this movie is. 10/10.

‘Wayne’s World’ (1992)

Maybe you might have forgotten this flick. But, I’ll bet you that you can remember some scenes as clear as a bright day on a fresh Spring morning.

This is a positive and happy, and yet terribly silly movie that is just perfect for these dark times of fear and uncertainty.

Wayne is still living at home. He has a world class collection of name tags from jobs he's tried, but he does have his own public access TV show. A local station decides to hire him and his sidekick, Garth, to do their show professionally and Wayne & Garth find that life is no longer the same...
This is the film that catapulted both comedians' careers into the stratosphere. 1992 is an interesting time in alternative rock history between the peak of grunge in 1991, and the coming crest of the "punk revival" in 1994 with Green Day, Offspring and Rancid. Wayne's World reveled in this new "alternative rock," music a concept which was at the time much more flexible than it is now. Rife with irony, alternative rock was eventually the name given to the music that blended aspects of rock, metal, punk, pop, and eclectic "weirdness." While Wayne is the more metal half of the excellent duo, Garth is the grunge/nerd/"punk" side of the equation.
This is the film that catapulted both comedians’ careers into the stratosphere. 1992 is an interesting time in alternative rock history between the peak of grunge in 1991, and the coming crest of the “punk revival” in 1994 with Green Day, Offspring and Rancid. Wayne’s World reveled in this new “alternative rock,” music a concept which was at the time much more flexible than it is now. Rife with irony, alternative rock was eventually the name given to the music that blended aspects of rock, metal, punk, pop, and eclectic “weirdness.” While Wayne is the more metal half of the excellent duo, Garth is the grunge/nerd/”punk” side of the equation.

Ask most men within a decade of my age in either direction to list the 100 best movie scenes of all time, and the scene from “Wayne’s World” where they sing/lip sync Bohemian Rhapsody in the car will be on more lists than not.

Heck! It might even make every list.

Not designed for the “critically acclaimed” snob set, Wayne’s World, the film adaptation of the extremely popular Saturday Night Live skit by the same name, targets its audience perfectly and never even enters the water, let alone jumps any sharks.

The movie is true to itself from start to finish.

Heavy metal rock and roll fandom provides the backdrop for a non-stop train wreck of social satire. Only in 1992; and only in Meyer's and Carvey's comedic genius could Aurora, Illinois ever seem so cool. Wayne's World, in the film's plot, is the name of a Cable Access television show (dare I say "DIY") hosted by Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar. Rob Lowe plays Benjamin, an advertising scout/producer who is looking for talent to promote a chain of video game arcade stores. He finds his muse in the low-brow witticism, promptly signs the boys, and sets them up in a proper television studio.
Heavy metal rock and roll fandom provides the backdrop for a non-stop train wreck of social satire. Only in 1992; and only in Meyer’s and Carvey’s comedic genius could Aurora, Illinois ever seem so cool.

The plot centers around an opportunistic television producer named Benjamin Kane (Rob Lowe), who, with funding from an arcade owner, turns Wayne’s World into a slickly produced national show.

You would think that this would be a good thing. But alas, it’s not.

The transition caused it to lose touch with its audience, and causing friction between Wayne and Garth, who feel they have sold out their fans and their roots.

A love interest is tossed to Wayne in the form of Cassandra (Tia Carerre), in triangular form due to the attention paid to her by Kane as well as Wayne.

Rob Lowe was excellent as the sleazeball junior television executive, while cameos abound from the rock world, including Alice Cooper and Meat Loaf. Though not publicized as much as the other quotables from the movie, my personal favorite scene was when Wayne and Garth were each laying on parked cars, and Garth starts whistling the closing theme from Star Trek.
Rob Lowe was excellent as the sleazeball junior television executive, while cameos abound from the rock world, including Alice Cooper and Meat Loaf. Though not publicized as much as the other quotables from the movie, my personal favorite scene was when Wayne and Garth were each laying on parked cars, and Garth starts whistling the closing theme from Star Trek.

The pop-culture cuisinart responsible for most of the SNL skits was working in overdrive in this film, and that’s a good thing. Everything from product placements, to gratuitous sex, to lame plot devices were lampooned.

 Wayne's World, in the film's plot, is the name of a Cable Access television show (dare I say "DIY") hosted by Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar. Rob Lowe plays Benjamin, an advertising scout/producer who is looking for talent to promote a chain of video game arcade stores. He finds his muse in the low-brow witticism, promptly signs the boys, and sets them up in a proper television studio.
Wayne’s World, in the film’s plot, is the name of a Cable Access television show (dare I say “DIY”) hosted by Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar. Rob Lowe plays Benjamin, an advertising scout/producer who is looking for talent to promote a chain of video game arcade stores. He finds his muse in the low-brow witticism, promptly signs the boys, and sets them up in a proper television studio.

You might have seen this move before, but a re-watch is always in order for some much needed “positive vibes”.

‘Dazed and Confused’ (1993)

There is not a single movie that portrayed my Junior / Senior year in 1976 / 1977 than this movie. To say that it is accurate is an understatement.

Wooderson: Let me tell you what Melba Toast is packin' right here, all right. We got 4:11 Positrac outback, 750 double pumper, Edelbrock intake, bored over 30, 11 to 1 pop-up pistons, turbo-jet 390 horsepower. We're talkin' some fuckin' muscle.

This movie is EXACTLY what it was like for me in 1976. My Junior year. It was exactly what was going on including my Orange (goat) GTO!

What a great, great movie. If you want to know what being in High School in the mid 70's was like, rent this film. 

I grew up in the metro Manhattan area. We didn't have the freshman hazing, and few of us could afford the cars (although we sure knew about them and lusted after them), but the rest of this movie is so dead on about my experience of High School in the 70's that it's scary. 

Every character in the film corresponds with someone that I knew during that time. 

Yes, there was a lot of pot smoking, yes, obtaining beer was quite easy for underage kids…

I used to buy it in bars when I was 16. 

We made pipes in shop class. 

We hung out and had parties at night, drove the streets drinking beers and smoking joints listening to the same music. 

There were no youth centers though. 

The girls that I knew were as beautiful, and also struggled to get into their jeans. They used pliers too, but they also put them on while they were wet to further get that skintight look. 

There was no HIV virus to worry about, Herpes was not a big thing then, the biggest worry was getting pregnant. 

Everyone was having sex… 

All of these facts also were no big deal. 

Most of my peers grew up just fine, and now are upstanding pillars of the community. Many today would like you to believe that this is an example of the road to ruin. 

It was an incredible great time. 

The film has interesting character development, with the same types I remember. Philosophers, heads (now called stoners), bullies and waifs. 

This is my American Graffiti and it is perfect. Waxing nostalgic? Perhaps, but anyone that didn't live through that time will sill love the dialog in this film, as it deals with the universal experience of that point in one's life. 

This is high school in the 70's. Check it out.

Almost a Documentary... 
goodwynn191914 July 2005

The first day of summer vacation leaves a group of ’70s teens exhilarated and ready to party. Their raucous activities might remind you of the debauchery you got up to in the good old days. There are so many scenes that we all have lived, and personal flashbacks will flood your mind.

Either way, the feeling of complete freedom makes this movie a must for anyone starving for a vacation.

This movie takes you back to a time when you had absolutely no worries. It was a time when everything was in a kind of dull haze and everyone was walking in some kind of a fog.
This movie takes you back to a time when you had absolutely no worries. It was a time when everything was in a kind of dull haze and everyone was walking in some kind of a fog.

What makes “Dazed” work so well is that it gets the LOOK of the mid-to-late 70s just right, particularly the hair & clothing styles. Secondly, the actors pull off the material expertly. In fact, a large part of the film’s success is the excellent casting choices. Both are no easy feat. Speaking of the actors, you get a few up-and-comers here: Matthew McConaughey, Milla Jovovich, Ben Affleck and one or two of lesser note (as far as future popularity goes).

Slater: Are you cool, man?
Mitch Kramer: Like how?
Slater: Okay.

All the standard school archetypes are here: the jock who parties on the side, the bullies, the hot sister and her little long-haired brother, the black dude, the hot (feminist) teacher, the streetfighter, the cool guys, the geekier crowd, the babes, the guy who graduated years ago but still hangs around, the mentors & mentees, etc.

A Time Machine Trip Back To The Texas Summer Of 1976 
Oracle29594 February 2005

I graduated in 1976 from a high school in North Dallas and this entire movie is so spot on it's scary. 

It is my favorite film. I've seen it hundred's of times and every time it's like watching it for the first time. Only someone that was there and lived through those days could have directed such a movie. 

I drove a 70 dark blue Chevelle SS 454 with a 4-speed, over 400 HP and all of the goodies Wooderson described. Starting that car up, listening to the roar of that engine and burning out in 1st gear while in a thick cloud of blue smoke in front of the high school at 3PM while wasted......doing over 80MPH in 2nd gear....oh yea! 

I feel sorry for the teenagers today that drive the limp wrist fluffs of metal that pass themselves off as cars these days.

I was a stoner like Pickford smoking weed non-stop. 

Some mentioned that the heavy drug use was not too common. Well, at our school it was beyond common. Before school, during school (in the bathroom and football field) and after school. Our school had a smoking area outside the cafeteria where everyone went to light up.

The opening scene with Aerosmith "Sweet Emotion" slowly building up and Pickford driving his Goat and girlfriend in the school parking lot kills me every time. 

I cannot imagine a better opening scene for the movie. That was pure genius. 

The funny thing is Linklater did not show getting licks from the coach or the principal. For all the "uninitiated" back then all a coach or an asst. principal had to say was "Smith, I want to see you back at my office now". 

Our coach had a paddle he personally made that he kept on his wall over his desk. It had about 30 holes drilled in it and it was covered in black electrical tape! When that one came down you knew it! Now with all the PC people coach would go to jail for "assaulting the poor boy" Hell, back then it was called character building. As I remember from the 7th grade on licks were given out.

The soundtrack. Best ever. 

Might as well be back at White Rock Lake or Lake Ray Hubbard on a Friday night getting wasted. Head East was a nice touch. Every time I listen to that soundtrack I remember things I have not thought about in 25 years. 

The man that portrayed Pickford's dad was dead on. Accent, demeanor along with the big caddy and the tennis playing wife in the mini-skirt and puffed up hair.

Some of the reviewers mentioned they did not think it was too realistic showing/mixing a lot of sexual activity among the freshman girls. That is another point I must dispute. 

Maybe at their school in their town of 500 or their strict upbringing but at our junior high and high school the freshman and younger girls were pretty wild. 

I mean really "wild"! 

This is coming from someone who "lost it" at 12. So insinuating things about a 15 or 16 year old freshman is pretty tame. 15 and 16 year old's were the "world travelers" to us 13 or 14 year old guys.

There is something about this movie that pulls me back over and over again. It's hard to describe. 

I'm not sure what it is. Am I a Wooderson that enjoys reminiscing? Am I someone that prefers simpler times? Am I someone that is so sick of PC people that a movie like D&C is like a breath of fresh air? 

Was there something magical in the air back in 1976? 

The country was celebrating 200 years of freedom. Now within the last 30 years it seems that most of those freedoms have been slowly whittled away with and all that is left is a former shell of the old. 

Especially after 2001.

The best scene? To me it's a toss-up between the opening "Sweet Emotion" GTO in the school parking lot and the Emporium scene with "Hurricane" playing in the background while (The Past) Wooderson, (The Present) Pink and (The Future) Mitch walk into the Emporium while the camera films every little nuance in slow motion. 

The cockiness of Woods, the mellow Pink and the innocence of Mitch. Put that scene on slow motion and study their faces and the reaction shots of their peer's faces as they acknowledge their presence.

Your own personal time machine if only for an hour and a half. Slip the DVD in, turn the lights down low, take a couple good strong hits and wash them down with a few Tallboys. Use your imagination and for the briefest of time you are back in 1976. I wish they made more movies like this instead of the sugar coated pablum coming out of Hollywood nowadays.

Remember this?

Howard Hughes died, 
Robin Trower-Bridge of Sighs, 
Jeff Beck, 
Kawasaki Z1, 
Kawasaki 750 triple 2-stroke, 
45 cents a gallon gas, 
104 octane gas, 
Frampton Comes Alive, 
Bad Company - Shooting Star, 
Elvin Bishop - Fooled Around and Fell In Love, 
Jimmy Carter, 
Dirty Mary, 
Crazy Larry, 
1969 Dodge Charger 440, 
2 Lane Blacktop, 
3 finger lids, 
windowpane, 
Diamond Dogs, 
J. Geils, 
Midnight Special, Wings Over America tour, 
Bad Company - Movin' On, 
Mott The Hoople - All The Young Dudes,
SD 455 with the Big Bird on the hood, 
Marshall Tucker Band - Heard It In A Love Song, 
Emerson, Lake and Palmer - Brain Salad Surgery, 
Edelbrock Tunnel Ram with Holley Double Pumpers, ...

...getting high at dusk while listening to Pink Floyd's "Time" and looking at the Dallas skyscraper skyline against the setting sun.

If you do then Dazed and Confused is right up your alley. If you don't then still watch it, the characters in D&C cover all generations, just the cars and clothing have changed.
Dazed and Confused is a lot like the time in which it takes place. The film doesn't have much of note to say, but you get the sense that it has a good time just being there. By 1976, Vietnam was in the rear-view mirror, as were much of the struggles of the previous decades. It was almost like people were sick and tired of caring about things and just wanted to get wasted. Notice how nobody seemed to care when their teacher was trying to tell them about the 1968 Democratic Convention or our "aristocratic" forefathers. There is a certain innocence about the period that our up-tight and violent world of today could use right now.
Dazed and Confused is a lot like the time in which it takes place. The film doesn’t have much of note to say, but you get the sense that it has a good time just being there. By 1976, Vietnam was in the rear-view mirror, as were much of the struggles of the previous decades. It was almost like people were sick and tired of caring about things and just wanted to get wasted. Notice how nobody seemed to care when their teacher was trying to tell them about the 1968 Democratic Convention or our “aristocratic” forefathers. There is a certain innocence about the period that our up-tight and violent world of today could use right now.

And then you have the standard school experiences like parties at friend’s houses, keg parties, fleeing bullies, dealing with coaches & teachers, flirting, the possibility of sex, hanging out, meaningless conversations, fights, smoking pot at school or in your friend’s bedroom, etc.

Like “Fast Times,” “Dazed and Confused” is a joy to watch — whatever your age — because it successfully takes you back to the high school years with all its joys & agonies.

Cynthia: Maybe the 80s will be like radical or something. I figure we'll be in our 20s and it cant' get worse.

Some don’t like it because it’s more of a slice-of-life film than a plot-driven, contrived story. The plot here is simple: It’s the last day of school and the youths want to celebrate. If they can’t party at their friend’s house (because the dad catches wind of their plans) they’ll have a party at the park or wherever, but they WILL party. The rest of the film involves their interactions within this context.

Our film shows us the trials and tribulations of kids just looking to get high, drunk, or just save their butts from being paddled on the last day of school. Not much of note happens in this film. We just see kids doing what kids are still doing. They are all just out to have a good time.
Our film shows us the trials and tribulations of kids just looking to get high, drunk, or just save their butts from being paddled on the last day of school. Not much of note happens in this film. We just see kids doing what kids are still doing. They are all just out to have a good time.
Slater: Oh, a little weed, you know. There may be a beer bust later on.

I’ve heard some complain that the film conveys a terrible message.

What message?

There is no message.

The message is that school’s out and it’s time to celebrate! Besides, there are a few positive points that can be mined from the proceedings: the arrogant bully gets what’s coming, make a stand and fight when you have to (even if you get beat up), ultra-tight pants must be put on with pliers & the help of a friend, be true to yourself, etc.

But — really — this isn’t a movie to look for deep messages, its simple purpose is to take you back to the school years — in this case, 1976 — and all the fun & painful experiences thereof.

 There is nothing at all pretentious or preachy about any of the subject matter. We see some cool cars, tight jeans, long hair, and just about anything you would associate with this time frame.
There is nothing at all pretentious or preachy about any of the subject matter. We see some cool cars, tight jeans, long hair, and just about anything you would associate with this time frame.
Don Dawson: You know that Julie chick? Loves you. You want her? Gotta play it cool, you know. You can't let her know how much you like ?cause if she knows, she'll dump you like that. Believe me. Like, if she asks you if you want a ride, you say, "No, I've got my own ride, but maybe I'll see you later." Sounds stupid, doesn't it? It works.

No review of “Dazed and Confused” would be complete without noting the excellent soundtrack. You get some great rock/metal of the 70s like “Sweet Emotion,” “School’s Out,” “Stranglehold,” “Do You Feel Like We Do,” “Love Hurts,” “Paranoid,” “Rock & Roll Hootchie Coo,” “Rock & Roll All Nite,” “Slow Ride,” “Cherry Bomb,” “Tuesday’s Gone” and many more.

Here’s some quotes, and slang, that my generation can most certainly relate to…

  • “Alright, alright, alright!” — Wooderson
  • “Shotgun!” — Slater
  • “It’d be a lot cooler if you did.” — Wooderson
  • “You cool, man?” — Slater
  • “‘I’ve got my own ride, but maybe I’ll see you later.’” — Dawson
  • “You gotta keep on livin’… L-I-V-I-N.” — Wooderson

‘Wild at Heart’ (1990)

I’m going to close out this post with a slightly more serious flick. This one is surreal, but anyone that was in love with someone who’s parents hated you would relate to this movie.

Indeed.

It was hard enough finding a girlfriend in high school. But finding one that had parents that approved of you was just about impossible. Here is a movie … perhaps taken to extremes… that illustrates the lengths at which a mother would go to in order to “protect” her daughter.

Lula's psychopathic mother goes crazy at the thought of Lula being with Sailor, who just got free from jail. 

Ignoring Sailor's probation, they set out for California. 

However their mother hires a killer to hunt down Sailor and hurt him. 

Unaware of this, the two enjoy their journey and themselves being together... until they witness a young woman dying after a car accident - a bad omen.

Yah.

It’s something that I know all too well.

The opening scene to Wild At Heart features Nick Cage ferociously beating an assassin to death. Heads are rammed against walls, fists are lunged into guts and what results is a brutally bashed corpse with brains pouring out of it’s head. This kind of high-octane violence which is fueled by maniacal characters and deranged intervals creates a fantastic effect. One which has so much impact and so much individuality to it’s merit that it turns out to be one hell of a movie.

Recipient of the prestigious Palme d'Or award at Cannes, David Lynch's "Wild at Heart" is an amazingly brilliant spectacle for the senses. Bold splashes of deep red, curiously staged musical numbers (Nicolas Cage does his own singing – and he's great!), and the continuous references to "The Wizard of Oz" help create a surreal and dreamlike texture to the narrative.
Recipient of the prestigious Palme d’Or award at Cannes, David Lynch’s “Wild at Heart” is an amazingly brilliant spectacle for the senses. Bold splashes of deep red, curiously staged musical numbers (Nicolas Cage does his own singing – and he’s great!), and the continuous references to “The Wizard of Oz” help create a surreal and dreamlike texture to the narrative.

This is simultaneously a thrilling road movie and a revelation of small town, American country folk. The two protagonists, Sailor and Lula (Nicholas Cage and Laura Dern) are so in love with each other that they’d go to extreme lengths not to be separated.

Their separation is exactly what Lula’s crazed mother wants, as she believes that Sailor is a cold-blooded murderer who is putting her daughter in danger.

Her anger is so fierce that the viewer becomes slightly scared by her: her manic fits of rage where she plasters herself in red lipstick; her bizarre paroxysms fueled by numerous cocktails.

All of her slight idiosyncrasies and mannerisms well up to create a very intimidating mother.

She sends out a hitman to dispose of Sailor and bring back her daughter, but the lovely couple are on the run from her and the law.

Sailor and Lula (excellent performances from both Nicolas Cage & Laura Dern); two broken souls passionately in love, flee the vengeful wrath of Lula's mother Marietta, who for reasons of her own will stop at nothing to ensure the lovers are kept apart. Diane Ladd practically steals the show in her brave portrayal of Lula's psychopathic mother Marietta.
Sailor and Lula (excellent performances from both Nicolas Cage & Laura Dern); two broken souls passionately in love, flee the vengeful wrath of Lula’s mother Marietta, who for reasons of her own will stop at nothing to ensure the lovers are kept apart. Diane Ladd practically steals the show in her brave portrayal of Lula’s psychopathic mother Marietta.

Sailor and Lula meet up with some very strange characters whilst travelling far away from Lula’s mother.

The eccentricities of ‘Tuna Town’ in Texas, the insane car accident victim and Lula’s nutcase cousin who believes that “the man with the black glove is coming to get him”.

It’s all rudimentary David Lynch fare. He has mastered the art of contemporary film making: a clever blend of black-comedy, violence and fantasy.

Gut wrenchingly violent in places, hopelessly romantic in others; Lynch has crafted an adult fairy tale worthy of multiple viewings. Recommended to those who enjoy and appreciate abstract methods of film-making – a definite 10/10!
Gut wrenchingly violent in places, hopelessly romantic in others; Lynch has crafted an adult fairy tale worthy of multiple viewings. Recommended to those who enjoy and appreciate abstract methods of film-making – a definite 10/10!

The viewer builds an empathy for the two main characters, as it would be a terrible thing to see their undying love for each other shattered.

The other characters in the movie all seem to want to destroy that love.

Sailor’s character, although violent and hard-bitten, seems the most normal of the lot. It takes a sane man to make sense of all the insane folk in America’s underbelly.

He puts up with a lot from everyone, but all he really wants to do is escape from it all with Lula.

They meet an assortment of weird people, especially Bobby Peru, and also Perdita Durango, who has appeared recently in a film with her name as the title, also written by Barry Gifford. It is classic David Lynch, with a homage type theme to the Wizard of Oz. It has the sensuality and eroticism later seen in Lost Highway, the violence and gore, the head sequence after the bank robbery being graphic, and a general uneasiness throughout. But it is a darkly humorous and transfixing piece.
They meet an assortment of weird people, especially Bobby Peru, and also Perdita Durango, who has appeared recently in a film with her name as the title, also written by Barry Gifford. It is classic David Lynch, with a homage type theme to the Wizard of Oz. It has the sensuality and eroticism later seen in Lost Highway, the violence and gore, the head sequence after the bank robbery being graphic, and a general uneasiness throughout. But it is a darkly humorous and transfixing piece.

Summary…

Well, while you are trapped in this slow-motion nightmare you might as well make the best of the situation. Now, rather than watching horror and adventure movies out of Hollywood, how about checking out some more light hearted fare for purposes of escape…

If you want to relive your school years…

  • Hot Dog the Movie
  • One Crazy Summer
  • Risky Business
  • Dream a little dream
  • Better off dead
  • Dazed and Confused

If you want to relive your 20’s…

  • Wayne’s world
  • Something about Mary
  • Wild at Heart

If you want to just escape from your life as an Adult…

  • Captain Ron

In any event, it’s great escapist entertainment. Certainly at least one of these movies will strike a cord within your soul. Have fun.

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The USA and China are now entangled in the Thucydides Trap; this is the entire story.

Trump’s anti-China rhetoric and actions, including crossing out the prefix “Corona” and replacing it with “China,” are part of a continuation of US empire building that began long before Trump seized power in the Electoral College coup of 2016.

-Counterpunch

My feeds are all clogged up with the hate-China narrative out of Washington DC. Ugh! It’s pretty sick and disgusting. Hate, hate, hate! What a messed up way to start the day!

Additionally, the narrative that the Chinese accidentally released it from a weapons lab in Wuhan is an insult to my intelligence. I guess people don’t know the difference between a automobile factory and a local garage that does tune-ups.

Hint; 

Factories and R&D centers have loading bays, electrical substations, and internal water treatment centers. You can see these structures outside the buildings. They have fences, and security guards. They are huge!

Vaccine centers, diagnostic centers, and testing centers are much smaller. They typically consist of a number of offices, and perhaps a small wing devoted to the lab work. They also usually have a parking lot. They tend not to have a fence or security guards.

Now, boys and girls, repeat after me:

Bio-Weapons Research Labs have fences and security guards. 
Bio-Weapons Research Labs have fences and security guards.
Bio-Weapons Research Labs have fences and security guards.

They are not open to the public.They are not on a main public thoroughfare. They are military installations, protected by soldiers, fences, and set far back away from public scrutiny. 

So please, stop parroting the Mike Pompeo / Alex Jones "talking points" that the COVID-19 was an "escaped" bio-weapons from a Chinese weapons lab. Jeeze!
The Chinese narrative that the COVID-19 virus came from American military soldiers. The American narrative is that it was released from a vaccine clinic. Which is more likely to have infected the Wuhan "wet" market? Especially since there are videos of American servicemen in that exact market.
The Chinese narrative that the COVID-19 virus came from American military soldiers. The American narrative is that it was released from a vaccine clinic. Which is more likely to have infected the Wuhan “wet” market? Especially since there are videos of American servicemen in that exact market at that exact time. Not to mention the strange things they were doing there. I mean, they ate in restaurants. They did not need to buy groceries to cook in their hotel room, and what’s this putting their hands and touching things so profusely?

.

But that’s how propaganda works, don’t you know. You keep hammering down the same lies over and over again until you start reacting to it instinctively.

You hear it over and over. People talk about it, and make opinions about it. you start believing what you hear without thinking.

Ugh!

Just like billions of dollars had to flow to the software companies to “prevent” Y2K. Remember that? There was a nine month intense narrative that the world was going to collapse unless we immediately “fixed” the Y2K issue!

The Year 2000 problem, also known as the Y2K problem, the Millennium bug, Y2K bug, the Y2K glitch, or Y2K, refers to events related to the formatting and storage of calendar data for dates beginning in the year 2000. Problems were anticipated, and arose, because many programs represented four-digit years with only the final two digits – making the year 2000 indistinguishable from 1900. The assumption of a twentieth-century date in such programs could cause various errors, such as the incorrect display of dates and the inaccurate ordering of automated dated records or real-time events.

-Wikipedia

Same thing.

Say the lies over and over and over, until people instinctively react to them as truths. When in reality, it’s all just lies, manipulations and “smoke screens”. But all that doesn’t matter. Because right here we are going to tell you all what is going on. That is, what’s REALLY going on, and how all these things all fit together.

And it isn’t pretty.

“I love war,” Trump declared during a campaign speech in Iowa in 2015. He added: "I’m good at war. I’ve had a lot of wars of my own. I’m really good at war. I love war in a certain way, but only when we win.”

The Thucydides Trap

"There is no such thing as a Thucydides Trap. It is just an excuse by the democrat-controlled media to attack Trump and make him look bad."

-Anonymous 

To understand what is going on today between the United States and China, we should take a look at history. For history clearly describes the dynamics between an established nation, and a growing emerging nation. This dynamic is well documented, well understood, and quite predictable.

  • America is the “established” nation.
  • China is the growing nation.

More than 2,400 years ago, the Athenian historian Thucydides offered a powerful insight into the causes of the awful  Peloponnesian War; a war that pitted military Sparta against democratic Athens…

“It was the rise of Athens, and the fear that this inspired in Sparta, that made war inevitable.”

The Peloponnesian War; a war that pitted military Sparta against democratic Athens.
The Peloponnesian War; a war that pitted military Sparta against democratic Athens.

Other writers identified an array of contributing causes of the Peloponnesian War. But it was Thucydides that nailed down the true causes and the heart of the matter.

Thucydides, instead of looking at the minute details, focused instead on the inexorable, structural stress caused by a rapid shift in the balance of power between the two rivals.

  • Sparta was, for over a hundred years, the dominant city-nation.
  • Athens was growing, expanding, and eclipsing Sparta on every front.

Thucydides identified two key drivers of this dynamic:

  • The rising power’s growing entitlement, sense of its importance, and demand for greater say and sway.
  • And the entrenched, well established nation that possessed the fear, insecurity, and determination to defend the status quo this engenders in the established power base.

In the case about which he wrote in the fifth century B.C., Athens had emerged over a half century as a steeple of civilization. There, there were advances in philosophy, understanding of history, pleasures of drama, new types of architecture, political governance based upon democracy, and naval prowess.

This shocked Sparta. For more than a century had been the leading land power on the Peloponnese peninsula.

As Thucydides saw it, Athens’s position was understandable.

As its clout grew, so too did its self-confidence, its consciousness of past injustices, its sensitivity to instances of disrespect, and its insistence that previous arrangements be revised to reflect new realities of power.

It was also natural, Thucydides explained, that Sparta interpreted the Athenian posture as unreasonable, ungrateful, and threatening to the system it had established—and within which Athens had flourished.

Thucydides chronicled the objective changes in relative power between the two. However, he also focused on the perceptions of change among the leaders of both nations. These perceptions, in both Athens and Sparta, led each to strengthen alliances with other nation-states in the hopes of counterbalancing the other.

But entanglement runs both ways. When conflict broke out between the second-tier city-states of Corinth and Corcyra (now Corfu), Sparta felt it necessary to come to Corinth’s defense, which left Athens little choice but to back its ally. The Peloponnesian War followed. When it ended 30 years later, Sparta was the nominal victor. But both states lay in ruin, leaving Greece vulnerable to the Persians.

And the eventual destruction of the Greeks at the hands of the Persians.

Germany and Britain

Let’s consider more modern times. Where people drive cars, have electricity, fly in the air in planes and have “manners”. Let’s look at the world right before World War I. Let’s consider a rising Germany to a content and powerful England.

As Germany’s economy surpassed Britain’s, Germany would not only develop the strongest army on the continent. It would soon also “build as powerful a navy as she can afford.” In other words, Kissinger writes…

“once Germany achieved naval supremacy … this in itself—regardless of German intentions—would be an objective threat to Britain, and incompatible with the existence of the British Empire.”

Three years after reading that memo, Edward VII died.

Attendees at his funeral included two “chief mourners”—Edward’s successor, George V, and Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm—along with Theodore Roosevelt representing the United States.

At one point, Roosevelt (an avid student of naval power and leading champion of the buildup of the U.S. Navy) asked Wilhelm whether he would consider a moratorium in the German-British naval arms race. The kaiser replied that Germany was unalterably committed to having a powerful navy.

But as he went on to explain, war between Germany and Britain was simply unthinkable, because…

“I was brought up in England, very largely; I feel myself partly an Englishman. Next to Germany I care more for England than for any other country.” 

And then with emphasis: “I ADORE ENGLAND!”

However unimaginable conflict seems, however catastrophic the potential consequences for all actors, however deep the cultural empathy among leaders, even blood relatives, and however economically interdependent states may be—none of these factors is sufficient to prevent war, in 1914 or today.

It doesn’t matter.

China and America

The warning lights and the alarm bells have been going off for some time now. It is well established that there would be some conflict or a deterioration of relationships between the two powers. Around 2009 it was unmistakable and this prompted some firm policy adjustments in America; in Washington DC.

President Obama believed that this kind of global realignment was a natural historical progression. He argued that while America might “sunset” in various areas, China could be “managed” in such a way as to derive a kind of “partnership” where both the United States and China would win and profit in a kind of “give and take” international relationship.

For a while, it appeared that the Thucydides Trap was avoided.

But then…

Donald Trump ran for President. His policy platform was MAGA, which means “Make America Great Again”.

Donald Trump campaigned on a long list of extravagant promises: 

End all foreign wars and reveal “who really did 9/11,” bring the troops home, pull out of the Iran nuclear deal (JCPOA), ban all Muslims from entering the US, wall off the entire southern border at Mexico’s expense, end NAFTA, CAFTA, TPP and all trade treaties, bring manufacturing back to America, end NATO and all alliances (unless the vassals vastly increase their tribute payments, which they won’t), rebuild America’s infrastructure, demand and get vastly better trade terms from China, resurrect 1950s-style family values, and restore Americans’ pride in their history. 

These are, in essence, the specifics behind Trump’s promise to “make America great again.”

-Does the Presidential Election Matter?

Trump’s chief rival target was China and he pledged to [1] bring back American jobs (from China), [2] stop the dependence on imported products (from China), to [3] rebuild and increase the size of the military, and [4] re-work and realign relationships with other nations for American self-interest.

Sound familiar?

Once Hitler came to power he wanted to make Germany great again. His chief villains were the Jews. And his actions were all about eradicating the Jewish treat to Germany.

It's not that I am equating Trump with Hitler. That meme is so 2015. It's just that all nationalistic movements require an enemy to galvanize the people against. In the 1930's it was the "Jews against Germany".

Today it is China against America.

So Trump is in office, and he’s realigning all sorts of issues into his vision for the “perfect” world order.

Neocon Administration

Americans, tired of the social and economic onslaught and minimizing behavior of their leadership for the last three decades flocked to Donald Trump. They attended rallies where he would proclaim that he would [1] make America great again, [2] put Hillary Clinton behind bars, [3] build a wall around the United States, and [4] bring jobs back to America.

He won the election.

Once taking over the reins of power, he staffed his administration with “neocons”, individuals with a particularly warlike views and ideas.

Neocon

A small, but constant clique in the US administration that is responsible for most of the recent US military invasions around the globe. To quote neocon Pompeo: 'I was the CIA director. We lied, we cheated, we stole'

-Urban Dictionary

Not only are Neocons very “hawkish” regarding war….

… But they also believe in History, and the role that empires have in shaping history. In fact, they believe in Thucydides and his writings.

If you were to ask any neocon about what is written herein, they would 100% agree with everything this article is saying …

Among their intellectual ancestors neoconservatives count the ancient Greek historian Thucydides for his unblinking realism in military matters and his skepticism toward democracy, as well as Alexis de Tocqueville, the French author of Democracy in America (1835–40), who described and analyzed both the bright and the bad sides of democracy in the United States. 

More recent influences include the German-born American political philosopher Leo Strauss and several of his students, such as Allan Bloom; Bloom’s student Francis Fukuyama; and a small band of intellectuals who in their youth were anti-Stalinist communists (specifically Trotskyites) before becoming liberals disillusioned with liberalism. The latter include Irving Kristol, Nathan Glazer, and Norman Podhoretz, among others.

-Britannica

And surrounded by his small army of War-Hawk Neocons, he set forth establishing policy.

Trump is the embodiment of this looking-for-a-fight attitude. Not good. He has surrounded himself with over-age Cold Warriors, with generals, with the pathologically aggressive hangers-on from think-tank Washington: John Bolton, Mike Pompeo, Nikki Haley, Steve Bannon, and minor squibs of like outlook. He has pulled the US out of the arms-control treaties, START, INF, Open Skies. He has pushed NATO against Russian borders. In the Legion halls of Idaho, this may seem virile, the sort of thing that John Wayne would do. Back the commies down. Show them who is boss. No. It is just pointless and dangerous.

-UNZ

In sort order, once Donald Trump won the 2016 election, he immediately, from day one, started his program of MAGA. He did not waste time. He did not pause. He did not relax.

America was (from the top down) full-on MAGA.

Despite campaigning against endless foreign wars and a humanitarian-based foreign policy that promotes democracy, President Donald Trump appointed several internationalists and neoconservatives to his administration, including John Bolton and Mike Pompeo.

Alex Jones has claimed that neo-conservatives, as part of a deep state, have been fighting a civil war inside the United States Government in order to gain control of the government and influence President Donald Trump – himself, Paul Joseph Watson, and David Knight also claimed this throughout Infowars segments, and that the recent missiles launched against Assad were a result of the neo-conservatives attempting to control Donald Trump.

Stefan Halper, a neoconservative of the Bush Sr. era, colluded with Obama CIA Director John Brennan and FBI agent Peter Strzok to set-up Trump advisors Carter Page and George Papadopoulos as supposed agents of the Russia government, to initiate an FBI counterintelligence investigation and procure a FISA warrant to surveil the 2016 Trump campaign, Trump transition team, and well into the first year of the Trump Administration.

-Neoconservatism and Donald Trump

Key to that program was the suppression of China. Much of which involved actions and activities that were NOT reported in the American press.

What does a neoconservative dream world look like?

Neocons envision a world in which the United States is the unchallenged superpower, immune to threats. They believe that the US has a responsibility to act as a “benevolent global hegemon.” 

In this capacity, the US would maintain an empire of sorts by helping to create democratic, economically liberal governments in place of “failed states” or oppressive regimes they deem threatening to the US or its interests. 

In the neocon dream world the entire Middle East would be democratized in the belief that this would eliminate a prime breeding ground for terrorists. This approach, they claim, is not only best for the US; it is best for the world. 

In their view, the world can only achieve peace through strong US leadership backed with credible force, not weak treaties to be disrespected by tyrants.

Any regime that is outwardly hostile to the US and could pose a threat would be confronted aggressively, not “appeased” or merely contained. 

The US military would be reconfigured around the world to allow for greater flexibility and quicker deployment to hot spots in the Middle East, as well as Central and Southeast Asia. 

The US would spend more on defense, particularly for high-tech, precision weaponry that would be used in preemptive strikes. 

It would work through multilateral institutions such as the United Nations when possible, but otherwise must never be constrained from acting in its best interests whenever necessary.

-Neocon 101

January 2017

Donald Trump “hit the ground running”. He wasted no time in building up his team, staffing it with aggressive neocons and working on a strategy to suppress China. It’s an implementation of his campaign promises; Make America Great Again.

Unlike President Obama, Donald Trump embraced (or fell into) the Thucydides Trap.

The goals were simple;

  1. Reclaim American “greatness” in all fields, in all areas.
  2. Establish dominance in the Geo-political arena.
  3. Suppress China in such a way that they would always be “under the control or authority” of the United States.
  4. Do whatever is necessary to accomplish the above.
Look familiar?

1. Reclaim Spartian "greatness" in all fields, in all areas.
2. Establish dominance in the Peloponnesian arena.
3. Suppress Athens in such a way that they would always be under the control or authority of Sparta.
4. Do whatever is necessary to accomplish the above.

In so doing there were some issues that needed to be addressed and some resources that he had access to.

Outstanding Issues

There were things that China was involved in that were threatening the level of control that America had over China. Trump needed to collapse or mitigate those issues quickly. If he did not, China’s rise would pass the point of no-return. In the collective minds of the neocons, it was now or never.

The primary issues at stake were…

  • Relationships in Africa. China was building relationships based on jobs, trade, and social improvements. The time-honored American technique of providing wads of cash to third-world dictators was no longer effective. This was giving China unique mineral and resource access, that America was denied.
  • Belt and Road Initiative. As long as the only way that China could maintain trade was via the sea-lanes, the United States could threaten the sea-lanes and completely collapse the ability of China to conduct trade. This threat has been real and substantive. The Belt and Road Initiative would be a land trade route. Completely bypassing the sea-lane trade routes, and rendering the American Naval threat moot.
  • Taiwan. Taiwan is a client state of China. Yet the American media presents it as an independent nation in the hopes that once China is weak, an American invasion of Taiwan can occur. The reason why this is so critical is that the United States needs a “safe haven” from whence to launch ground forces. Taiwan is the perfect staging location. Make no mistake, an invasion of China is a long-term dream of the neocon cabal. The first key step is to PUSH China into engaging Taiwan militarily.
  • Hong Kong. Hong Kong is a financial and technical hub, not to mention a gateway to the rest of Asia. As long as Hong Kong is stable, Europe will continue to conduct business with China. Therefore creating a unstable Hong Kong would effective disentangle Europe from China.
  • Trade. You would think that (with all the news discussing the trade imbalance) that this would be a significant issue. In the grand scheme of things, however, it really isn’t much of an issue at all. The majority of trade between China and the USA is between American companies, manufacturing products in their factories inside of China and shipping them to America. Not Chinese companies. Of that, less than 11% of exports from China goes to America. Looking at the entire issue, it’s really well blown out of proportion.

The Plan

Work on a plan to suppress China, for certain, was formulated prior to President Trump’s inauguration. 

No one knows the true extent of the planning, or any details of the discussions involved. However, we can pretty much recognize that the people who helped formulate this war-suppression-strategy were…

  • Donald Trump
  • Mike Pompeo
  • John Bolton
  • Robert Lighthizer
  • Rudy Giuliani
  • Nikki Haley
  • James Woolsey
  • Frank Gaffney
  • Eliot Cohen

All of these people advocate for military intervention to accomplish United States objectives.

The only snag in their desires is military.

You see, the thing is that every single simulation where the American military tries to take on China, the United States LOSES. Often, depending on the scenario, quite badly. Thus, if America takes on China militarily, in the South China Sea, the results would probably be disastrous.

They cannot ignore this fact.

So a direct military campaign was not the first choice of the “task team”.

Instead they had to come up with a scenario or a plan that would be suppress China and meet all the criteria as discussed. While at the same time avoiding armed military conflict with a HEALTHY VIBRANT China. The Trump administration was faced with a “first”. Just how to suppress China, without using any overt military resources that might result in a nuclear response?

They sat down and came up with an idea.

“I love war,” Trump declared during a campaign speech in Iowa in 2015. He added: "I’m good at war. I’ve had a lot of wars of my own. I’m really good at war. I love war in a certain way, but only when we win.”

Neocon Echo Chamber

Their plan is based on what they believe China is.

  • Hard-line Communist.
  • Multitudes / hordes of impoverished people.
  • A deceptive media that hides the “true and real China”.
  • A population yearning for “freedom” and “democracy”.
  • A hated leadership that rules by sheer power.

Well, since this belief system has been so ingrained in the consciousness of the neocon administration, the came up with a plan that would be able to attack this pre-concieved image of what China is…

Since the people are large in number, and miserable, if you add additional strife and problems, they will revolt uncontrollably. They will topple the government. Then, in the confusion, the USA can establish and control the new leadership. As the USA has become experts in this kind of activity over the last number of decades. It’s an American strength that no one has figured out how to deal with effectively.

The entire plan is based on illusions and falsehoods.

I have been to China several times. I am also in contact with people in China. I can say this. Pompeo's belief that:

... the Chinese people hate the Communist Party of China that runs the country...

- is simply not true.

Among Chinese citizens there has recently been a huge upsurge in positive opinions about the Chinese system. This is due, in part, to its success in containing the Coronavirus.

At the same time there has been a tremendous disillusionment with the United States due to its failure to manage the Coronavirus. There is almost a sense of disbelief that America has failed so badly in dealing with the virus.

There used to be a saying in China that "Even the moon shines more brightly on America." That saying was demonstrated a genuine admiration for the United States and its accomplishments. But due to many things - including the institutional failure to deal with the Coronavirus - very few Chinese people say that anymore.

A second thing that is spurring a positive belief in the Chinese system by its' citizens is China's ever increasing standard of living. People who have never been there might very well find themselves astonished by what is happening there. I have been there four times in the past ten years. Each time, the improvement in the material standard of living is not just noticeable but dramatic. The Chinese people can see this with their own eyes. Before the virus hit, many Chinese citizens had become wealthy enough to the West and they discovered that, increasingly, China was comparing favorably with the West in terms of their standard of living. This has increased the belief among Chinese citizens that their country is on the right path.

There is a third thing that is important to note. There has been a recent rise in Chinese nationalism which is due - not only to the factors mentioned above - but due to Trump and Pompeo themselves. Contrary to common belief, the Chinese have a lot of access to Western media. Many Chinese study English and can read the Western media in English. They know the things being said by Trump and Pompeo which intended to malign China. Many Chinese are, not so much angry but, rather understand this is a sign of increasing weakness on the part of the United States.

In short, the actions of Pompeo are not "inciting the Chinese to act against their government" but rather convincing the Chinese that American greatness is passing into history and China's time is arriving.

Posted by: Mike from Jersey | Nov 18 2020 21:22 utc | 25

The basic plan

If China could be “broken” with all sorts of internal strife, starvation, misery, distress, and trouble, China would weaken.

It’s people would revolt.

And people would turn to “The shining city on the hill.” for help, “freedom” and “democracy”. These people would wave American flags, they would sing the American National Anthem, and they would display “Pepe the frog” in graffiti as they burned the cities down.

As a result, the United States could capitalize on that situation.

This would, if properly handled, result in forward staging bases on Taiwan, with a naval harbor there.

  • Create uprisings and strife at the two gateways for the Belt and Road Initiative. (HK and XinJiang)
  • Create Chinese starvation by decimation of all pork, chicken, wheat, and grain industries.
  • Offer CIA “incentives” in African nations.
  • An anti-China propaganda campaign would galvanize Americans against China and it’s products.
  • “Incentivize” American companies to bring factories back to America.
  • An anti-China technology campaign would destroy existing business relationships in Europe and across the globe.
  • A pandemic that would suppress China, but would ignore America.
  • Then prep for a hot war with the establishment of staging bases on Taiwan.

This is an eight-year plan, and assumes two complete terms as President for Donald Trump. The time table would look something like this…

First term in office 2016 through 2020.

  • Move the puzzle pieces and assets in place.
  • Start famines, trade disputes, regional classes, and strife.
  • Keep up an enormous program of anti-China propaganda.
  • Create “minor” military skirmishes in the South China Sea.

Then… if China is NOT suppressed and under the control of pro-American forces by the end of the Trump first term (Fall of 2020). A different direction must be taken.

In a strongly worded speech delivered as the relationship between Beijing and Washington plummeted to new lows this week, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo declared that “the old paradigm of blind engagement” with China had failed. Mike Pompeo: "If the free world doesn’t change communist China, communist China will change us."

-We must change China or China will change us, Pompeo …

Announce this publicly, and create a military army to attack China. Enlist local nations to do “the heavy lifting” and provide staging locations.

Mr Pompeo accused China's governing Communist Party of "exploitation, corruption and coercion". He was meeting counterparts from Australia, India and Japan - a group known as "The Quad" - to discuss an increasingly assertive China. Under the Trump administration, relations between the US and China have plummeted to their worst in decades.

-Mike Pompeo lashes out at China at 'Quad' meeting in Japan
  • Build up a military coalition to engage Chinese military locally. (The QUAD).
  • Create a “need” for the American military to enter China to “save the people”.
  • Then create an “emergency”, blame it on China.
  • Go to war. But make sure that the QUAD does most of the fighting.

Since America has “never lost a war”, the victory of America is a foregone conclusion. China hasn’t a chance (in the minds of the neocons).

Additionally there is the possibility of a successful presidential successor that could implement successive states in a complete global realignment to fit the long-term neocon plan. Eventually turning China into a client state of America, like Japan, Australia, or Canada.

Implementation

This plan of course is secret / confidential. It’s not advertised. Though, it was moving forward with great rapidity throughout the first term of Donald Trump in office.

I’ve covered all the elements in other posts in far greater detail. There you can see the details. Links are as provided herein.

This is just an overview.

  • Create strife in HK. The “pro-democracy” protests were implemented by NED / NID insurgents under the guise of being “journalists”. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • Create strife in Xinjiang. Radicalized and CIA trained Muslim insurgents creating “fifth column“ activities. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • Forced Starvation. Destruction of the pork industry via drones and aerosol viruses, destruction of the chicken industry, the wheat and rice industries, and multiple waves of germ attacks. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • African Incentives. This is ongoing. Though lately a number of nations are demanding that China pay billions of dollars to them for COVID-19 damage. I cannot help but see a CIA hand in all this. <HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • Incentivize American Businesses. Enormous amounts of money has been handed to American companies throughout trumps first term of office, the greatest amounts came during the 2020 “COVID bailout”. However, no companies have shown any interest in returning operations to America. <HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • Anti-China propaganda campaign. This is hot and heavy. Apparently it’s working a full 30% of Americans hate China and blame it for all the American ills. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • Anti-China technology campaign. Well the arrest of the Huawei President and the suppression of 5G technology is only the tip of the iceberg. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • A Pandemic that would suppress China but ignore America. This is the highlight of the plan and really interesting. Three strains. A, B, and C. All unleashed on the world. Lethal strain B is for China. It is dangerous and lethal. However, Americans get the A virus. This virus is mild and safe. It self inoculates (or was intended to). It is designed for Americans to have “Herd Immunity”. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>
  • An Alliance of other nations. By building a coalition of nations, the entire group could gang up against China in bulk. This includes strong showings by Australia, Canada, and the UK. <HERE>
  • Establish American Bases on Taiwan. Ongoing and NOT public.

In fact, the US is already engaged in “multi-domain” “hybrid warfare” with China.  This is warfare just below the threshold of direct military engagement.  On the ground this involves:

  • Economic Warfare: trade sanctions and tariff war, as well as technological warfare: attempted seizure of Chinese companies (TikTok); attacks on China’s international 5G contracts;  sanctions on the primary and secondary supply chains of key sectors of Chinese industry (e.g. Huawei’s semiconductor supply chain); attacks on Ant Finance’s IPO.
  • Legal Warfare, or “lawfare,” including over 380 anti-China bills in Congress, and 14 individual and state lawsuits  against China for over $30 Trillion in “Covid damages”; the long arm “legal” kidnapping of Huawei’s executive.
  • Diplomatic Warfare, including consulate shutdowns, harassment of diplomats, breaching of diplomatic pouches and compounds, and calls for regime change .
  • Military Brinksmanship and posturing in the South China Sea, the East China Sea, the Taiwan straits; complete encirclement of China with strategic weapons, surveillance, and 400 offensive bases (“The Pacific Pivot”), the use of airbases in Taiwan for military actions, and plans  to station intermediate range nuclear missiles all along China’s periphery[2].
  • Civil Subversioncolor revolution , urban terror, destabilization and delegitimation operations in Hong Kong  (and other places where China has interests), including millions of dollars of funneled for organization and training, and encrypted communications infrastructure built to coordinate anti-government activities.
  • Academic Warfare: through the FBI’s China Initiative, every 10 hours a case is opened against a Chinese student or researcher in the US (currently 2700 cases) and all Chinese students are considered potential “non-traditional” “collectors, spies” involved in a “thousand grains of sand” collection strategy.
  • Integrated Circuit Manufacture. The idea was to stop China from obtaining technology that America leads in. What has happened is that everyone, and their uncle is in a race to make the best, most advanced integrated circuits on the planet. And the Chinese central government is facilitating this with top down direction and resources to make this happen.
  • Information Warfare: last but not least, we are seeing total Information warfare.

The stories about so-called “massive human rights abuses,” “Chinese concentration camps,” “Chinese-made-and-released Covid,” “China has harmed us economically,” “China has stolen its way to the top,” “China is oppressing independent Hong Kong,” are part of this information warfare.

This is mass propaganda to incite people to hate China irrationally and unconditionally, to manufacture consent for war. The US military calls this information warfare, “the firehose of falsehoods ” and we are all being drenched with these lies.  

This is necessary (in a “democracy”) to justify war against an enemy and to curtail any rational discussion or questioning.

If things went as planned…

If things went as planned, China would be a poisonous stew of conflict with all sorts of internal troubles, starvation, insurrections and conflicts. The workers would be sick and dying and the anti-China propaganda campaign would scare companies from trading (or continuing to trade) with China. No hot war would ever be necessary.

The COVID-19 germ bio-warfare released at the most vulnerable time for social communicability on CNY eve, would completely turn China into a basket case.

Meaning of Idiom ‘Basket Case’. 

A basket case is a situation that is so nervous or anxious that they are completely incapacitated and thus are considered non-functioning.

Something unable to cope with a situation; someone or something unable to function.
The American military were housed at the Wuhan Oriental Hotel along with the Koreans, and the Iranian military participants in the Wuhan military games. This hotel was located one lock away from the Huanan Seafood Market, the "wet market" where the COVID-19 outbreak originated from.
The American military were housed at the Wuhan Oriental Hotel along with the Koreans, and the Iranian military participants in the Wuhan military games. This hotel was located one lock away from the Huanan Seafood Market, the “wet market” where the COVID-19 outbreak originated from.

Hospitals, civil services, and all government would be overwhelmed. People would be clamoring for peace and stability, and that would open up an opportunity for the United States to begin harassment in the area around Taiwan. HK would be in turmoil. Military actions would fracture Xinjiang, and alliances would crumble.

If you recall, in February and March 2020, two carrier battle groups were being sent to that area…

… up until they had to make emergency stops at Guam for COVID-19A lethal outbreaks.

By the time the end of the Summer rolled around, American intervention in Taiwan would be in action. Success would flood the airwaves, whether true or not, and trump being a “War President” would take complete control of the government with landslide victories in both Congress and the Senate.

Then with a solid control of the Washington apparatus, the subsequent phases of action could proceed. Which would of course mean military troops, on the ground, to “liberate” the Chinese yearning for “American freedom” and “American democracy”.

Ah. But it’s gonna be a tough sell, don’t you know…

But, the real China is nothing like what the neocons think it is.

China is quite different than what the Neocon echo chamber says it is…

  • 95% of the Chinese population are proud of China and it’s leadership.
  • Almost 100% of the population has seen dramatic increases in their standard of living compared to their parents.
  • The population is hysterically patriotic.
  • China is a nation of nerds with over four times the number of STEM graduates than Americans.
  • China is ruled by merit.
  • China is self-sufficient in food, and most raw materials.
  • China is proud of it’s culture, it’s society and it’s history.

Things didn’t go as planned

No, things did not go as planned.

They never go as planned.

Someone should tell these neocons that you have to have a few “projects” “under your belt” first before you try implementing them. Things never go according to plan and if you go ahead and kick a dog, expect him to snap at you and bite your arm. China will not watch while all this happens and not train, prepare, plan and take action.

While all this was going on, China knew what the neocons were planning. China and Russia shared intel data, and combined saw that America was an active and real threat. If China collapses, Russia would be next. If Russia collapses, China would be next. So what did they do?

Then at the same time, they started to warn the United States to stop; just stop… please just stop…

Among the myriad, earth-shattering geopolitical effects of coronavirus, one is already graphically evident. China has re-positioned itself. For the first time since the start of Deng Xiaoping’s reforms in 1978, Beijing openly regards the US as a threat, as stated a month ago by Foreign Minister Wang Yi at the Munich Security Conference during the peak of the fight against coronavirus. 

Beijing is carefully, incrementally shaping the narrative that, from the beginning of the coronovirus attack, the leadership knew it was under a hybrid war attack. Xi’s terminology is a major clue. He said, on the record, that this was war. And, as a counter-attack, a “people’s war” had to be launched.

Moreover, he described the virus as a demon or devil. Xi is a Confucianist. Unlike some other ancient Chinese thinkers, Confucius was loath to discuss supernatural forces and judgment in the afterlife. However, in a Chinese cultural context, devil means “white devils” or “foreign devils”: guailo in Mandarin, gweilo in Cantonese. This was Xi delivering a powerful statement in code.

When Zhao Lijian, a spokesman for the Chinese Foreign Ministry, voiced in an incandescent tweet the possibility that “it might be US Army who brought the epidemic to Wuhan” – the first blast to this effect to come from a top official – Beijing was sending up a trial balloon signaliing that the gloves were finally off. Zhao Lijian made a direct connection with the Military Games in Wuhan in October 2019, which included a delegation of 300 US military... 

-https://asiatimes.com/2020/03/china-locked-in-hybrid-war-with-us/

They also watched with some degree of hope that the intel information was incorrect, and that the United States would stop. That the United States would end it’s anti-Chinese propaganda campaign, it’s anti-China technology assault, and it’s anti-China biological warfare programs…

But America wasn’t listening…

Trade. The “Trump Trade Negotiations” were all a “smokescreen”. No one in the Trump administration wanted any kind of agreement. None. Not at all. <HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE><HERE>

Factories Returning. Well, no factories are returning to America. America is over regulated, the wages are too high, the quality of worker is too low, and the corruption at the state and local levels are absurd. <HERE><HERE><HERE>

Famine. The attempt to destroy the Chinese food supply proceeded as planned. It’s just that the image of what China actually is was completely out of alignment  with what the Trump advisors expected. So even though the assaults went as planned, the were unable to induce a famine. <HERE><HERE><HERE>

Africa. Africa is still in play.

Propaganda. The Anti-China propaganda campaign seems to be working, though it’s giving everyone fatigue. On more than one occasion I have seen people complaining. They say “Get this shit off my feed. Heck you need waders to plow through all the muck.”

Has anyone seen this from Rod Campbell of Australia Institute? He claims thousands of bot accounts controlled by US government spread the Wuhan bioweapons narrative nearly 5 million times in the first half of 2020: 

https://www.facebook.com/HongKongGoodNews/videos/200057774713941/

Technology. The Anti-China technology campaign is hit and miss. Certainly the drums are beating and there are skirmishes. Huawei, however is still in business, and many non-American companies, and nations are moving with the Chinese 5G model. But in July, he went all out, and went against all things china…

Road and Belt. This requires Pakistan agreements and ports in the Mediterranean. Everything has been going well. That is up until a massive explosion that some have referred to as a “mini-nuke” totally and completely gutted the Lebanon port in Beirut. An interesting assessment;

The Port of Beirut poses the biggest geostrategic threat to American power projection because China’s Silk Road is fast creeping towards the docks at Beirut Port. The US, having recently forced Israel to cancel its Haifa rail contract with China, has dampened the Chinese advance in the eastern Mediterranean, and what remains now in the path of the US is the Beirut Port. The US must either invade it to block the Chinese geostrategic mission creep, or else destroy it.

https://thesaker.is/china-newsbrief-sitrep-3/

And then it appears that a great accident destroyed it. Imagine that! What the coincidence!

Moreover, the Port of Beirut also poses the biggest geostrategic threat for the US’s eastward-bound power projection where China and its new Silk Road operation is fast creeping westwards and is attempting to land at the eastern coastal strip of the Mediterranean, right where the Beirut Port docks. The US having recently forced Israel to cancel its Haifa contact with China has somewhat dampened the Chinese advance in the eastern Mediterranean, and what remains now in the path of the US is the Beirut Port. The US must either invade it to block the Chinese geostrategic mission creep, or else destroy it.

Evidently, the US has chosen the latter option – with Israel assigned the task of accomplishing the destruction of Beirut Port. After all, for different reasons, both benefit greatly from Beirutshima.

And so very timely is this destruction of the Beirut Port as the Lebanese government has very recently been in official talks with the Chinese over their offer to vastly invest in and develop the Beirut Port: a much needed gateway port and bridge into Europe for China, which represents an absolutely intolerable equation for the US’s hegemony in Europe. The Beirut Port’s rebuilding to its previous standard of activity will be contingent on strict conditions imposed by the US and Israel on the Lebanese government, if the port is allowed to be rebuilt at all, that is. Most certainly, the US is determined not to allow the Chinese any executive, investment or managerial access to it.

...

And this larger US project has everything to do with the current US war on China, albeit presently a non-military war, but a war nevertheless, a war that the Pentagon is militarily preparing for – hence the ever increasing and breathtakingly high defense budget that Congress has been allocating to the US military throughout the terms of the last three Presidents.

The US having lost Pakistan to the China sphere of influence, thus losing an attack dog bordering China, and having recently assigned Turkey as its new enforcer in the middle east, it now behooves the US to use its Mideast allies of both Turkey and Israel, two infamous terrorist states who regularly break international law with impunity: use them as spoilers and saboteurs against an advancing China and against any of Beijing’s Mideast regional allies. 

Beirutshima is clearly an apparent US endeavor to push-back the Chinese advance in the highly strategic eastern Mediterranean, as the US attempts to simultaneously pivot eastwards itself through secured territories wherever China is successfully backtracked by the US and its regional henchmen.
But, can this grand geostrategic plan really work for the benefit of the US? Can the US really succeed at remaining the only superpower in the world by the incessant knee-capping of China’s new Silk Road project?

This is yet to be determined. But judging by the deep budgetary and societal crisis engulfing the US homeland, with no sign whatsoever of its deepening troubles abating, analysts doubt that the US has lungs large enough to last the whole race through with China. Here I will add that the US-China fight over the Beirut Port is not yet over. One wonders what went through the mind of the wily Chinese ambassador in Lebanon to witness the Beirut Port exploding as it shockingly did: to witness his pet project and assignment be destroyed right before his eyes and right before a signed agreement was made between him and the Lebanese government of Diab.

-UR

COVID-19. It is the pandemic where China decided to stop playing “defense” and go on the “offense”. This is the way that Donald Trump had decided to wage war upon China. This is how he planned to destroy it, create turmoil, and suppress it.

But…

But the Trump administration did not expect China to be so aggressive, and proactive. They expected them to be passive, and at best muster up some sort of United Nations complaint.

Let’s talk about this…

The COVID-19 bio-weapon attack

"But... but war with China, or even Iran, is crazy! No rational country could even consider it!"

Sure, no "rational" country would even contemplate it.
I've got bad news for you.

Posted by: William Gruff | Nov 18 2020 21:32 utc | 28

America continues in it’s bio-weapon assault.

The six prior viruses against food stuck and livestock were quite successful, but they did not create starvation. Which, I am sure, was a complete surprise to the neocons in the administration. I’m sure that they pretty much “chalked it up” to heavy totalitarian control by the Chinese government instead of the actual reason…

… that China is pretty much self-sufficient in food, and has systems in place to mitigate shortages no matter how extreme.

So Trump decided to release one against the Chinese people directly. I am also sure that the Trump administration felt that “this time” their suppression techniques would work.

They took their time, selected the proper viral agent, and planned the timing directly. Nothing was left for chance. They released it at the exact geographical center of the population, and at the absolutely worst time of the year. They “felt” and believed that China would be unable to handle it, and that the worst elements would be contained within China, and that the rest of the world (those aligned with the USA) would get herd immunity with the very “soft” minor strain.

[1] Location

Indeed, they released it in the exact center of the population of China…

The American COVID-19B bio-weapon was released in the geographic center of the population density of China.
The American COVID-19B bio-weapon was released in the geographic center of the population density of China.

.

[2] Timing

The timing was also significant. As it was during the peak social time, where the mass migration occurred within China. It is a time when everyone travels, where huge crowds are common and normal, and everyone is in very close proximity to each other.

The very, extremely suspicious timing of the release of the bio-weapon.

.

[3] Anti-China propaganda campaign

it's so interesting when people pretend to be ignorant when it is useful to them. I thought that was a specific American trait. So let's give the answer to the author asking the question:

Once the Americans are indoctrinated into hating China, they will be willing to go to war with China and will be willing to accept wha the government will do in the name of "fighting China". Same how the Americans were indoctrinated into hating Soviet Union and Communism during the 50s and 60s and 70s. The government then can throw as much money into the military in the name of "fighting China" and the Americans will be fine with it.

Posted by: Hoyeru | Nov 18 2020 19:52 utc | 2

Further, the timing was such that it was coordinated with an anti-China propaganda campaign that was stunning in it’s size, magnitude and breadth of extent. When the incubated viruses started to manifest in Wuhan, the anti-China narrative exploded all across the world.

So…

So…

So America launches a very dangerous bio-weapon attack on Chinese New Year eve.

The timing was such that it would have spread like a fire inside a bone dry barn filled with hay. This was the time when everyone was traveling together in tight quarters. When everyone was drunk and hugging each other. This was the time when the virus could explode upon an unsuspecting China and devastate it completely.

If China did not take immediate action, the entire nation would have turned into a complete “basket case”.

But that is not what happened.

China’s early conventional efforts seemed unsuccessful in halting the spread of the disease.

Then on Jan. 23rd and after only 17 deaths, the Chinese government took the astonishing step of locking down and quarantining the entire 11 million inhabitants of the city of Wuhan, a story that drew worldwide attention. They soon extended this policy to the 60 million Chinese of Hubei province, and not longer afterward shut down their entire national economy and confined 700 million Chinese to their homes, a public health measure probably a thousand times larger than anything previously undertaken in human history. So either China’s leadership had suddenly gone insane, or they regarded this new virus as an absolutely deadly national threat, one that needed to be controlled at any possible cost.

Given these dramatic Chinese actions and the international headlines that they generated, the current accusations by Trump Administration officials that China had attempted to minimize or conceal the serious nature of the disease outbreak is so ludicrous as to defy rationality. 

In any event, the record shows that on December 31st, the Chinese had already alerted the World Health Organization to the strange new illness, and Chinese scientists published the entire genome of the virus on Jan. 12th, allowing diagnostic tests to be produced worldwide.

Unlike other nations, China had received no advance warning of the nature or existence of the deadly new disease, and therefore faced unique obstacles. But their government implemented public health control measures unprecedented in the history of the world and managed to almost completely eradicate the disease with merely the loss of a few thousand lives.

-American Pravda: Our Coronavirus Catastrophe as Biowarfare Blowback?

(For some reason…) China went on full military alert.

It went DEFCON ONE on CNY eve. This is something that no one in any of the mainstream American media, the Alt-Left or the Alt-Right media is talking about. China went DEFCON ONE. China’s military were all called up, and everyone was manning their posts, and that included ALL OF THE millions of reservists and militia.

The last time that this happened in America was in October 1962 during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

The DEFCON system was developed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff and unified and specified combatant commands. It prescribes five graduated levels of readiness (or statuses of alert) for the U.S. military, and increase in severity from DEFCON 5 (least severe) to DEFCON 1 (most severe) to match varying military situations.

-Defcon 1

Everything went under lock-down, and then China took aggressive action on an entire slew of areas. Obviously the Chinese intel knew something was up, and had more information about what was going on than what we have been led to believe. China killed the pandemic and stopped it right in it’s tracks.

Imagine that!

But that is only part of the story.

Strange American behavior…

While all this was going on, the American leadership started to act really strange.

The claim that the US Covid-19 response demonstrates that the US can "tolerate casualties" is one of the most asinine statements I have ever read. All that it proves is that the US is shockingly incompetent. Incompetence is not generally viewed as a strength.

Posted by: David | Nov 18 2020 21:55 utc | 33
[1] Don’t you all think that it was weird that Donald Trump and the CDC would insist on no one wearing masks?

[2] Don’t you think that it was really strange that he wanted groups of people to conjugate together? It’s almost like he wanted everyone to get sick.

Wasn’t that strange?

[3] Don’t you think this was strange when there were just terrible videos out of China? With people having seizures, dropping dead on the elevator, and collapsing when they took their children to school? With guys going into convulsions, and women passing out on buses, and little children being rushed to hospitals.

[4] Yet, Donald Trump and the CDC told everyone to stop watching videos out of China (Tictok), and meet together and do not wear a mask.

Don’t you think it was strange?

Yes. Trump unleashed the COVID-19A all over America. And yes he also gave it to his allies in Europe precisely so that everyone would get the “safe” virus. He wanted everyone to be exposed to the “safe” virus. Notice how the Military Allies of the United States, all of them followed the Trump “ok to wear a mask” narrative.

How nice of him…

He wanted American-friendly nations to be immune. He wanted everyone to get the “safe” light virus COVID-19A. He wanted his allies to get immune by getting the “safe” virus, while his enemies got the bad and dangerous virus.

He wanted Chinese-friendly nations to get the bad version of the virus COVID-19B.

  • America & Allies = Herd Immunity with “safe” COVID-19A
  • China & Enemies = Saturated with the dangerous COVID-19B
Map of the strains of the COVID-19 and the likely transmission paths. This map describes eight viral variations. But you can easily see that COVID-19B, the very lethal and deadly version hit China hard. The "light" version, the COVID-19A hit America, and Donald Trump wanted everyone to get it to obtain herd immunity.
Map of the strains of the COVID-19 and the likely transmission paths. This map describes eight viral variations. But you can easily see that COVID-19B, the very lethal and deadly version hit China hard. The “light” version, the COVID-19A hit America, and Donald Trump wanted everyone to get it to obtain herd immunity.

SO what is going on today?

Of course, you all can disagree. 

[1] You can believe that China was "lucky", and America was "unlucky". 
[2] And that all the coincidences surrounding this speculation is just coincidences and nothing more.
[3] Bad location for the outbreak.
[4] Bad timing of the outbreak.
[5] Bad coincidence that the key attributes of COVID are all patented in the Untied States.

Just coincidences...

The entire time while China was under lock-down, people were dying, and the anti-China propaganda campaign was reaching a fever pitch, what was going on?

Coronavirus StrainNations affectedR0
Covid-19A (safe)USA and Allies0.1%
Covid-19B (lethal)China, Iran, North Korea10-15 %

But America is NOT that “Shining house of the hill”. It is not run by strong leadership, and skilled and talented workers. It is something else, and the idea that America can allow everyone to obtain “herd immunity” is a foolish play.

0.1% of the population of the USA = 32.8 million people dead.

And sure, this is nothing compared to what Trump expected to hit China…

15% of the Chinese population = 195 million people dead.

But China is not what the neocons thought, and neither is the United States. And what is raging around the world is nothing like what was initially intended. It has become something else…

USA deaths (2DEC20) = 1,464,725 Deaths.
China deaths (2DEC20) = 4,749 deaths.

And, of course, no one in the USA wants to believe these numbers. As thy make Americans look like a bunch of stupid jerks. So they lie. They say that China lies, while all the time, the American news doesn't report the WHO real numbers.  

The Drudge report is saying that only ...
U.S. DEATHS: 270,003...

Links;
US Daily Deaths | The COVID Tracking Project
USA Covid-19 Cases and Deaths Statistics (Update Live ...
CDC COVID Data Tracker
United States Coronavirus: 13,610,357 Cases and 272,254 ...

And now, in America it is chaos. Everyone is scrambling and confused. Some believe that Trump is right. Get the COVID-19A “Safe” it will be just a minor cold. The flu is far worse. While others are watching people die, and collapse. They think that Trump is an idiot Protests are going on. Shootings, and disruptions in food supply. People are unemployed and people are disobeying the need to self-isolate.

But it’s not just that…

The Chinese are avoiding fighting.

That is America's strength. The United States is used to creating the "playing field" where they define the players, the place, the rules of engagement, and the terms of success. America is used to selecting the place. America is used to selecting the time. America is used to selecting the weapons. America is used to selecting the battles.

China does not play that game.

So China is redefining the narrative, and performing a “run around” all of the neocon’s efforts.

Like this for the “pro-democracy” riots by the CIA/NED…

(this) just came in on Whatsapp from a chauvinistic Chinese friend. 

Does this also mark the end of Deng's 8 Coastal SEZs? 

https://youtu.be/zcY3er58aRA

This video conveys the news: *SEPARATE FOREVER* : HONG KONG 

China has just announced that Hainan Island which is 35x larger than Hong Kong will be established as the new largest Free Trade/Free Tax centre to replace Hong Kong.

The Chinese leadership used the Hong Kong riots which lasted for months, made Hong Kong no longer prosperous. They intend to let it be collapse, and replaced with: Shenzhen from the North and Hainan in the South.

The special area of ​​Hong Kong was removed. It is now only a city from the Guangdong Province.

Eventually, all foreign intelligence services will disband automatically, America and Britain will be confused, all their efforts have been in vain and wasted.

...

Strategic! Hong Kong status will be diminished from special to just a city of China and replaced by Hainan 🇨🇳🇭🇰

China is still keen to emulate Singapore which is cited in this video 

Today, the NED / NID agents have been rounded up and interrogated. Here’s a particularity interesting take-down of a CIA agent…

https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/5lcA5Huc8PiGYPb0pWE47w

All the protests, the violence, the riots and everything all stopped. How?

  • Anyone who cashes out the money dished out by the NED/NID for any reason has their Social Security balance zeroed out….forever!
  • Anyone arrested, caught on video or associated with the protest in any way have their social standing reduced to “black level”. They cannot buy plane tickets, use public transportation, or use banks. Schooling might be forbidden for their children, and all legal activity relating to normal day-to-day transactions will have to be done in-person in the office, not using APPs.
  • All HK protestors in HK are now being moved to Chinese mainland prisons for “punishment labors” and “organ harvesting”.

Yes. We are in World War III

Today the world is wracked with three strains of a bio-weapon designed, concocted in America and unleashed by the neocons in the Trump administration.

  • COVID-19A – Safe. Designed to grant immunity to Americans.
  • COVID-19B – Lethal designed to kill Chinese.
  • COVID-19C – A variation of B, designed to target Iran and North Korea.

And now…

  • COVID-19A Lethal

Oh, and by the way. none of the viruses in the COVID-19 family grants immunity. Once you get a mild strain, you are more prone to get a more dangerous strain.

The world is FUCKED.

It is FUBAR

And so, it’s all a complete FUBAR. Yup. That’s just exactly how and why you know that it is an American military operation. Name one American military operation that was not FUBAR. Name one!

Military slang from WWII, fubar is an acronym for "fucked up beyond all recognition ". " the house was completely fubar."

-Urban Dictionary: fubar

It’s a military operation. That is for certain.

No it is not yet “hot”, but it sure is “warm”. People are dying and more people have died so far in America that during the Vietnam war. Just because nuclear weapons are not yet in play does not mean that it is not going to happen.

China realizes this.

Here's China's unofficial response via this Global Times editorial. I wish I could reproduce the art at the editorial's header as it's very spot-on:

"There is no new wording in the report, which can be seen as a collection of malicious remarks from Secretary of State Mike Pompeo and other anti-China US politicians and senators. Right now, only a little more than 60 days are left for the current US administration. An official from the State Department explained that the report is not meant to constrain the next US administration.

But the fact is the Department of State fears that the Biden administration will adjust US-China relations, and the release of the report is part of their efforts to consolidate the current extreme anti-China path.

"But most Chinese scholars who have read the report believe it is an insult to Kennan by labeling the report as Kennan-style. Kennan, then US charge d'affaires in Moscow, sent an 8,000-word telegram to the Department of State detailing his views on the Soviet Union. At least, there was no special political motive in Kennan's report. But the latest report is trying to leave a legacy for the extreme anti-China policy adopted by the Trump administration and fawning on Pompeo, which is evil in essence.

"The impulsive and capricious governing style of Donald Trump leaves sufficient room for politicians like Pompeo to give free play to their ambitions. The Department of State has become the governmental organ that has the most serious clashes with China, outperforming the CIA and the Department of Defense.

"Diplomats are supposed to be communicators, but Pompeo and his team have chilled the communication atmosphere with China. In the China direction, today's US Department of State can close its door.

"Surrounded by such deep hostility and prejudice toward China and the wild ambition of the secretary of state, how could the Department of State's Office of Policy Planning make out anything objective about China? Their observation ability, cautious attitude toward research, and sense of responsibility for history have been severely squeezed. They are just currying favor from their seniors and manipulating extreme paths, pretending to be 'thoughtful....'

"Chinese diplomatic and academic circles look down upon the Pompeo team, which lacks professionalism, and acts like a group of gangsters suddenly taking official positions. They not only have messed things up, but also hope to build their nonsense as legacy. Pompeo's choice of opportunists like Miles Yu as advisor in particular has increased Chinese people's doubts over the 'amateurism' and 'immorality' of the Pompeo team's China policy....

"The US' China policy is very much like 'drunk driving' internally while on the international stage it's like sailing against the current." [My Emphasis]

There's not much more to add aside for asking barflies to read the entire editorial.

Posted by: karlof1 | Nov 18 2020 20:12 utc | 13

Neocons view war as necessary

These neocons do not give up. They have a near religious vision of the world where America controls everything and everyone. Where American law is obeyed everywhere and where “American greatness” defines the human race.

Many of Trump's followers view his role as near religious. They believe that God and Jesus are blessing all of his actions and that he can do no wrong.
Many of Trump’s followers view his role as near religious. They believe that God and Jesus are blessing all of his actions and that he can do no wrong.

Heck!

They even made a coin to commemorate this event, or at least to keep the Wuhan bat-eating Chinese narrative alive.

  • What? You don’t think that this is all part of a long-term, well-thought-out plan? Something that has been on-going for years. (At least one year to design and produce a new coin, with 2.5 years being the norm.)
  • What? You don’t think that a narcissist like Trump wouldn’t create some type of monument or edifice to record his glories? Like a “special coin”?

What can I say?

The coincidences in America during this period of COVID-19 coronavirus are astounding!
As I have mentioned before, the various world-lines are all interconnected with rapid trans-reality communication. This leads to some odd and strange phenomena.  Nothing is more poignant than when it is associated with a global situation or catastrophe. As is the case with the COVID-19, coronavirus.

.

Do you think that this entire bio-weapons attack was not planned and unleashed upon China as part of a long-term plan?

Donald Trump has a coin collection of all of his battles. Check it out, and guess which coin has been recently added to this collection?

Can you possibly be serious?

The signs are everywhere. Just little drips and drabs by the spooks involved in this activity. Check out this vehicle that was abandoned in the parking lot of an Airport in Australia BEFORE the CNY eve outbreak.

This vehicle was abandoned (who abandons a BMW?) in an Australian parking lot BEFORE the Coronavirus is officially named as “COVID-19”.

Just another coincidence

Vehicle abandoned in an Australian parking lot BEFORE the COVID-19 outbreak in China on Chinese CNY. Remember, that it takes a minimum of six months to make a custom license plate in Australia.
Vehicle abandoned in an Australian parking lot BEFORE the COVID-19 outbreak in China on Chinese CNY. Remember, that it takes a minimum of six months to make a custom license plate in Australia. COVID-19 wasn’t even officially named that until after March 2020.

.

The time-table is still in play.

The Time Table is still active.

Even though things are not going well in America now, the time-table for the grand plan is still alive and active. Some of the things, taken alone are meaningless. But taken as a whole in it’s entirety, show a very dangerous picture of events.

  • Trump, right on schedule, declared himself a “war President”.
  • Right on schedule sent two complete invasion carrier groups to the South China Sea.
  • Right on schedule, military leadership teams went into underground secure facilities.
  • Right on schedule, “low yield field nuclear weapons” were placed on military forces in the South Pacific.
  • Right on schedule, Australia military is working with American military “advisers”.
  • Right on schedule, Trump put Americans on notice to leave China and return to the USA.
  • Right on Schedule, all air travel between China and the USA came to an end.
  • Right on Schedule, demands for seizing Chinese assets and defaulting on Chinese loans.
  • Trump made “arrangements” for a transition of power if he were to lose the election. I have no idea what that means, but if the players like Pompeo are still in office, then that means that the situation will only get worse. They will continue their plans.
  • Right on schedule, FIVE complete carrier battle groups were repositioned in the North Pacific for “exercises”.
  • Right on schedule, TWO additional complete carrier battle groups are in transit to the South China Sea.
  • Right on schedule, the UK is going to add their carrier battle group to the American carrier groups in the South China Sea.

All of this is worrisome.

Eight (8x) carrier battle groups are hanging out all around China.

Each carrier group with two carrier. A large and a "small" carrier.  Three in the south China Sea (one British) and five near Guam. Each group has it's own attachment of Marine assault forces and landing craft.

Nothing good can come of this.

Expect some “heat”

I expect things to go “hot” sometime between 2020 and 2023. And when I mean “hot”, I mean a shooting war with America making the first action. It would be some structured military action against either China or Russia, and it involving “safe” low-yield nuclear weapons.

And…

And, China responding… to an exceptionally vulnerable America, upon America soil.

Don't ever mistakenly believe that this event will be limited to the South China Sea. It won't. Any military action against China will result in military action against Americans inside of America.

To think otherwise is wishful thinking and a rookie mistake.

America is really fragile. If you think it’s a mess now, imagine what global thermonuclear war would be like…

  • A nuclear strike on Mono Lake will render all of California into a radioactive dry desert wasteland for centuries.
  • A nuclear strike on New York City would destroy all of American industry as all of the “big” American companies are “public” and listed on the stock exchange. Wipe out the stock exchange, and you create a situation where no one can get paid. Companies all over America will collapse.
  • A nation where it’s every man for himself, and where over half the population has guns cannot be considered to unify under a national emergency. COVID-19 taught us that.

This is for certain if Trump gets a second term of office.

A slightly better situation is that he is out of office and a new President takes over. Still, the situation is still in play and many things are set in motions that cannot be stopped…

In any event…

I also predict that it will not go as any one expects, and that America will be devastated, the globe would we completely turned on it’s head, and both America and China would suffer.

  • America, a nation that never experienced a “real” war on it’s soil, would be reduced to a balkanized nightmare similar to modern day Yemen, only without potable water, and reliable sources of electricity.
  • China, long used to war, strife, and conflict for the last 5000 years, would simply dust themselves off and rebuild all over again.

Those nations that picked the wrong nation to align itself with would face similar hardships. Which is why I strongly advocate 100% neutrality in Geo-political efforts. If a nation is adjacent to one of the two powers, their smartest move would be to align with their closest neighbor.

Let’s hope that this prediction does not transpire.

Other opinions

Or, I could just have an over active imagination. Right?

To paraphrase some of the responses I have read…

Everyone knows that America would never even contemplate such a thing. NEVER. After all, it’s currently fighting eight wars, has 800 military bases and 14 carrier battle groups. America is way too busy to devote time and effort to fighting China. Why fight China when it’s much easier to fight in Somalia, Yemen and Syria?

And Trump and his advisors are fine God-fearing folk.  Trump holds “prayer meetings” in the Oval Office. With a God-fearing leader, Pompeo and Bolton would never advocate a war against China. The idea that a neocon wants war is well…silly.

There is no such thing as The Thucydides Trap. It’s historical gibberish.

Trump wants a fair trade arrangement where everyone wins, and the Chinese are just evil, bad and eat bat soup. They are filthy foul liars. They steal and are the scourge of the planet.

Right?

And there was an article from the BBC talking about stripping China of it’s Sovereign immunity because of the COVID-19, and we have this response.

With my personal duty out of the way of attacking the trolls and hopefully driving them back under the bridges from whence they came, I would like to ask if there is any way to "strip a country of its sovereign immunity" without a war? 

I mean, isn't that the whole point of wars? To eliminate or protect a nation's sovereignty? Isn't trying to eliminate another country's sovereignty by just passing a law kinda like trying to simplify math by passing a law to make π=3 ? If you want your sovereignty-stripping law to have any meaning, then you have to enforce it, and that enforcement will look a whole lot like a war, regardless of what you want to call it.

Unlike Americans the Chinese are not stupid. They have long known of the approach of the obligatory scene of the Thucydides Trap and have been preparing for it as best they can (which happens to be some quite good preparations).

... 

I'll let the empire's trolls in on a little secret: The Chinese can lose every single ship they send to the "Battle of the Xisha Islands" and still win the war. That's because industrial capacity is important in a major war.

-Posted by: William Gruff | May 1 2020 15:48 utc | 33

It’s like a baseball game…

Yes, the USA can take their itemized list, and pencil off the playing field. And China will sway in the wind for a while. But you know what?

China owns the ball the bat, the gloves, the players, the field, the dugouts, and the fencing. While the USA is so proud to have control over the score, it will be China that will control the game. And no wishful thinking is going to change the reality that you need people, factories and skills to make things.

  • Wall street does not make anything.
  • Diversity Officers do not create, build, repair, or structure things.
  • Lawyers and bankers do not put food on tables.
  • Bureaucrats do not provide public transportation, or hospital care.

Thinking that you are accomplishing something by writing about it, comparing it in a spreadsheet, or endlessly debating it on social media is meaningless in the overall scheme of things. Real productive nations make physical things.

And China…

Hate it or love it, is a nation that makes and creates, and builds things. The United States, is a nation that destroys things, then indexes and categorizes the destruction.

The future of the entire world belongs to the builders. Not the destroyers.


Update – 12MAY20

Apparently, since America launched the bio-weapon attack on the Chinese New Year Holiday, and China was forced to go into DEFCON ONE, it has stayed at that state or military readiness.

There is no evidence that the Chinese military has “stood down” or relaxed their defensive posture.

As such, Chinese high-yield nuclear weapons (SLBM with MIRV warheads) have been positioned all around the United States and ready to strike back were any additional neocon military “events” were to take place. This is reasonable. What is unreasonable is to think that China would not take any subsequent action.

Which brings me to this report…

"Reports coming in from some of my former colleagues during my years with the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force indicate the US Military is concerned there may be a submerged Chinese missile submarine directly off the coast of San Diego, CA as of abut 4:00 PM eastern US time, Monday, May 11."

-Hall Turner

Ya don’t think?

Gosh, how stupid can these people be?

If you launch a WMD (Weapon of Mass Destruction) against a major power (COVID-19B Lethal), you can most certainly expect them to react. Or do you believe that they are political idiots with the brain of a snail? Do you think that they will continue to just “take the hits”? Do you think that they will go “protest” at the UN?

Update – 13MAY20

Messages are being sent to Trump.

China fires its latest underwater nuclear missile into spotlight with science prize. The People’s Liberation Army (PLA) Rocket Force is developing its third-generation SLBM JL-3, with a range of over 12,000km (7,450 miles), which would allow it to hit the United States if the missile were launched from the Chinese coast. https://lnkd.in/gE4MG7F

Update – 23MAY20

Trump is not listening to the messages though.

The Trump administration has discussed whether to conduct the first U.S. nuclear test explosion since 1992 in a move that would have far-reaching consequences for relations with other nuclear powers and reverse a decades-long moratorium on such actions, said a senior administration official and two former officials familiar with the deliberations.

Ai! It's like a bratty snot-nosed kid playing around with a loaded gun.

Update 25MAY20

And Trump is being obstinate about all this.

Navy Sends Subs to Sea as Message to China

The US Navy has mobilized it’s attack subs against China. I guess the four lone “boomer” subs are too much of a threat.

The Pacific Fleet Submarine Force took the unusual step this month of announcing that all of its forward-deployed subs were simultaneously conducting "contingency response operations " at sea in the Western Pacific--downplaying the notion that Navy forces have been hampered by COVID-19.

The sub force said the missions were mounted in support of the Pentagon's "free and open Indo-Pacific " policy aimed at countering China's expansionism in the South China Sea.

At least seven submarines, and likely more--including all four Guam-based attack submarines, the San Diego-based USS Alexandria and multiple Hawaii-based vessels--are part of the effort.

The action also highlights the Pentagon's desire to be flexible and unpredictable in "great power " competition with China and Russia.
"Our operations are a demonstration of our willingness to defend our interests and freedoms under international law, " Rear Adm. Blake Converse, Pacific sub force commander, who is based at Pearl Harbor, said in a May 8 release.

Attack submarines maintain an outsize stealth capability to sink ships with torpedoes, fire Tomahawk cruise missiles and conduct covert surveillance while keeping adversaries guessing their location.

The Navy recently has maintained a flotilla of warships in the Western Pacific as a show of force and proof that COVID-19 hasn't significantly degraded its capabilities, with the United States and China long trading barbs over military activities in the South China Sea and increasingly so over each other's pandemic response.

China has been accused of intensifying its occupation of man-made islands and bullying other nations in the region while much of the world has been focused on the pandemic.

Geopolitical intelligence platform Stratfor said that the U.S. and China have maintained a "robust operational pace in the South China Sea " amid heightening tensions and COVID-19--signs that point to continued escalation after the virus wanes.

When the Navy advertises the presence of its usually unseen submarines, it's often to make a point with an adversary. The Navy released a photo of the Los Angeles-class sub Alexandria transiting Apra Harbor in Guam on May 5.

As the U.S. military addresses COVID-19 at home, "we remain focused on our national security missions around the world, " Defense Secretary Mark Esper said the same day.

"Many countries have turned inward to recover from the pandemic, and in the meantime our strategic competitors are attempting to exploit this crisis to their benefit at the expense of others, " Esper said.
He accused the Chinese Communist Party of ramping up a "disinformation campaign " to shift blame for the virus and burnish its image. All the while, "we continue to see aggressive behavior by the PLA (People's Liberation Army ) in the South China Sea, from threatening a Philippine navy ship to sinking a Vietnamese fishing boat and intimidating other nations from engaging in offshore oil and gas development."

Esper said two Navy ships conducted freedom of navigation operations in the South China Sea the week before "to send a clear message to Beijing that we continue to protect freedom of navigation and commerce for all nations large and small."

The guided-missile cruiser USS Bunker Hill conducted a "FONOP " in the Spratly Islands, and the destroyer USS Barry sailed twice through the Taiwan Strait and through the Paracel Islands in disputed territory that China claims as its own.

"These provocative acts by the U.S. side ... have seriously violated China's sovereignty and security interests, deliberately increased regional security risks and could easily trigger an unexpected incident, " the South China Morning Post quoted a Chinese military command saying after the Barry's Paracel passage.

The aircraft carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt has been sidelined in Guam since late March after experiencing an outbreak of the new coronavirus among its 4, 800-member crew.

U.S. Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor has been quick to note the ongoing deployment of other assets in the region, including transits of the South China Sea by the littoral combat ship USS Gabrielle Giffords, the destroyer USS Rafael Peralta sailing in the East China Sea and the destroyer USS McCampbell passing through the Taiwan Strait on Wednesday.

These are not to be viewed as a threat to the Chinese navy. Instead they are a threat to any one that ships products from China. This threat is that the United States will start sinking all cargo and container traffic out of China. As (until the BRI is completed) the entire world relies on Chinese sea container shipments.

Update June 2020

China has sped up it’s production of nuclear launcher subs, and has greatly increased it’s production of hyper-velocity missiles.

China Just Added Two New Nuclear Missile Submarines to Its …

2020-6-8 · They are also armed with Anti-Ship Cruise Missiles, wire-guided and wake-homing torpedoes and mines. Perhaps of greater concern, the Chinese have already test-fired an emerging JL-3 nuclear armed intercontinental ballistic missile with a reported range of more that 5,600 miles, according to a 2018 CSIS report. The missile is solid fueled.

Update 18JUL20

Now the Trump White-house is pushing the “America is invincible narrative”.

American media are telling the world that Aircraft carriers are unsinkable, and that America with British support is going to “kick some ass” and “teach China a lesson”…

That America has every right to perform “exercises” off the coast of China…

And that China is no match for the superiority of American military…

The sad thing is that Trump and Pompeo has purposely ignored internal voices warning that China has achieved peer-level capabilities and that the American military (while enormous) has greatly eroded in capability since the cold war. They warn that China is not someone that you casually attack and not expect some painful retribution.

China is a serious, serious nation that does not play.
China is a serious, serious nation that does not play.

Update 25JUL20

Trump STEPS UP the “game”.

Pompeo makes a speech that pretty much says that everything that America did to suppress China did not work. That the old techniques must end, and a series of “new” techniques must begin.

Overall, most of the world, doesn’t feel very comforted by the Pompeo speech.

RTop/ed analysis of Pompeo's China containment policy plan, "The Elements of the China Challenge”:

"Although it is hardly atypical of the President Trump administration, the document is significant because it represents yet another attempt by Secretary of State Mike Pompeo to immortalize his Cold War confrontation between the US and China, bind the succeeding administration to it and most strikingly, institutionalize anti-Beijing ideas into American bureaucracy.

"The push against China by the Trump White House is not designed to be a passing phase, but a permanent and defining change of direction, for which this entire term in office has sought to prepare. 

This document aims to be a blueprint for long-term ideological struggle and a series of aspirations for maintaining hegemony, an affirmation of priority and a statement that things cannot “go back to normal”. But it makes no guarantee that the US can ever adequately understand China, or that it will succeed in its aims.

"The reference to George F. Kennan in pitching this document is appealing given the historical parallels, but it is not an exact fit and this, in turn, helps shine a light on Pompeo’s own ignorance of China. It might be described in one simple sentence: China is not the Soviet Union and the ideological stakes are not quite the same." [Emphasis Original]

While I'd agree that differences in ideology exist between China and the Outlaw US Empire, it is the Empire that's constructed upon and is living the Big Lie inherent within Neoliberalism, while China continues to perfect its already very efficient system of Collective Libertarianism through its revamped Democratic Centralism. The really big fundamental difference is that China has absolutely no need to lie to its people, whereas the exact opposite's true within the Neoliberal West. 

After a lengthy period of public input, the government meets and eventually publishes its 5-year plan of development, which is contained within an even larger plan that's also been devised with public input and once put together is also published for public consumption. And since 2010, all plans have existed within China's UN 2030 Development plan, which is also available to the public. 

In a great many respects. China is a more open society than the Outlaw US Empire. Why? Because it doesn't need to lie to its citizens because it fights against the corruption that provides the reason for such lies--China has no Financial Parasitism it must mask from its citizens whereas the Outlaw US Empire is drowning in a massive sea of corruption that is killing it. Clearly, Pompeo wants that to continue.

Posted by: karlof1 | Nov 18 2020 19:59 utc | 7

Further, delusional State Department policy planning paper sees the light.

The Elements of the China Challenge (pdf)

Axios calls it a “Kennan-style paper”. In 1946 George Kennan, then Deputy Chief of Mission of the United States to the USSR, wrote his ‘Long Telegram’ that defined U.S. Cold War policy towards the Soviet Union for the next decades. And we all know how that worked out.

But the China paper which the State Department published is not comparable to the ‘Long Telegram’. It is a propaganda piece that reflects the naive views of the outgoing Secretary of State Mike Pompous.

Pompous’ premise is that the Chinese people hate the Communist Party of China that runs the country and that China is not a democracy. But that is not what the people of China believe:

Charted below are the survey results from 20 countries, and they illustrate some startling beliefs — not least that 73% of Chinese consider China to be democratic, whereas only 49% of Americans believe the same about the U.S.

Read this thread to find out why that is the case:

ShanghaiPanda @thinking_panda – 9:24 UTC · Sep 15, 2020

On twitter, as a Chinese, the most frequently asked question for me is, why don't you oppose the CPC? Why don't Chinese support western style democracy? Why do Chinese people support President Xi, who has no votes? Now, I'm going to tell them why.(1/N)

Also this one.

The recommendations of the State Department paper listed by Axios are not practical steps but pure ideology:

The blueprint: The paper lays out “ten tasks” for the U.S. to accomplish.

  1. Promoting constitutional government and civil society at home.
  2. Maintaining the world’s strongest military.
  3. Fortifying the rules-based international order.
  4. Reevaluating its alliance system.
  5. Strengthening its alliance system and creating new international organizations to promote democracy and human rights.
  6. Cooperating with China when possible and constraining Beijing when appropriate.
  7. Educating Americans about the China challenge.
  8. Train a new generation of public servants who understand great-power competition with China.
  9. Reforming the U.S. education system to help students understand the responsibility of citizenship in a complex information age.
  10. Championing the principles of freedom in word and in deed.

Note especially the points 7 to 10.

They have nothing to do with China. They call for domestic propaganda, more domestic propaganda and even more domestic propaganda. How brainwashing and stupidifying one’s own people is supposed to challenge China is beyond me.

Update 17AUG20

Military action on the South-West Tier of the BRI.

The Port of Beirut poses the biggest geostrategic threat to American power projection because China’s Silk Road is fast creeping towards the docks at Beirut Port. The US, having recently forced Israel to cancel its Haifa rail contract with China, has dampened the Chinese advance in the eastern Mediterranean, and what remains now in the path of the US is the Beirut Port. The US must either invade it to block the Chinese geostrategic mission creep, or else destroy it.[MORE]

Seems that Trump authorized the use of 6kt mini-nuke to destroy the port of Beirut. This was conducted by aircraft of the Israel Air Force, and they apparently used two missiles.

  • Gabriel anti ship missile.
  • Israeli Delilah missile carrying a 6kt mini-nuke.

Radiation readings in Europe has confirmed that a nuclear warhead was used.

Radiation detected from a nuclear explosion.
Radiation detected from a nuclear explosion.

Trump has admitted to participation and direction of this attack. But he did not confess to using nuclear weapons.

This effort puts a immediate pause on the Chinese Belt and Road initiative with a port on the Mediterranean sea.

Update 25AUG20

Trump and Pompeo are pushing, pushing, pushing…

China has gone from “Most Favored Trading Partner” status in 2016 under President Obama…

… to an “Enemy of America” under trump in 2020. It’s a 180 degree turn in a global relationship.

US lawmakers have introduced a bill to change the way the federal government refers to the leader of China. 

The ‘Name the Enemy Act’ would require that official US government documents instead refer to the head of state according to his or her role as head of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). This implies the new bill stands to prohibit the use of the term “president”.

-President No More? US Moves to Ban Chinese Leader Xi Jinping’s Title

And China, being what it is, is not blind to what is going on…

Here are some of the key points.

1. On the trade war front, Beijing won’t shut down US businesses already operating in China. But companies which want to enter the market in finance, information technology, healthcare and education services will not be approved.

2. Beijing won’t dump all its overwhelming mass of US Treasuries in one go, but – as it already happens – divestment will accelerate. Last year, that amounted to $100 billion. Up to the end of 2020, that could reach $300 billion.

3. The internationalization of the yuan, also predictably, will be accelerated. That will include configuring the final parameters for clearing US dollars through the CHIPS Chinese system – foreseeing the incandescent possibility Beijing might be cut off from SWIFT by the Trump administration or whoever will be in power at the White House after January 2021.

4. On what is largely interpreted across China as the “full spectrum war” front, mostly Hybrid War, the PLA has been put into Stage 3 alert – and all leaves are canceled for the rest of 2020. There will be a concerted drive to increase all-round defense spending to 4% of GDP and accelerate the development of nuclear weapons. Details are bound to emerge during the Central Committee meeting in October.

5. The overall emphasis is on a very Chinese spirit of self-reliance, and building what can be defined as a national economic “dual circulation” system: the consolidation of the Eurasian integration project running in parallel to a global yuan settlement mechanism.

Inbuilt in this drive is what has been described as “to firmly abandon all illusions about the United States and conduct war mobilization with our people. We shall vigorously promote the war to resist US aggression (…) We will use a war mindset to steer the national economy (…) Prepare for the complete interruption of relations with the US.”

It’s unclear as it stands if these are only trial balloons disseminated across Chinese public opinion or decisions reached at the “invisible” Beidaihe. So all eyes will be on what kind of language this alarming configuration will be packaged when the Central Committee presents its strategic planning in October. Significantly, that will happen only a few weeks before the US election.

It’s all about continuity

All of the above somewhat mirrors a recent debate in Amsterdam on what constitutes the Chinese “threat” to the West. Here are the key points.

1. China constantly reinforces its hybrid economic model – which is an absolute rarity, globally: neither totally publicly owned nor a market economy.

2. The level of patriotism is staggering: once the Chinese face a foreign enemy, 1.4 billion people act as one.

3. National mechanisms have tremendous force: absolutely nothing blocks the full use of China’s financial, material and manpower resources once a policy is set.

4. China has set up the most comprehensive, back to back industrial system on the planet, without foreign interference if need be (well, there’s always the matter of semiconductors to Huawei to be solved).

China plans not only in years, but in decades. Five year plans are complemented by ten year plans and as the meeting chaired by Xi showed, 15 year plans. The Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) is in fact a nearly 40-year plan, designed in 2013 to be completed in 2049.

And continuity is the name of the game – when one thinks that the Five Principles of Peaceful Coexistence, first developed in 1949 and then expanded by Zhou Enlai at the Bandung conference in 1955 are set in stone as China’s foreign policy guidelines.

-China: everything proceeding according to plan

You all can buy all the guns and ammo you want. You can read all the social media that you are able to. You can stock up on food and toilet paper…

… but you are wasting your time unless you invest in iodine pills, and Geiger counters. Any attack on either Russia or China will result in almost all American cities destroyed in large, enormous nuclear explosions.

Update 26AUG20

China launches four of it’s “Aircraft Carrier Killer Missiles” into the South China Sea. DoD can confirm that the Chinese military launched four medium-range missiles Wednesday from mainland China,” a defense official said.”The missiles impacted in the South China Sea between Hainan Island and the Paracel Islands,” the official added. “The launch appears to have been part of a previously announced exercise.”

Update 3SEP20

A Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile launched from Vandenberg Air Force Base on Wednesday 2SEP20 at 12:03 a.m. The test launch used an unarmed missile that traveled over 4,000 miles, at a speed of more than 15,000 mph.

9SEP20 Update

Apparently, the China Government agrees with my appraisal. From a message group that I belong to…

Chinese propaganda getting good. Unlike West propaganda, Chinese includes evidence. exactly consistent with Uriah Heep's version. 

Thanks Jeff, but Kevin it may be a conspiracy that Heep told it in real time and official docu youtubed 8 months later.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEo3qk-4yx8

Head’s up. I’m Uriah Heep and that is my interview that they are talking about.

10SEP20

On September 19, 2020, China’s Ministry of Commerce (MOFCOM) published the Provisions on the Unreliable Entity List. That was one day after the U.S. Commerce Department announced its ban on American users downloading the Chinese app WeChat and video-sharing app TikTok.

This article takes corresponding measures against the following actions of FOREIGN ENTITIES:

1) Endanger China’s national sovereignty security, or development interests
2) Violating the principles of normal market transactions, interrupting normal transactions with Chinese entities, or adopting discriminatory measures against Chinese entities, seriously damaging the legal rights of the entity.

3OCT20 Update.

After an entire year in blaming China for the coronavirus. Donald Trump (after a very bad public debate with his election opponent) announced that he has the COVID-19. And was flown to a hospital within a thirty minute drive of Fort Detrick (the presumptive point of origin of the COVID-19 and all American bio-weapons programs).

Minutes before the announcement, American “doomsday planes” were launched. As they control communication with the SLBM MIRV’ s that are housed in the “boomer” submarines around the world.

A look at the bigger picture is in order. Forget about all the “details”. Just name another President (any President) that [1] not only sent three assault carrier groups to the Chinese coast (with a total of five aircraft carriers), [2] launched a series of viral attacks simultaneously with [3] a hysterically-active anti-China propaganda campaign, and [4] went after Chinese industry to the extent that he did, [5] only to have nuclear ships, subs, planes, and ICBMs on active on-call status.

Name one.

If this is not a preparation for a full-scale nuclear war, I do not know what is.

12 OCT 20 Update.

It appears that President Trump might not win reelection. And as a result (I assume) there has been a flood of articles that basically state that no matter who wins the 2020 election, the American foreign policy will not change. It’s a dominant narrative leading up to the election date.

“Biden will continue the Anti-China policies of Trump.”

Imagine that!

A typical screen capture.
NIKKEI is a 100% American State Department media outlet designed to manipulation discourse in the Asian-Pacific Rim. It is down line from Mike Pompeo.

.

Seriously! This is absurd!

Yet, why all the articles? Really?

The latest article from the Moon Over Alabama is a piece titled “U.S. Elections Do Not Change Its Foreign Policies”. It’s part of a nine week long period of articles that pretty much posits that the hybrid-war with China will continue whether Trump is in Office or Biden. The articles argue the same points made by others. Over and over. It’s all a rehash.

Screen Shot.
Screen Shot.

The MoA is perhaps the most logical. But all in all they are just nonsense. And they actually are NONSENSE. These articles assume a third grade reading comprehension, with a knowledge of recent history that evaporates within months.

Listen up boys and girls…

Elections DO change American Foreign Policy.

Under Bush, and Obama China has “Most Favored Nation Status”. Today, the status with China is “Enemy” (especially considering the names of the bills being pushed through congress. Namely the “Name the Enemy act”.)

That’s a pretty big change. I would say. Wouldn’t you? 

But according to all the articles… “American foreign policy does not change when the presidency changes”. Yet, when Trump was elected the Foreign Polices all changed drastically. In fact, NOT ONE SINGLE POLICY stayed the same.

So…

… what is the true and real purpose of this nonsense?

To convince people that nothing is going to change if Biden is elected? When the fact and truth is the exact opposite. As we used to say in the States “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining.” 

My points. 

  • [1] This entire premise is a big bunch of nonsense.
  • [2] This premise is being promoted in all of the media; mainstream, alt-right, alt-left.
  • [3] Our most treasured sources for alternative journalism have been tainted and corrupted to a point where they too, now regurgitate the ‘approved” government narratives. 

Think!

Think people!

So for a fun exercise, can anyone tell me which foreign polices that Trump DID NOT CHANGE. As to provide some validity to this onslaught narrative? Because if all of these articles are correct, then there must be evidence to base it all on. So, what policies did President Trump leave intact?

The answer is; NONE. He tore up of every single policy that Biden and Obama worked together on. Those that the did not tear up, he openly flaunted and violated. But now, amazingly, Biden is going to embrace the Trump neocon methodology?

Give me a break!

https://www.moonofalabama.org/2020/10/why-us-elections-do-not-change-its-foreign-policies.html#comments

  • Remember boys and girls, what’s the purpose of having a “democracy” if you cannot change the leadership when you are unhappy with their policies?
  • What’s the point if both political parties have the same point of view and the same policies?
  • What kind of government do you have then?

Here’s a infographic showing the differences in the two political parties.

The differences in the two political parties.

Tracking this narrative on my LinkedIN account pretty much indicates that the (American government) ‘Bot’s are promoting this narrative. The exact same venues that had the ‘bot attacks on China all throughout 2020.

  • That Biden would embraced Donald Trump anti-China stance and policies.
  • That Biden did not care that Trump tore up every one of the polices and treaties that he developed in the previous 8 years of the Obama administration.
  • That there are no changes in policy during an election. That democracies do not change polices and elections have no no effect in policy changes.

I cannot fully understand why the Trump Administration is promoting this narrative right now before the election, unless [1] it expects to lose, and [2] is trying to create a “fall-back position” where the neocons can argue that…

"Biden MUST continue the Trump anti-China policies as it was what the American people expect."

Never the less, the 2020 election will see drastic changes away from the Trump Administration neocon “war Hawk” ultimatums, to a much more balanced and cooperative foreign policy. The Republican party are “war hawks”, with a very small and dangerous group known as neocons that LIVE FOR WAR, and that is who is running the Trump White House. The Democrat party are “doves” that seek consensus and agreements. To believe that somehow Trump’s neocon administration has fundamentally changed the nature of American political discourse is delusional.

After Trump withdrew from the World Health Organization — in protest of what he claim was a bias toward China — Biden this summer pledged to rejoin the U.N.'s health agency on his first day in office. Biden is a “globalist at heart,” wrote Natasha Kassam, a research fellow at Sydney’s Lowy Institute political think tank, in the Guardian.

-MSN

In truth, we can see that many (if not all) of the Trump Administration policies will end, be reversed or modified beyond recognition. All these stories out of the American media are partial and half-truths. Biden will need to deal with the Chinese situation. Primarily because Trump has made such a mess of things, and China is on the rise as a ascending power. Biden will need to sort out Americas role in this rise, for good or bad. But hopefully one that isn’t as contentious as Trumps has been.

Such as indicated herein…

Presidential candidate Joe Biden, were he to win the November election, would change U.S.-China policy, Eurasia Group founder Ian Bremmer said in a press briefing.

-How a Biden Presidency Would Slowly Change U.S. Policy on ...

And…

Biden pledges to restore U.S. global leadership and reverse many of Trump’s foreign policy actions.

-Where Biden and Trump stand on key issues

And…

Although transitions of power can always include abrupt changes, the shift from Trump to Biden - from one president who sought to undermine established norms and institutions to another who has vowed to restore the established order - will be among the most startling in American history.

Biden's top advisers have spent months quietly working on how best to implement his agenda, with hundreds of transition officials preparing to get to work inside various federal agencies. They have assembled a book filled with his campaign commitments to help guide their early decisions.

Biden is planning to set up a coronavirus task force on Monday, in recognition that the global pandemic will be the primary issue that he must confront. The task force, which could begin meeting within days, will be co-chaired by former surgeon general Vivek Murthy and David Kessler, a former Food and Drug Administration commissioner.

But there has also been a recognition of those around him that he may have to lean more on executive actions that he had once hoped. He can reorient various federal agencies and regulations, and he can adopt a different posture on the world stage.

-CHRON

Why?

Because Trumps policies have been an unmitigated disaster.

13OCT20 Update

Fake anti-China ‘bots and accounts are being discovered, rooted out, and removed from industrial and career websites. This is from LinkedIN…

Series of fake identities posting anti-China narratives throughout all of 2020.

15OCT20 Update

American “big data” are busy manipulating and massaging all data to make America look strong, powerful and healthy. This is being caught in bits and pieces, here and there. USA media will not cover it. I assume compliance.

Well…

This is obviously a fabrication. If this were true all the global stock markets would show signs of serious collapse. But they didn’t. So why is the data being revised backwards? The only thing that I can think of is to make America appear healthier than it actually is, economically.

As far as I am concerned, all data from the United States and England are subject to the need for careful review. I cannot help but question it’s validity. And you shouldn’t either.

Here’s another example, from the same source,…

According to this, the United States is the best prepared. And China is just so-so prepared. This was written in 2020, but used 2019 data, while the United States was absolutely floundering from the COVID-19, and China was successfully returning to normal after it dealt with the pandemic.

16OCT20 Update

A second new virus (perhaps another) COVID has hit China, middle of October.

It will probably be named COVID-20 in a few months. It is NOT a variation of COVID-19, as a “second wave”. It is a completely new, and completely different virus. By all reports it is much worse than COVID-19. More lethal. More contagious. More dangerous.

It is being handled differently in different regions and provinces.

Latest news in China is sudden lock downs of all restaurants and public venues starting last night at 10PM. This is for the tier one cities. This will be for a minimum of two weeks. Military is still on DEFCON ONE, of course, but the militia are notified to stand ready. 

A different type of COVID is apparently breaking out in China. It is unlike the COVID-19, as it was a alpha genome, and this is a beta genome. What ever the fuck that means. I think it means pineapples and toasters. 

It's not a modified staring of COVID-19 but instead a BRAND NEW virus.

This NEW and UNUSUAL virus is apparently attacking both humans and pigs. It causes violent diarrhea and vomiting, and then your lungs fill up with fluid, it turns to cement and you die.

  • Middle of October 2020.
  • A totally new virus attacks China.

Stand by. It’s too early to do anything about all this. All residences are in scanning mode. Masks are back on. Public establishments (in certain tier one cities) are shut down for two weeks. Military is still on alert. Militia are called on reserve status.

  • American media is clueless.

17OCT20 Update

From MoA. It discusses the fall-back positions (since the suppression of China) failed. Here, the concentration is on the QUAD alliance building. Which is nothing more than an Asian NATO like structure under the control of the US Military.

U.S. Fails To Find Allies For Waging War On China

The U.S. wants to counter China's growing economic and political standing in the world.

The Obama administration had attempted a 'pivot to Asia' by building a low tariff economic zone via the Trans Pacific Partnership (TPP). It would have excluded China. The Trump administration rejected the TPP and withdrew from it. It launched an economic war against China by increasing tariffs on Chinese products, prohibiting high tech supplies to Chinese manufacturers, and by denying Chinese companies access to its market. 

It has also tried to build a military coalition that would help it to threaten China. It revived the 2007-2008 Quadrilateral Security Dialogue and rebranded it as the U.S.-Australia-India-Japan Consultations Quad. The aim was to turn it into an Asian NATO under U.S. command:

The U.S. State Department’s No. 2 diplomat said Monday that Washington was aiming to “formalize” growing strategic ties with India, Japan and Australia in a forum known as “the Quad” — a move experts say is implicitly designed to counter China in the Indo-Pacific region. 

“It is a reality that the Indo-Pacific region is actually lacking in strong multilateral structures. They don’t have anything of the fortitude of NATO, or the European Union,” 

-U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Stephen Biegun said in an online seminar on the sidelines of the annual U.S.-India Strategic Partnership Forum.

“There is certainly an invitation there at some point to formalize a structure like this,” he added.

But it turns out that neither Australia nor Japan nor India have any interest in a hard stand towards China. All look to China as an important trade partner. They know that any conflict with it would cost them dearly.

On October 6 Secretary of State Mike Pompeo flew to Tokyo for a meeting with the other foreign ministers of the Quad. He soon found that no one would join him in his militant talk:

In a meeting with foreign ministers from Japan, India and Australia in Tokyo, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo urged on Tuesday that they strengthen their quartet of democracies to resist an increasingly assertive China.

...

If, as it appeared, Pompeo was pushing other members of the Quad to take the U.S. side in a confrontation with China, he did not score any ringing public endorsements, and his remarks clashed with those of his host. Pompeo aimed straight at the Chinese Communist Party in remarks before the four nations' top diplomats sat down to talk.

"As partners in this Quad, it is more critical now than ever that we collaborate to protect our people and partners from the CCP's exploitation, corruption and coercion," he said.

But Japan's chief government spokesman, Katsunobu Kato, insisted at a press briefing Tuesday: 

"This Quad meeting is not being held with any particular country in mind."

Australia and India were similarly reluctant to say anything that would potentially offend China.

Pompeo's initiative has failed. 

The former Indian ambassador M. K. Bhadrakumar explains why the Quad won't fly:

China cannot be beaten since, unlike the USSR, it is part of the same global society as the US. Look at the sheer spread of the US-China battlefields — global governance, geoeconomics, trade, investment, finance, currency usage, supply chain management, technology standards and systems, scientific collaboration and so on. It speaks of China’s vast global reach. 

This wasn’t the case with USSR. 

Above all, China has no messianic ideology to export and prefers to set a model by virtue of its performance. It is not in the business of instigating regime change in other countries, and actually gets along rather well with democracies.

...

The US created the ASEAN but today no Asian security partner wants to choose between America and China. The ASEAN cannot be repurposed to form a coalition to counter China. Thus, no claimant against China in the South China Sea is prepared to join the US in its naval fracas with China.

China has resources, including money, to offer its partners, whereas, the US budget is in chronic deficit and even routine government operations must now be funded with debt. It needs to find resources needed to keep its human and physical infrastructure at levels competitive with those of China and other great economic powers.

Why on earth should India get entangled in this messy affair whose climax is a foregone conclusion?

...

China has no need to fight wars when it is already winning.

The U.S. also tried to incite its European NATO allies to take a stand against China:

NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg warned Saturday that China's increasing influence had created a "fundamental shift in the global balance of power" that should not be overlooked. In an interview with Germany's Welt am Sonntag newspaper, that was released in advance, the Norwegian official said that Beijing had the second-largest defense budget in the world after the United States, and was investing heavily in nuclear weapons and long-range missiles that could reach Europe.

"One thing is clear: China is coming ever closer to Europe's doorstep," he said. "NATO allies must face this challenge together."

That initiative will sink in Europe just as fast as the Quad initiative has sunk in Asia and for the very same reasons. China is not an ideological or military danger to Europe. It is an economic behemoth and relation with it need to be carefully handled. They require respect and talks and not saber rattling.

China has overtaken the U.S. as the EU's biggest trading partner:

In the first seven months of 2020, China surpassed the United States to become the biggest trading partner of the European Union (EU), said Eurostat, the EU's statistics organization.

...

The EU's imports from China increased by 4.9 per cent year-on-year in the January-July period, noted Eurostat. According to the Federal Statistical Office of Germany, the largest economy in the EU, China, Germany's biggest trading partner since 2016, surpassed the United States for the first time in the second quarter of this year to become Germany's largest export market, and Germany's exports to China in July have rebounded almost to last year's level.

It is time for the U.S. to look into a mirror and to awake to reality. It is highly indebted country with a way too expensive but ineffective military. Over the last decades its economic role in the world has continuously declined. The constant militant positions and 'do as we say' attitude has alienated its allies. Without allies the U.S. has no chance to defeat China in any potential conflict.

What the U.S. still could do is to honestly compete with China. But that would require humility, a strong industrial policy and a well paid and competitive work force.

Neither of that is in sight.

So…

The fall-back position, for the fall-back position is to incite riots in Thailand via CIA sponsored NGO’s. Then seize control of the government, and allow American military to use their bases for staging locations in South East Asia.

CIA is really pushing this NGO effort to destabilize Southern Asia as part of Pompeo “new way to deal with China” strategy. Nikkei is a “neocon publication” out of America. It is fully funded by the US State department and run by Mike Pompeo.

China is Thailand’s largest and most important trading partner, its largest foreign direct investor, and its largest source of tourism with more Chinese tourists coming to Thailand each year than all Western nations combined.

Thailand is also hosting one of the key routes of China’s One Belt, One Road (OBOR) initiative with construction already ongoing for high-speed rail that will connect China, Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, and eventually Singapore.
Finally and perhaps most upsetting for the US is that Thailand has begun replacing its aging US military hardware through a series of major Thai-Chinese arms deals including the purchasing of main battle tanks, other armored vehicles, naval vessels including up to 3 submarines, and jointly-developed arms programs like the DTI-1 multiple rocket launcher system.

Thailand has also recently replaced some of its US-built Blackhawk helicopters with Russian Mi-17V-5’s.
To counter this, the US has mobilized opposition groups and NGOs it has funded in Thailand for years to now demand the current government step down and the nation’s constitution be rewritten, paving the way for US-backed billionaire-led opposition parties of Thaksin Shinawatra and Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit into power. These are opposition parties that have long served US interests in the past and have explicitly promised to roll back Thai-Chinese relations should they take power again.

US NED Was Behind Hong Kong’s Unrest, and Are Now Behind Thailand’s Unrest
The US was indisputably behind the protests in Hong Kong with the political opposition and protest leaders confirmed to be recipients of US government cash via notorious regime change arm, the National Endowment for Democracy (NED).

Many of the protest leaders literally flew to Washington DC or visited the US consulate in Hong Kong to receive aid, directives, and other forms of support.

In Thailand too, virtually every aspect of the protests are funded by the US government.

Worse still is that the US is attempting to stitch these various movements together to form a regional front against Beijing with Thai protest leaders regularly traveling to meet their US-funded counterparts in Hong Kong and Taiwan and vice versa while creating an online army with the help of US-based social media giants to stack public narratives in their favor.

Neocons believe that war is justified as long as it guarantees that America can control the world. Thus, a neocon can see an “enemy” behind every bush, every action, and inside every cell phone APP.

Historically, the original neocons were a small group of mostly Jewish liberal intellectuals who, in the 1960s and 70s, grew disenchanted with what they saw as the American reluctance to spend aggressively on the military. Many of these neocons worked in the 1970s for Democratic Senator Henry “Scoop” Jackson, a staunch anti-communist.

Neocon is short for neoconservative, which adds the neo-, or “new,” prefix to conservative. Today, they stand within both American political parties. Arguing in favor of war, conflict and CIA intervention everywhere.

One of the primary characteristics of neocons is the belief that America must rule the world, and maintain that rule by aggressive and free unencumbered use of military might.

Mid-October Update

Apparently, while the United States Navy was conducting “maneuvers” in the South China Sea, with the five carrier assault groups and Marine Landing / Attack forces, as well as with the entire British carrier fleet…

…something else was happening simultaneously.

Well reported in the mainstream press, but no one was putting “two plus two” together. These strange “tictac” shaped UFO’s started to appear and “move freely” all over American military bases inside of America. At THE SAME TIME as the American Navy was “probing the Chinese coastal defenses“.

Whether they are “aliens” or not is a good question.

One thing is for certain, and that is the technology involved in these craft are far up and above (perhaps centuries) more advanced than anything the United States has fielded. They can “pop” into existence out of no-where. They are immune to radar, and thermal signatures. They can accelerate to enormous speeds in a short period of time, and they are equally capable of underwater, air and space travel.

The American Navy, who has tracked and monitored these UFO’s, has strongly suggested that these “tictoc” vehicles are of Chinese manufacture and use.

Docs Show Navy Got 'UFO' Patent Granted By Warning Of Similar Chinese Tech Advances Patent documents indicate that the U.S. and China are actively developing radical new craft that seem eerily...

-Docs Show Navy Got 'UFO' Patent Granted By Warning Of Chinese Technology...
“Chinese Tictac” UFO that was buzzing and moving in and out of American military installations and airbases while the American Naval flotilla was busy probing the Chinese Coasts during the Summer of 2020.

21OCT20 Update

A second; MORE Lethal biological attack hits China in October 2020.

Here in China is a semi-alert status since mid month. Everyone is on alert. Military are on full alert, but work and homes are as normal. The primary difference is that there are hyper-diligent monitoring of temperatures and GPS travel histories.

Not well publicized (inside of America or in any of the main-steam or Alternative media of any type) except for a few paragraphs. There is a brand new, never before seen, absolutely novel in biology, virus.

It’s supposed to be much worse than COVID-19. It attacks both humans and swine.

It’s new, and not a second or third wave of the coronavirus.

Though it is in the same family of viruses as the betacoronavirus SARS-CoV-2, which causes the respiratory illness COVID-19 in humans, the scientists said SADS-CoV is an alphacoronavirus that causes gastrointestinal illness in swine.

It’s called SADS-CoV, which is short for “Swine Acute Diarrhea Syndrome Coronavirus” and, yeah, it’s as bad as it sounds. The virus causes severe diarrhea and vomiting and has been especially deadly to young piglets.

Reading between the lines…

China has been on complete all-hands-on-deck military alert for all forms of warfare since January 2020. (You’d never know this if all you read is the American “news”.) They discovered a brand new and “novel coronavirus” this month. This discovery set a number of things in motion. First was the WHO which sent out an alert, and second was a rearming and re-posturing of all military and militia in China. If it wasn’t for their aggressive alert status, this virus would not have been detected, or preventative steps taken.

Again…

[1] Brand new, never seen before, virus. (Imagine that!)
[2] More contagious than COVID-19.
[3] More lethal than COVID-19.
[4] More disgustingly painful than COVID-19.
[5] Detected in China by the Chinese military self-defense monitoring teams.
[6] The discovery triggered a global announcement by the WHO.
[7] American scientists familiar with similar viruses provided supporting information.

22OCT20 Update

The Donald Trump three day excursion to a military Base for hospitalization for COVID-19, happened exactly at the same time that China discovered the second bio-weapon attack. The COVID-20.

The United States is now flooding African Nations with anti-China propaganda.

23OCT20 Update

Big Surprise.

CNN told the truth about the so-called respected “Chinese virologist” from Hong Kong. You know the one, that claimed that she was employed by the Chinese government to develop the COVID-19 as a Bio-Weapon. And did so at the Wuhan Virus Lab.

Well, she lied. Not only that, but she is direct-linked to both Mike Pompeo, and Steve Bannon (both hard-core neocons):

https://asiatimes.com/2020/10/pompeos-record-a-litany-of-failure/


Excerpt: 
To make his case for demonizing China, Pompeo will use any source of questionable legitimacy. One example was a paper written by Li-Meng Yan, a virologist and at the time of publication a postdoctoral student at Hong Kong University. Her paper claimed that the Covid-19 virus was created in a Wuhan lab. 

Her finding was sensational as it seemed to authenticate Trump’s and Pompeo’s accusation that China should be held accountable for the pandemic. The popular media went wild with the story, even though those in scientific circles criticized the non-peer-reviewed paper as weak on science.

Rapid Reviews: COVID-19, a collaboration between the University of California at Berkeley and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, quickly solicited reviews of the Yan paper by four renowned scientists in the field and their conclusion was: 

“This manuscript does not demonstrate sufficient scientific evidence to support its claims. Claims are at times baseless and are not supported by the data and methods used. Decision-makers should consider the author’s claims in this study misleading.”

Those reviews followed the publication of the Yan paper by about two weeks. It’s a safe bet that the refutation is unlikely to attract the attention of the mainstream media. 

An added side note in the comment section was the observation that the co-authors listed in Yan’s paper did not exist but were fictitious – in other words, a blatant lie.

So what could have motivated Yan? By now, it has become quite clear that providing material for China-bashing can be very lucrative business. Gordon Chang showed that he could publish a book on China that totally missed the mark – instead of economic collapse, China is about to become the largest economy in the world – and instead of striking out, he became an anti-China media star for the last 20 years.

Peter Navarro did even better. He wrote a book and a documentary titled Death by China, a complete work of fiction, with imaginary “expert” “Ron Varra,” who turned out to be the anagrammatic alter ego of Navarro himself. This China-bashing turned him from being a failed politician and outcast academic into the holder of a seat in the inner circle at the Trump White House. 

25OCT20

American military forces have been training to take and seize Chinese occupied islands in the South China Sea.

Army paratroopers have practiced flying long distance then jumping onto China’s island outposts in the disputed waters of the China Seas. Seizing outposts—and the strategic airstrips they host—could give U.S. forces new bases from which to strike back against the Chinese.

But the Chinese military scoffed at the idea. “The assumption that U.S. troops could capture China's islands and reefs in the South China Sea is no more than media speculation,” Xu Hailin wrote in Global Times, an official mouthpiece of the People’s Liberation Army.

That’s untrue. The Pentagon actively is preparing for just such a contingency. Back in July, 350 paratroopers from the Army’s 25th Infantry Division flew in Air Force C-17 transports from Alaska to Guam and practiced dropping onto, and capturing, a simulated enemy airfield.

American troops landing on a Chinese island would represent a serious act of aggression and a major escalation of any conflict, Xu posited. “If the U.S. military really reaches out to capture China's islands and reefs, it will declare the start of a total war with China.”

How serious?

Does the declaration of “a total war with China” means that China will “file a complaint” with the UN, or something else? Maybe they might shoot back! (Gasp.) Maybe they might do something that the neocons running the administration is not prepared for…

...In any event, Xu vowed that an American assault on a Chinese outpost would invite a devastating response. 

“The U.S. troops will have to face an all-out counterattack from the People's Liberation Army and will certainly pay a heavy price for their reckless decisions,” Xu wrote.

28OCT20

Those state-of-the-art Taiwanese chip factories, are actually mainland Chinese operations. One of those things that no one in the mainstream, and alternative media mentions…

I got this thread from a WeChat group, between two Westerners. Interesting history about TSMC,
 
[Regaining The Edge In U.S. Chip Manufacturing: https://semiengineering.com/can-the-u-s-regain-its-edge-in-chip-manufacturing/?fbclid=IwAR3nVp4oNWMJNi-OCZQwAcSBN7goF0QnZy3mU5n6tAVhks6DzU1oVfIdEeA]

Yeah can confirm x86 are stagnating due to the cisc designs of the architecture while the likes of arm and mips etc which uses risc design it can be made smaller and more efficient

Morris Chang, the founder of Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC), the world's first and largest silicon foundry, was not "Taiwanese". Chang was Zhejiangese, born in Ningbo.

Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC) is not a "Taiwanese" company. It is a Chinese company located in the Chinese province of Taiwan.

Sun Yun-suan, minister of economic affairs and Premier of the Republic of China under Chiang Kai-shek and Chiang Ching-kuo, was one of the chief architects of the ROC's "economic miracle" that enabled it to become one of the East Asian Tigers.

Sun was not Taiwanese. He was Shangdongese, born in Penglai. Neither, of course, were Chiang Kai-shek and Chiang Ching-kuo, who were also Zhejiangese.
Sun recruited Chang to become chairman and president of the Industrial Technology Research Institute that spawned major semiconductor companies such as TSMC and the Hsinchu Science-based Industrial Park which would serve as a major electronics and semiconductor manufacturing hub.

The plain truth is that TSMC is a Chinese achievement.

All the figures involved were so-called "mainlanders" -- a pejorative term used by Taiwan independence Quislings to sow hatred between Chinese from the mainland region of China and Chinese from the Taiwan region of China.

All the figures involved were patriotic Chinese nationalists and unwavering advocates of Chinese reunification.

Indeed. Technology presents us with new opportunities.. Sad though our lot seem to be technophobes more keen in lining their pockets and keeping the starts quo of cleptocracy and "service industry Jobs" rather than innovating
What happens when you more your capital abroad and focus on financial sector
However with China developing the productive forces it opens up new opportunities for the proletariat to build themselves up

-Jeff J. Brown

29OCT20

Reports on what occurred during the American lead naval sortie in the South China Sea in late Summer 2020, are coming in, in drips and drabs.

Recall, that the US mobilized three aircraft carriers – USS Theodore RooseveltUSS Nimitz and the USS Ronald Reagan – to patrol the Indo-Pacific waters, an act seen as a “warning” to China. Each carrier was teamed up with a “minor” carrier, making a total of 6 American aircraft carriers, plus the British HMS Queen Elizabeth (a “super” aircraft carrier). That is seven aircraft carriers along with their support ships. This is the largest naval flotilla of aircraft carriers in history.

The ships eventually left the area, and we have been trying to figure out what happened.

American & British Media – Very quiet.

Very little information. Suspiciously little.

Except that there is going to be a change in strategy. This new strategy would involve the use of AI controlled underwater weapons and drones. The use of a “traditional” assault force using a large force of carriers is not considered to be practical.

Additionally large boost to the black budget has been approved and moving forward. It is supposedly considered to be “urgent“.

Chinese Media – Subdued, but informative.

(Note; If it is reported, it's NOT secret) FOUR paramilitary CIA officers drowned while on a secret mission to plant an underwater pod intended to track the Chinese military in the South China Sea, it has emerged. The men were reportedly caught in a tropical storm while attempting to place the device, which had been disguised to resemble a rock, off the Philippine island of Luzon.
  • The Chinese have intercepted clandestine troops in operations upon Chinese territory. It is unknown what has happened to them…
Meet the HN-1, China's New AI-Powered Underwater Drone. The battle for future undersea AI dominance is heating up and China’s ambitions are not small in this domain.
Meet the HN-1, China’s New AI-Powered Underwater Drone. The battle for future undersea AI dominance is heating up and China’s ambitions are not small in this domain.

Curiously, from American Media…

Just keep in mind that there were many, many events and actions that were NOT reported to the public during this entire period of time.

Here is a nice interactive map of the (inferred) Chinese power projection in the South China Sea.

Since 2014, China has substantially expanded its ability to monitor and project power throughout the South China Sea via the construction of dual civilian-military bases at its outposts in the disputed Spratly and Paracel Islands. These include new radar and communications arrays, airstrips and hangars to accommodate combat aircraft, and deployments of mobile surface-to-air and anti-ship cruise missile systems.

30OCT20 Update

You all might want to consider what the rest of the world thinks about the Trump Polices with China, and the Asian Pacific Rim. Here’s a great article out of Australia…

The polls indicate, and most commentators believe, that Biden will win, but Trump is campaigning furiously, and the prospect of a legal imbroglio also looms. 

Neither Biden nor Trump has made much of foreign policy in their campaigns. 

Biden has said he would not be bluffed by China, and would not hesitate to “call it out” or retaliate against egregious acts, but the end of the Trump Presidency would certainly break the flow of “China is the enemy” that has characterized it. 

Trump has surrounded himself with “China hawks”, and has personified the US anti-China campaign, but given his record it’s not impossible that a re-elected Trump would reverse policy towards China, if he came to believe that that was in the United States’, or his own, interests.

Whoever wins, in the election aftermath it will be important for Australian policymakers to keep in mind that our position (Australian) and the US’s position are not the same. 

We want a peaceful, prosperous and stable Asia-Pacific, or Indo-Pacific. 

The US wants that, too, but also wants to be top dog in it. As a US academic visiting Australia said last year, “the US can not tolerate a peer competitor”. But China is one, and many in the US “feel the hot breath”.

There are one or two things that can be said in response to the “peer competitor” line.` 

One is “grow up”. 

Another is “compete, don’t complain”, and there are certainly voices in the US saying just that. 

The important thing for us to remember is that while we value our alliance relationship with the US, that is not the policy end-point for us. That end-point is a state of affairs in the Asia or Indo-Pacific under which we and other countries can live peacefully and prosper, in a stable environment.

How can that be achieved? 

Certainly not by following the tack taken by Pompeo, who can’t even bring himself to speak of the “Chinese Government”; rather he refers to the “Chinese Communist Party”. 

It’s a great pity that at this possibly pivotal time we don’t have anyone at the highest levels of our Government with a strong personal relationship with a Chinese counterpart, as Prime Minister Hawke had with Premier Zhao Ziyang — someone who could effectively make the point that China’s actions in the South China Sea or in regard to the Uighurs aren’t really in China’s best interests, without making a public campaign of it.

Perhaps our very able Ambassador in Beijing is saying these things anyway. And perhaps our goal of a peaceful, prosperous and stable Asia-Pacific can only come about if both the US and China can more fully accept that they have to live with each other, make room for each other, and not regard any step forward by one as a step back for the other, as Trump is said to be prone to do.

We also have to look at our own bilateral relationship with China. Why is it now described as in its “most frozen” state ever, despite China still being our largest trading partner, and still buying huge amounts of iron ore at record prices, thus preventing our budget deficit from being even larger? Both sides have contributed to the present situation, and we need to recognize that if we are going to improve it....

(more)

...But I firmly believe that what we must try to do is to include China in joint efforts and mechanisms and gradually re-build trust, rather than build alliances to defend against or contain it. 

One reason is that efforts to contain or limit China simply won’t work; see what it’s already doing economically in Europe, Latin America and southern Africa, as well as in East and Central Asia, and with Russia. 

Another reason is that it’s such a negative thing in which to invest our efforts and future. Of course it will be up to the Chinese how they respond. But we should have a go.

2NOV20

Just a few days before the election between Trump and Biden, the climate in the Asian Pacific Rim is…

America's choice and Asia's future
Whoever claims victory in the US presidential contest this week, Washington’s grasp over Asia’s future is on the wane.

It’s not that the United States is no longer a great power unmatched as yet in its technological and military superiority. Despite all its self-inflicted wounds, through mismanagement of the COVID-19 crisis and President Trump’s economically debilitating ‘America First’ strategy, it remains so. 

The short-term costs of the Trump administration’s mismanagement have been huge, in terms of US deaths, the fragmentation of national cohesion and lost trade and income. But it’s the costs over the next ten years or more that cast a long dark shadow over US societal and economic strength and the role of the United States as a reliable anchor in an open multilateral global order. 

The costs of COVID-19 continue to mount and the strategy that will see an end to it is still to be articulated. Nor is there a strategy in place to deal with the collapse in the US and the global economies that the pandemic has brought with it. In international cooperation on both strategic fronts, the United States is out of play.

The world’s confidence in US power, the moral authority it once commanded and the capacity to deploy it are much diminished. Even the most energetic and driven administration won’t restore it easily, soon or perhaps ever.

If Joe Biden had a 20-point lead across the board in the polls as the United States heads towards election eve — and the polls are narrowing not widening at the finishing line — most pundits would still be shy about calling the outcome until it’s all done and dusted. So burnt are they by Trump’s unexpected win in 2016 and scared by Trump’s refusal to be straightforward about conceding power.

Yet US political trends and geopolitical realities are clear and key strategic calculations in Asia will be framed by them whatever the electoral outcome.

There are few illusions in Asian capitals about what they would inherit if Trump should once more claim the US presidency. East Asian leaders have no inclination to sign up to an ill-disciplined brawl between the United States and China as they are being pushed to do by Trump and his deputies. 

The priority in Asia is to deal with COVID-19 and navigate recovery around the probability that China, having dealt with the pandemic first, will also lead global economic recovery. As former Indonesian deputy foreign minister and ambassador to the United States Dino Patti Djalal observes, they have no appetite for a New Cold War and ‘framing China as an ideological threat (constantly referring to “Communist China”, not just China)… [adopting] a blanket (rather than a la carte) attack against China: on the coronavirus, trade, investment, technology, TikTok, the World Health Organization, the South China Sea, Chinese companies and students, democracy, human rights, climate change — the list goes on. 

If there is anything that is clear’, says Dino, ‘it is that China has de-ideologised its foreign policy since the 1980s. No one seriously believes that China’s political intention is to turn Southeast Asian nations to communism. 

Indeed, China’s strategic intention is no longer about spreading communism (as was the case up to the late 1970s), but rather about strategic acceptance, economic engagement and political influence’.

Nor is the happy assumption that a Biden win will lead to a simple American course-correction accepted anywhere that matters in East Asia. Biden has no power to reclaim the past dignity and authority of the US presidency. As former Australian prime minister Paul Keating said of the United States under Trump, ‘if you pawn the crown it is incapable of being redeemed at the same value’.

Trump was no political aberration, chaotic though his administration may have been. He captured America’s contemporary populist spirit and unleashed its powerful political angst. Biden’s ambitious climate change agenda or the hope that he might return to negotiating entry to the Trans-Pacific Partnership agreement may stir still optimistic, liberal hearts. 

But, apart from convincing allies and partners, including China, that he’s got the ticker for it, it’ll take time, require superhuman effort and it’s another matter altogether to pass the Pennsylvania test and sell a new global foreign policy strategy to the average American voter, let alone his own political operatives. American morale is already at a low level and has further to sink yet.

As TJ Pempel says in our first lead article this week, ‘Trump’s policies were less a one-man aberration than an outgrowth of, and strongly supported by, the Republican Party. The past four years have exposed and exacerbated gaping US socio-economic divisions, the limitations of its political institutions, the contentiousness of its information channels, and the fragility of its democratic norms. Americans now inhabit separate tribes, value alternative priorities, are convinced of competing “facts” and are firmly convinced that eviscerating the other tribe is the path to a better America’.

There’s gathering understanding in East Asian capitals that whatever happens in Washington this week, the solutions to the region’s problems will not be readily found there. The foundations on which confidence in regional stability and prosperity might be restored must be found in international cooperation effort in Asia itself that reaches out to, but cannot rely upon, the United States. This is a challenge for which there is little preparation or precedent.

In a geopolitically fractured world, strategic competition between the United States and China ultimately limits both countries’ capacity to contribute constructively both to global recovery and renovation of the global order. 

The United States, the world’s biggest power, has lost its appetite for multilateral cooperation and is at odds strategically with China, the world’s second largest power. Strategic competition between the United States and China ultimately limits both countries’ prosperity and capacity to contribute constructively to global recovery.

As Elizabeth Ingleson points out in our second lead article this week, the ‘next US administration has a chance to abandon the framework of strategic competition and adopt a more nuanced policy of engagement … This would allow the two nations to work towards a multilateral approach to the climate crisis. By linking geopolitics and climate, the United States and China have an opportunity to improve the prospects of both’.

But as Sheila Smith concludes in upcoming pre-US election preview the ‘intensity of rancour that has permeated US politics will not be solved in one election, and lingering resentments may impede the president’s ability to be attentive to the accelerating shifts in the regional balance of power. A distracted America may be Asia’s lot’.  

The reality is that small and middle powers in Asia now have to play an unfamiliar leadership role. This ominous responsibility will remain long after the 46th President of the United States settles into the White House.

Other recent articles in which you may be interested from the East Asia Forum are listed below. You can click the title of each one or visit www.eastasiaforum.org for daily content.

Editors
East Asia Forum
2 November 2020

The latest at the Forum:

Reclaiming US credibility after the Trump tsunami
TJ Pempel, UC Berkeley 

8NOV20

Joe Biden is elected, and Donald Trump and his neocon army will need to decamp from the White House. They will be forced to play their “war games” elsewhere, and the keys and codes to the enormous nuclear and bio/chemical arsenal will be handed over to others. Hopefully, people of a more sensible bent.

We will see what will happen. I, for one, look forward to a return of sanity to the world.

10NOV20

China has been, along with Russia, suspiciously quiet about the election and the Biden Presidency. With various unofficial responses coming out of China that pretty much all say the same thing…

China should not harbor any illusions that Biden's election will ease or bring a reversal to China-US relations, nor should it weaken its belief in improving bilateral ties. 

US competition with China and its guard against China will only intensify. 

But it's in the common interests of people from both countries and of international community that China-US relations become eased and controllable. 

The two countries must work together and take joint actions to explore and work on realizing some kind of stability and predictability for their bad relations and managing bilateral ties from worsening to a destructive extent.

-https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/1206128.shtml

11NOV11

A pretty good write-up about what probably would happen to the China-USA relationship with Trump and his neocons out of the White House, and a Biden presidency in place…

U.S.-China Business Under Biden
Published on November 10, 2020
Status is reachable
Brandon Hughes, LLM, PMP
Veterans Integration Program Apprenticeship at Goldman Sachs
24 articles 
Following

What an amazing week it has been. Both United States (U.S.) and international citizens watched the 2020 President election with anxiousness and excitement. In the end, Democratic Party candidate Joe Biden became the projected winner of both the popular & electoral vote. While current U.S. President Donald Trump has yet to concede, preparations are already underway for a transition to a Biden administration. Below are a few thoughts from a career in U.S.-China geopolitical & business relations.

An Easing of Overall Tensions
This does not mean a Biden administration will be soft but likely use a more traditional foreign policy approach to China. This means focusing on human rights, promoting mutually beneficial policies, and taking a more piecemeal approach. What this means for business is that a return to more stable policies will support 3-5 year strategic planning. However, don't expect a return to the status quo overnight. In fact, some policies may never go back. Biden has signaled he will be tough on China in certain respects but business leaders can expect these policies to be much more transparent and telegraphed before implementation.

Use of multilateral organizations
U.S. foreign policy has long supported the use of multilateral organizations to put political pressure on areas of interest. Regarding China, this means a more coordinated approach to addressing Hong Kong, Xinjiang, and other political issues. This may or may not be effective depending on the level of commitment to policies but it will ensure that changes to policy are communicated well in advance.

A Gradual Reduction in Trade Tariffs
Similar to the easing of tensions, we may see a gradual reduction or repeal of trade tensions. A large portions of U.S. imports (by U.S. companies) were impacted in addition to export of raw material, agriculture, and high value added goods. These industries have been hit hard (if not decimated) due to the tariffs (and the overall approach to trade with China) and it's likely the Biden administration will take a "mending fences" approach. This applies to not only China but others as well.

A Reprioritization of Human Rights
This has been on the back-burner of current U.S. policy but it's likely that a Biden administration will put Human Rights on the docket in upcoming negotiations. This is long-standing U.S. policy and moderately effective in some cases. However, this may come in year 2 or 3 of Biden's term as addressing domestic issues and reestablishing relations will likely take priority in terms of policy issues.

Reciprocal Easing from China
China is unlikely to alter their next 5-year plan but you may see more "easing" of enforcement or legal barriers that have been impacting U.S. business. This may come as an easing of enforcement measures against U.S. shipments to China at the ports. It may result in a more open environment to business or an easing of doing business. However, like the U.S., don't expect an overnight change in priorities or stance. There is a lot to discuss before either side agrees to step back.

Takeaways for Business
U.S.-China relations will not change overnight nor will the policies. There are significant hurdles facing the U.S.-China relationships that are echoed on both sides of the political aisle. However, businesses can expect a more tempered approach to foreign & trade policy with China and a re-engagement in more multilateral institutions. This is positive news for multinational ventures as stability creates an environment for growth. Businesses who have held off the last 3 years should develop a China & APAC strategy to capture unique policy or growth opportunities that are presented. At the same time, businesses & investors should understand there are still considerable structural issues between the U.S. and China that may not be fixed and still impact bilateral policy. Overall, a Biden administration is positive news for those doing business with the world's 2nd largest economy. This means growth for revenues & growth for company value which ultimately reflected in growth for retirement accounts and investment funds.

-https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/us-china-business-under-biden-brandon-hughes-llm-pmp/?trackingId=8uOp0h9f%2BrOjXuDsjMXc3w%3D%3D
Biden and Xi Peng.
Biden and Xi Peng after the conclusion of the US and China trade agreement. This agreement was unilaterally torn up by President Trump in early 2017. The conservative media in 2020 are promoting the narrative that Biden will accept and embrace the revised American stance with China that Trump and Pompeo have created. I strongly disagree. The Democrat Party is one of negotiation and give-and-take. It is not a hard-line unilateralist evangelical entity such has been the case by the neocon-led White House..

24NOV20 Update

Yes, Trump make it impossible for anyone (in America) to pay for Chinese goods.

Remittances for Amazon.com, ebay.com, and paypal.com refuse to allow for payments to Chinese individuals, or banks. I have heard stores about how some of my Chinese friends have had their stores and markets closed on them without notice.

It really didn’t become crystal clear until I started to ask my fellow American expats if they ever received the COVID-19 coronavirus stimulus check that they applied for. And the answer was no. No one received it, including yours truly. So I inquired. Yup. Any one inside of China or using Chinese institutions have their checks zeroed.

And people wonder WHY so many mail-in ballots were for Biden. Heck, he just about threw away one million expats in that brilliant decision of his. Fucker!

Why not plaster a sign that says things in clear English;

No Money to anyone inside of China. Period, by order of Donald Trump.

After all, it was by EO.

29NOV20

Seems that the “firehose of disinformation” that the Biden Administration is going to be harsher then the Pompeo/Trump administration is all just CIA bullshit.

In the speech, Paulson lays out his recommendations for President-elect Biden’s China policy, arguing that competition without unnecessary confrontation should be our goal—because confrontation without effective competition has produced some poor results for the American people. He further recommends that the U.S. pursue a self-interested policy that he terms “targeted reciprocity.” By that, the U.S. should move from being reflexive, responding to anything and everything China does, to focusing on sectors where the U.S. is the strongest and most competitive. In turn, targeted reciprocity can be a negotiating tool and lever to help achieve real results in critical areas of the U.S.-China relationship, including trade and climate change. Below are Secretary Paulson’s prepared remarks.

Download “Targeted Reciprocity” Full Text

1DEC20

Yeah. The world is slowwwwwlyyyyy catching on what a mess Donald Trump and his cabal of evil neocons hath wrought…

COVID-19 is a bioweapon deployed against China by the United States to take advantage of the mass migration during the Chinese New Year. 

To prevent/minimize the blowback from the virus possibly getting out of containment in China, a mild strain (CoV-A; antibody producing strain) was released among the population of the Western countries months before the deployment of the bioweapon strain (CoV-B) in Wuhan (and possibly Qom afterwards). It's akin to innoculating your population with cowpox before hitting the opposition population with smallpox. CoV-A has a much lower lethality rate (around 0.1%) than CoV-B (10-15%) which is why the data on how lethal COVID-19 is all over the place.

Let's look at the evidence:

1. Herd immunity: Only a few weeks after reporting how Chinese are welding their patients in their homes (February 6, 2020), at the same time as reporting mass graves near Qom (March 12, 2020). The Western (as well as Brazil and India) governments and media are all talking about herd immunity. With Boris Johnson saying that the UK would "take it on the chin" (March 5, 2020), Merkel stating that 60-70% of Germans would get the virus (March 11, 2020) to Bolsonaro saying that Brazilians are immune (March 27, 2020), with the media touting that the plan is not to stop the disease but to "flatten the curve" so that the medical system doesn't get overwhelmed. Despite COVID-19 being a 'never before seen' virus with unknown properties and lethality, it's almost as if they knew that the disease isn't that dangerous.

2. Theodore Roosevelt, Captain Brett Crozier and the Vietnam outbreak: The USS Theodore Roosevelt is a carrier in the Pacific fleet stationed in the South China Sea. The captain of the ship Brett Crozier, after discovering some of his sailors displaying symptoms tried to get the carrier docked in Guam so that his sailors can be evacuated and quarantined. His email to multiple captains and admiral Baker was leaked to the press, and he was relieved of duty shortly afterwards by Naval Secretary Modly.

The blame was on the shore-leave in Vietnam on March 5, but during that time, Vietnam cases plateaued at 16 for weeks, and cases did not increase until after the carrier left. The first wave of the Vietnam outbreak only had less than 300 infected vs. 1156 on the carrier. Furthermore there were no COVID related deaths in Vietnam during the first wave vs only 1 on the Theodore Roosevelt. 

The scales of these outbreaks highly implies that the first COVID-19 wave in Vietname is actually transmission from the carrier to the Vietnamese population rather than the other way around. Furthermore, the low lethality rate in both cases means that it is the CoV-A variant. 

The reason is obvious in hindsight:If China were unable to contain the outbreak the U.S. military would take advantage of the chaos and start a hot war while the Chinese are incapable of retaliating, it would thus be necessary to inoculate their own troops so they don't succumb to the bioweapon. Crozier was castigated because in raising the alarm with the media instead of the usual channels so the the story can be buried, China, by looking at the Theodore Roosevelt outbreak and Vietnam, not only confirmed their suspicions that Wuhan was a bioweapon deployment, but also how the U.S. and its co-conspirators plan to limit the possible blowback. So when Germany was raising noise about seizing Chinese assets in the EU for 'compensation' for the outbreak, the Chinese response is basically: "If the virus is from China, where is your patient zero?" Which brings us to the next point:

3. Difficulty in locating "patient zero" in Europe: From months, the EU has been trying to find a patient zero to link back to the Wuhan outbreak without much success. The current theory is a 43 year old Frenchman who got it from Algeria in December, the link to Wuhan is tenuous at best. However, if we work from the two-strain theory, this difficulty is pretty easy to explain: not all patients who contract CoV-A are asymptomatic, those who have it and get tested would be a positive case for COVID-19. Finding patient zero involves working backwards from all known positive cases. Since CoV-A has been in circulation for months before CoV-B was deployed in China, finding a CoV-B patient zero linking back to China is practically impossible with CoV-A positives being around for much longer.

4. False positives: Something mentioned over and over again is the high rate of "false positives" of the PCR test: how the outbreak is not as bad as reported because of the rate of false positives. This would fit perfectly with the two-strain theory: CoV-A and CoV-B should be almost genetically identical since CoV-A is suppose to prime the immune system to fight against CoV-B, if the intricate human immune system cannot tell the difference between CoV-A and CoV-B, there is no way the cheap dime-a-dozen mass produced tests used for mass testing would be able to do so. This would explain the high rate of "false positives" outside of China. Since the Western governments were (and probably still are) going for the "herd immunity" route, they would of course want CoV-A to be spread as much as possible while limiting the CoV-B. The more lethal CoV-B would of course have much more severe symptoms than CoV-A, hence people who test positive for COVID-19 with mild to no symptoms were informed that they are "false positive" so they can continue spreading CoV-A among the general population. The fault is not in the test kits but the people in charge of interpreting the results.

5. Mask policy: Continuing on the previous point. While China started masking up pretty much from the start. The CDC and WHO were both against masks before they were for them. For example the U.S. Surgeon General tweeted on February 29: "Seriously people- STOP BUYING MASKS! They are NOT effective in preventing general public from catching #Coronavirus, but if healthcare providers can’t get them to care for sick patients, it puts them and our communities at risk!" Dr. Mike Ryan in the Geneva media briefing on March 30: "There is no specific evidence to suggest that the wearing of masks by the mass population has any potential benefit. In fact, there's some evidence to suggest the opposite in the misuse of wearing a mask properly or fitting it properly." Remember Merkel's (March 11) and Bolsonaro's (March 27) mentioned above, at the end of March the prevailing strain detected outside of China, Iran and Italy would be the CoV-A strain, hence the deliberate and systematic campaign to mislead the public against mask use, they WANT the CoV-A strain to reach saturation in the population before CoV-B hits.

However, if we look at the Swedish 'miracle' and the Vietnam outbreak, it seems the CoV-A strain spreads much slower than CoV-B. Sweden got lucky and closed their border before CoV-B got into the country, their positive COVID-19 are CoV-A cases (that they got from the U.S.) which spread very slowly even without a lockdown. Vietnam closed their border with China very early and the outbreak most likely came from the Theodore Roosevelt, which makes it CoV-A; with a lockdown the cases were brought down to zero pretty quickly. Given that there is no way tests that don't sequence the entire genome can differentiate between CoV-A and CoV-B, and the reluctance of the U.S. and its co-conspirators to implement a financially crippling lockdown for the mostly harmless CoV-A, once CoV-B gets a foothold in a country, due to exponential increase CoV-B would quickly overtake CoV-A. A lockdown would be counterproductive to the 'herd immunity' approach since slower spreading CoV-A would be much more vulnerable to quarantine. That is even assuming that CoV-A provides immunity:

6. Chinese claims on reinfection: multiple studies from China has claimed that followup checkups on former COVID-19 patients showed that only a minority of them still carried antibodies against the disease thus longterm immunity does not exist in most people, while the UK studies claim that T-cells still remember the disease and thus longterm immunity exists. On the surface, it seems that these are merely academic, however if Wuhan outbreak was a bioweapon attack, it would explain the motives behind publishing these studies.
Considering the number of countries going for 'herd immunity' back in March, the number of conspirators is immense; China calling the outbreak a bioweapon attack would be like Julius Caesar confronting the Roman senate on March 14th. However, by raising the specter of reinfection, it definitely shakes the faith of the conspirators in the plan: If CoV-B does not provide longterm immunity against CoV-B, what are the chances CoV-A would provide this immunity?. Absence a working vaccine, if CoV-A does not provide longterm immunity, a hard lockdown getting rid of both strains and abandoning the 'herd immunity' plan is the only way to get the pandemic under control.

The big question is whether China is telling the truth about reinfection. China may be bluffing to create a schism between the garden variety blanket-distributor type conspirators and the 'from hell's heart I stab at thee' hardliners; the former would favor implementing a lockdown and taking the loss, the latter would call it a bluff and try to restart the economy assuming that 'herd immunity' will be achieved. 

That's not to say that the UK studies can be trusted, after all, with their future tightly bound to the U.S., they are pretty much America's mouthpiece in trying to keep all the conspirators on the original plan: as long as the lethality rate doesn't get too high, most of the cases should still be the CoV-A strain. (The closer the death rate gets to the 10%, the higher the CoV-B/CoV-A ratio is.)

Posted by: Sid Victor Cattoni | Dec 1 2020 21:41 utc | 26

2DEC20

What? You mean that Biden isn’t going to continue Trump’s Anti-China crusade? How can this be???? After all, since August 2020 through December 2020 the “news” has been all awash at how “tougher” Biden will be on China than Trump.

(CNN)

President-elect Joe Biden and his transition team are preparing for an early, all-out push to pass an ambitious new stimulus bill, while also drawing up plans for a flurry of executive actions aimed at delivering on campaign promises and undoing the Trump administration's efforts...

7DEC20

Two decades of endless war and a bloated Pentagon budget that has proven useless in preventing Covid–19 deaths, now 270,000 and counting, are a jarring reminder that America’s foreign policy is thoroughly broken: It actually makes America and Americans less safe. 

Successive administrations have deployed the military in a costly, counterproductive, and indiscriminate manner, normalizing war and treating armed dominance as an end in itself. In consequence, the foreign policies of the United States are detached from any defensible conception of U.S. interests and from a decent respect for the rights and dignity of humankind. 

Marginal adjustments to the current approach will prove insufficient. A deeper rethinking of American foreign policy is warranted. This must be an undertaking that puts the well-being of the American people ahead of ambitions to dominate the globe.

President-elect Joe Biden appears to recognize the need for a serious reorientation. His just-named national security advisor, Jake Sullivan, recently said that Biden has tasked his foreign policy team with “reimagining our national security for the unprecedented combination of crises we face at home and abroad,” including pandemics and the climate crisis. Moreover, Sullivan said that American foreign policy has to be judged by a basic question: Does it “make life better, easier, and safer” for Americans at home? Our foreign policy, in Sullivan’s words, has to deliver for American families. 

-A New Direction: A Foreign Policy Playbook on Military Restraint for the Biden Team

23DEC20

  • Meanwhile, Russian and Chinese military continue to work together.
It follows Russian  President Vladimir Putin’s statement in October that the idea of a  future Russia-China military alliance can’t be ruled out — a signal of  deepening military cooperation between Moscow and Beijing amid growing  tensions in their relations with the United States.

Until  that moment, Russia and China had hailed their “strategic partnership,”  but rejected any talk about the possibility of their forming a military  alliance.

Putin  also noted in October that Russia has been sharing highly sensitive  military technologies with China that helped significantly bolster its  defense capability.

Russia  has sought to develop stronger ties with China as its relations with  the West sank to post-Cold War lows over Moscow’s annexation of  Ukraine’s Crimea, accusations of Russian meddling in the 2016 U.S.  presidential election and other issues.

And Trump awards the highest military honors to the President of Australia for his anti-Chinese actions.

  • And Russia and China test fire their nuclear ICBM missiles.
Russian Submarine Fires Four Nuclear Missiles | The Daily ...
2020-12-14 · The Borei-class nuclear-powered ballistic-missile submarine Vladimir Monomakh launched four Bulava missiles at targets on a firing range in the Arkhangelsk region in northwest Russia,  the Associated Press reported.. Borei-class submarines are capable of  carrying 16 Bulava missiles. They displace 24,000 tons of water when  submerged, can go up to 29 nautical miles per hour (just over 33 …

https://dailycaller.com/2020/12/14/russia-submarine-nuclear-bulava-missiles-borei...

2021 New year

I have received some interesting information concerning the directed energy beam weapons employed by China.

  • They operate underwater, just like they do in the air.
  • They can completely destroy the electronic systems of all types.
  • All three aircraft carriers sent to the South China Sea during the Summer of 2020 were nuclear powered.
  • The American stealth submarines are also nuclear powered.

The Chinese directed energy weapons systems can cause the American Navy nuclear power systems to go haywire, go into a SCRAM mode, and melt down.

Obviously, no one wants mini Chernobyl meltdowns off their beaches, but were the USA to initiate a hot war in the South China Sea, you can well expect that to be the reality for the United States Navy.

15JAN21

Declassified White House docs reveal America’s self-doubt over a potential military conflict with China

With Donald Trump set to leave office, newly released documents  show his strategy towards Beijing has largely failed, and that the US  isn’t confident over its ability to contain China in certain areas  should a conflict arise.     

Following the departure of  White House Deputy National Security Advisor Matthew Pottinger and with  the Trump administration coming to an end, a number of documents have been declassified  setting out its ‘Indo-Pacific’ strategy or, more specifically, its  gameplan to attempt to contain China over its four years in office.

The  documents are hardly comprehensive, yet reveal ambitions to contain  Beijing in the political, diplomatic, economic and military spheres,  including a blueprint of what the US would do in a potential war  scenario. 

According to the papers, the US has aimed to sustain its “primacy” in the region, “support activists and reformers” opposed to Beijing (such as the Hong Kong protesters), create a counter to the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and economically integrate the region towards the US, enlist allies against China in the form of the Quad and assist “the rise of India”. 

But what about in the event of a conflict? 

The documents spoke of aiming to prevent China “dominating the first island chain”  – the scope of islands extending from Japan to Taiwan and around the  South China Sea – via air and sea, and to maintain uncontested supremacy  over the “area beyond”. Military analysts have described the former objective as being modest in expectation.

If  anything, the file reveals the comprehensive failure of the Trump  administration’s strategy towards the region during his tenure in  office. Not only have attempts to bolster America’s economic presence  failed completely, largely owing to the contradictory priorities of the  White House, but in addition the document illustrates subtle doubt  rather than confidence that the US is capable of defeating China in this  “first island chain” region. 

The US, above all, is  seeking naval containment of China, and in line Beijing has utilized the  Belt and Road Initiative to counter it by diversifying its energy  supply routes.

Throughout its tenure in office, the Trump  administration has been unable to accept China’s status as a rising  power, and these documents reveal how this resulted in a set of policies  aimed at attempting to quell the country’s rise through various means. 

These  methods, however, have not yielded much success, largely because of the  US’s understating of the dynamics which underscore Beijing’s centrality  and importance to the region as an economic power, and the erroneous  belief that it can easily divide the world into cold war blocs and force  countries to undercut their relations with China on the premise of  values alone. 

The idea that the US can somehow displace Beijing  again as the region’s economic centre of gravity is not realistic, and  events such as the signing of the Regional Comprehensive Economic  Partnership underscore that.

While it is obvious that the economic balance of power is shifting  against America, what about in the military sphere? The documents show  the US is looking at the region in two distinct areas; that “first island chain” and “the second one”, which constitutes the wider Pacific. 

It  believes that it should be able to dominate the latter in the event of a  war, but can only at best try to prevent China from dominating the  former completely, acknowledging that Beijing likely already has the  upper hand in the South and East China Seas, and around Taiwan. 

Based  on this, it seems apparent the US would logically aim to defeat China  
in such a conflict via an attempt at a naval embargo, given a physical  invasion could never be possible. 

This would involve choking off China’s  access to the wider ocean and key maritime points such as the Strait of Malacca. 

This  strategic planning by the US subsequently sheds light on the BRI. 

By  strengthening infrastructure across the Eurasian landmass, China is  diversifying its supply chain routes and reducing reliance on areas that  can be dominated by the US Navy. 

For example, the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor and Gwadar Port  gives Beijing a passage to the western Indian ocean which would bypass  US attempts at containment. 

This has coincided with China’s first  overseas military base in the East African country of Djibouti and a  port it is working on  there, which would be used to protect its interests in this area and  thus thwart any US military planning. As the Indo-Pacific strategy has  sought to militarize China’s periphery and enlist partners, Beijing has  responded.

In this case, the declassified documents reveal the  wish-list of a dying administration that has thrown many things at China,  with few sticking. It shows the scale of the challenge America faces.  Despite the erratic nature of Trump, one should logically expect many of  these ideas to be retained and form a template for incoming president,  Joe Biden. 

Objectives such as sustaining US military primacy in Asia and  sharpening initiatives such as the Quad will not go away anytime soon,  even if there is a substantial lack of realism in them. 

Yet the  element of doubt in how a conflict with China could be managed only  alludes to the shift that is taking place. If America is not confident  it could defeat Beijing in the first island chain, then what does that  mean for the future? And for Taiwan? 

China’s bet in fortifying  its presence in the South China Sea, while diversifying its strategic  options with the BRI, seems well placed. And that’s why it isn’t Beijing  that is fighting an uphill battle to establish a localized dominance on  this side of the world.

24JAN21

As Trump leaves the Oval Office, people are comparing his office to President Biden’s office. One of the big stand outs is the huge amount of military articles in the office.

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